


Freeze on the Stones

by Robin4



Series: Freeze on the Stones [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark One's Dagger, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-15 22:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 102
Words: 635,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2245713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin4/pseuds/Robin4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One choice can change fate.  Regina chooses love, Snow stays silent, and Cora casts the curse.  Rumplestiltskin knows that trusting Cora with that much power is dangerous—but he has no choice if he wants to find his son.  28 years later, Gold and Regina awaken in Storybrooke and must work together to make the Savior believe.</p><p>Yes, this Storybrooke is far darker than the one you know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Choices We Make

**Author's Note:**

> A cheat sheet of characters who lacked cursed names in the show but have them here is located right [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2582528).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, this AU kicks off before season 1 begins. Some things in Storybrooke will remain the same with Cora casting the curse, and others will be very different. The Enchanted Forest portions of this tale will be told ‘flashback style’, so keep an eye out for the “Years Before the Curse” notes before some scenes. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Some chapters have non-explicit references to rape/non-con, and some references to torture. Cora's Storybrooke is not a nice place. Chapters will be appropriately marked.

**_“I want to make them bow. I want their kneecaps to crack, and freeze on the stones. I want their necks to break from bending.”_ **

**_\- Cora_ **

* * *

 

_One Week Before the Curse_

This wasn’t the way things were supposed to happen.  Sitting in a rat-infested cell, slowly going (more) insane, Rumplestiltskin had supposed that he would get more out of his intentional imprisonment.  When he’d originally conceived the plan, it had seemed so perfectly formed, so controllable and so predictable.  But he’d introduced an inherently unpredictable force into the game, used a queen instead of a pawn, and now he had to reap the consequences of the chaos he had sown.

“It’s just us, dearie,” he called into the blackness surrounding the cell that Snow and her oh-so-charming prince had put him in.  “You can show yourself!”

One of the rats—indistinguishable from the others until it twitched just so—slowly transformed into a cloud of wispy purple smoke, swirling around once, twice, and then a third time before they resolved into a regally-dressed woman clad in red and black.  She wore a crown on her head and her chin was high, just as it always was, as if she was waiting for him to drop to his knees in supplication.  _It’s going to take a bit more than a little theatrical magic to make_ me _do that, dear_ , he didn’t say out loud.  Instead, Rumplestiltskin lounged back against the far wall, crossing his ankles in the very picture of casual indifference. 

“Cora,” he said levelly, his voice low and smile sharp-edged.

“Rumple, dear.  It’s so good to see you.”  Her eyes went a little too wide, the pity a bit too feigned.  “Though I do have to say that I find the conditions they keep you in quite _appalling_.  It’s such a pity you turned down my offer.  Then you might not be here at all.”

Barking out a high-pitched laugh, he bounced forward, and even Cora flinched a little to find herself face to face with a maniac Dark One.  “Having problems with the curse already?” he taunted her.

Cora’s eyes darkened.  Like Rumplestiltskin, she was undoubtedly remembering the day he had handed her the Curse to End All Curses, smiling and laughing he listened to her talk of everlasting vengeance.   He’d known Cora’s penchant for extremes even then, so Rumplestiltskin had made her work for it, withholding the means for her revenge until Cora was well-nigh desperate, furious with him and ready to tear the world to pieces.  But he couldn’t have her casting the curse too soon, so Rumplestiltskin had still left out a few key things.  After all, he needed her to come to him, and unlike the daughter whom he had _thought_ would cast the curse, Cora had few scruples left to worry her.

“It isn’t working,” she admitted coldly. “Your spellwork must be flawed.”

“Oh, is it now?” he countered, flinging his hand to the side a little more wildly than he intended.  Perhaps he _was_ going insane.  “Or is it your _execution_ of said spell?”

“You always insert a loophole.  You would not otherwise have given me a curse requiring the heart of the thing I love most.  You know I am heartless.”  Now Cora smiled, that little secretive smile that Rumplestiltskin had once loved so much.  She knew that, of course.  “You have said it often enough yourself.”

“Well, if the shoe fits…”

Cora’s eyes flashed; she never liked being refused, and refuse her he had.  Without telling her his reasons.  “Tell me what the loophole is.”

“It requires a heart, dear.  There’s no avoiding that,” Rumplestiltskin told her honestly.  “Now, given your past actions, I would say that you should use your own heart, because it’s plain what means the most to you—”

“Enough!” Magic flared, with purple lightning zeroing in on him and trying to make a roast out of Rumplestiltskin.  He dodged, jumping aside and feeling the power sizzle in the air, barely missing him.  His magic was no good in the cell given how well the fairies had done their work, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t want to tip his hand by walking out now.  But he hadn’t antagonized Cora _too_ much; he just needed her angry enough that she forgot whose heart would make a very good ingredient indeed.  “I tire of your antics.”

“I might say the same about you,” he shot back.  “You know who you love.  A certain daughter, hmm?”

This time the power ripped out too fast for even the Dark One to avoid, slamming him against the back wall of the cell and holding him there for several moments.  But even Cora could not keep that up for long; the fairy magic surrounding the cell was sapping her magic, too, so she had to let him go as he laughed.  Rumplestiltskin hit the floor harder than he would like, but even as pain reverberated up his legs, he scented victory in the air.

“I will not kill my _daughter_ for your foul curse.  Come up with something else.”

Still chuckling, Rumplestiltskin picked himself up.  “For that, there’s a price.”

“Then tell me what you want,” Cora replied.

“It’s rather simple.  In this new land, I want comfort. I want a _good_ life,” he told her, knowing better than to try her patience and try to draw this out.  No, he needed Cora on edge, not furious, and he already had her there.  _Just angry enough._ “Riches.  Power.  The usual.”

“Done,” the Evil Queen replied without blinking an eye.  She’d known poverty, after all, little though Queen Cora liked to admit that these days.  She knew why Rumplestiltskin would desire such assurances, because she was one of two breathing people who knew enough of his past to understand.

Bouncing forward once more to bring his face close to hers, he cut her off before she could say more.  “I’m not finished.  There’s more.”

“There always is,” Cora drawled.

“I want one more thing, in our new land,” Rumplestiltskin murmured softly.  “Should I ever come to you for any reason, you must heed my every request. You must do whatever I say. So long as I say ‘Please’.”

Cora studied him for a moment, turning the idea over in her mind.  “Clever.  You want me to insert that as a caveat in the curse, to give you a hold over me.”

“I do prefer to have some assurances that my life will be what I desire, yes,” he answered bluntly.  There were other reasons, but what Cora didn’t know would protect others. 

“You do realize, that when I cast this curse, your memory will be as wiped as anyone else’s.  A clean slate, you said.”  Cora smiled, and there was something dangerous in that secretive smile, something Rumplestiltskin could not control.  “You won’t remember this deal at all.”

“Oh, well, then what’s the harm?” he countered as flippantly as he could.

“Very well,” the Evil Queen drew herself up, looking him straight in the eye.  “Tell me what heart I must use.”

“The heart of the one you love most, of course.” His own smile was mysterious, and Cora’s rage was tangible as she pulled her magic back a hair’s breath away from flattening him.

“Do not toy with me, Rumple!” she snapped.

“But I’m not.”  Now he used the more soothing tone, the one that always brought her back from the edge.  “I understand that you hold a certain stableboy’s heart.”

“What of it?”

“They say that the hearts of two True Loves are shared…” Rumplestiltskin led her to the answer, pushing aside a twinge of regret.  Regina would never forgive him if she learned his part in this, but she had made her choice a long time ago.   

He didn’t have to say more.  Cora was more than capable of putting the pieces together herself; she was almost as good at exploiting loopholes as Rumplestiltskin.  He had found that out years before, much to his own heartbreak.  So Cora left, smug and victorious, ready to crush a heart that she _should_ have crushed years earlier and create her everlasting vengeance.  But it would serve his purposes well enough, Rumplestiltskin supposed, even if events were not turning out the way he had intended at all.

No, he had not wanted Cora—unpredictable, powerful, and heartless Cora—to cast his curse at all.  He had wanted someone _with_ a heart, someone who would feel the emptiness that came from embracing that darkness and shy away from it in the end.  He had wanted _Regina_ , of course, but Regina had gone and changed everything.

* * *

 

_15 Years Before the Curse_

Regina had never felt so free.  Two months after running away, she and Daniel had crossed three kingdoms and finally settled in a maritime kingdom ruled by a Dowager Queen for her young son.  Queen Elena was well known for both her dislike of magic and her love of horses, which meant that Cora was unlikely to locate them and Daniel was able to find a job.  His obvious touch with training horses quickly gained him a place in a nobleman’s household, and if people looked at him strangely for having his wife as his assistant, the whispers were nothing Regina couldn’t handle.  She was free, she was happy, and she need not worry about her ambitious mother forcing her to marry a king who was twice her age.

Her only regret was that her father had not been able to be there for her wedding.  It had been a simple affair one night when they’d stopped in Midas’ kingdom, just the two of them with only a pair of witnesses who Daniel had befriended in the tavern the night before as guests.  A friendly cleric had married them with a smile, and Regina had been in heaven ever since.  Now she had been married to her True Love for almost a month, and although Daniel often said how he wished he could provide a more luxurious life for her, Regina did not care.  She preferred hardships and happiness over wealth and misery.

“How was work?” she asked Daniel as he came home at the end of the day, giving him a smile and a kiss that promised more.  Regina never would tire of the ability to love him openly and fully, to show everyone what the former stable boy meant to her.  _Mother doesn’t understand. If she did, she’d be happy for me._

“The Count’s new stallion from Agrabah arrived today.  He’s a little wild, and doesn’t seem to like men.  Do you want to give him a try?”

“Do I?  Of course!” Regina kissed him again, but then sobered quickly. “Perhaps if I’m training him, you’ll be able to cook dinner.  I fear I’m a failure.”

The burned mess still smoldering on the stove was evidence of that; Cora had always told Regina that women of royal blood did not cook.  Fortunately, Daniel was the oldest of three brothers, and his mother had taught him many useful skills.

“Don’t call yourself that.”  Slipping around behind her, Daniel wrapped his arms around her and Regina leaned back into his embrace.  “You are brilliant, bold, and beautiful. I don’t care if you can’t cook.”

His compliments could still make her color a little, and Regina smiled bashfully.  “You’re too good to me.”

“I’m sure you’ll repay me somehow,” he growled in her ear, and Regina giggled.

“I bet I can—” she started to say, only to be cut off by a pounding at their door.

_Knock.  Knock.  KNOCK!_

“Coming!” Freeing herself from Daniel, Regina made her way towards the door.  She didn’t have far to go; their one room apartment was rather tiny, for all it was in a prime location.  Living over the town’s bakery made for great smells, warmth on cold nights, and free bread from time to time—but not for a lot of space.  She and Daniel didn’t mind, since it let them save money for something better, and their nest egg was growing nicely.

Regina opened the door, blinking in surprise.  “Alfonso,” she said with a welcoming smile.  “Why are you up so early?”

Alfonso was the night baker, the actual baker’s younger brother and already a good friend.  The burly baker lived in the other small apartment over the bakery while his brother owned a house further down the street, but Regina rarely saw him in daylight due to the hours he kept.  Alfonso would usually still be sleeping right now, and he looked tired indeed—but also very worried.  And out of breath.

“Can I come in?” he asked, chest heaving.  Was that nerves?

“Of course.” Regina stepped aside as Daniel approached, clearly having deemed the mess on the stove unsalvageable.  She closed the door.  “What’s wrong?”

“I overheard Maria talking to a pair of clerics a few minutes ago,” Alfonso replied, looking worriedly towards the open window and keeping his voice down.  “They were talkin’ about ye.”

“About us?” Daniel echoed.

Alfonso shook his head.  “No.  About Regina.  About how she’s obviously better born than—sorry, Daniel—than you deserve.  Maria thinks you stole her from someone.”

“I _what_?” Daniel gaped as Regina exclaimed:

“That’s ridiculous!  Daniel is my husband, no matter what my background is, and he is _my_ choice.”

Maria was the baker’s busybody second wife, the sister-in-law who hated Alfonso and her three stepchildren.  She had never been happy that her kind-hearted husband had rented their spare apartment to Regina and Daniel instead of giving it to her own wastrel brother, and she disliked the couple despite their efforts to be nice to her.  It was just like Maria to spread spiteful rumors with no basis in fact.

“I know that,” Alfonso replied gruffly.  “And even a fool can see how happy the two of ye are.  But…”

“I’ll talk to her,” Regina decided. “I’m sure we can work this out.”

Alfonso shook his head again.  “That’s why I’m here.  There was another man with ‘em.  He looked military, sounded like he was from one of the northern kingdoms.  He said they’d been looking for someone just like ye.”

“What?” Shock startled the whisper out of Regina, and she felt her heart sink.  She’d thought there were home free.  She knew enough about magic to know that it wasn’t infallible, and that if they got far enough away quickly enough, even her mother’s spells would not be able to find her.  But _this_ …

“Ye need to go,” Alfonso told them with a strained smile.  “I dun know what ye’re hiding from, but if ye want to stay away from it, ye need to run.”

* * *

 

_October 22, 2013_

“But why would he run away?”

Regina sank onto the bed as the whisper tore out of her, trying valiantly not to cry.  Her mother had been less than helpful when she’d called her—oh, Cora had promised to send Graham out beyond the town line and call local bus companies, but Regina knew in her heart that it was too late.  Whatever had happened, Graham had found no evidence of foul play.  The Sherriff had been so gentle when he’d asked her if it was possible that Henry had just run off on his own, and although Regina had snapped at her old friend that _of course_ Henry wouldn’t do such a thing, doubt started gnawing at her now that Graham was gone.

“I don’t know,” her husband replied gently, sitting down next to her and wrapping an arm around her.

Leaning into his familiar embrace, Regina closed her eyes on tears, but they started trickling down her face, anyway.  Their marriage had been so troubled once, but bringing Henry into their lives had brought them so much closer.  Even when they had their differences, Henry was the glue that held them together and made them into a family.  He was the best thing that had ever happened to either of them, and even when Henry was difficult, he was _their_ son.

“He _was_ a little obsessed with finding his birth mother…” he trailed off after a moment, and then shrugged.  “Maybe Graham’s right.  Maybe he went to find her.”

“He should have just _asked_ us.  One of us would have taken him anywhere,” Regina whispered against his chest, feeling utterly helpless.  “Now Mother is involved, and you know she’s going to demand we punish him.”

“He’s our son, Regina, not hers,” her husband replied with uncharacteristic firmness.  “What we do with him is up to us.  Though I can’t say that I’m against grounding him for the next year or two.”

The unexpected humor startled a watery laugh out of her.  Regina swallowed.  “Do you think he’ll come back, then?”

“Or we’ll find him.  We’ll always find him.  That’s what family does.”

Nodding, Regina pulled herself upright.  She’d had a good cry; now it was time to get to work finding her son.  Her smile felt surprisingly natural as she stood, holding a hand out to her husband. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, David,” she said honestly.

He smiled.  “Probably take over Storybrooke out of boredom.”

That drew another laugh out of her, and Regina squeezed his fingers.  “Probably,” she agreed.  “Now let’s go find our son.”

_Knock.  Knock!_

Then the unmistakable sound of the door opening overrode the knocking, and a familiar voice called out: “Mom?  Dad?  I’m home.”

* * *

 

Mary Margaret Blanchard sighed, but looking away from the stack of bills didn’t make them go away.  Or even shrink.  She knew she had enough money to pay her rent this month, but _how_ was she going to pay the next loan installment?  Payment was due in six days, and Mr. Gold was not exactly known for his compassion.  How her late father had managed to secure a loan from the scrooge of a pawnbroker Mary Margaret would never know, but Leonard Blanchard had blown it all on gambling instead of investing in the publishing company he had _supposedly_ been opening.  Even worse, he’d dragged her good-for-nothing husband down with him.  Not that Daniel had ever been much of a catch.  Mary Margaret’s father had pushed them into marrying after a youthful indiscretion resulted in an unexpected pregnancy, but now both her husband and unborn daughter were dead.  Mary Margaret had lost them both within a year of her beloved father’s death, which had sent her into her own downward spiral of drinking and gambling. 

She had her life back on track, now—she’d been sober for two years and was teaching elementary school again—but recovering from alcoholism didn’t equate to recovering from her debts.  Or her father’s.  She should never have co-signed those loans, but it was a little late for regrets.

An insistent ringing interrupted her musings, and Mary Margaret left the table covered in bills to answer the phone.

“Hello?”

“Mary Margaret,” a familiar voice said from the other end, making her heart sink. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Jefferson.  I thought I asked you to stop calling me.”

“I know you love to hear from me, doll.”

“I just…I don’t have time for this right now.”  She wanted to tell him to leave her alone, but Mary Margaret didn’t like being that mean to anyone.

Dating the well-to-do manager of Modern Fashions had been one of the worst mistakes of Mary Margaret’s life.  He’d seemed like such a gentleman, and he’d been there just when she’d been emerging from the throes of addiction and ready to life a little.  Everything had been fine, even fun, until he wanted her to quit her job and cater to his odd eccentricities full time, and Mary Margaret had not been prepared to go so far so soon.  Having daily tea parties was well and good when you had a different place to go home to, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to live like that.  Besides, she’d jumped—or been shoved—into a miserable marriage once.  So, in a rare act of courage, she had put her foot down and broken up with him.

Now he was stalking her, turning up wherever she was.  She saw him peeking through windows while she was teaching, bumped into him constantly at the grocery store, and even caught him following her to the library.  It was really starting to make her afraid.  Jefferson had a temper, ad although he’d only hit her a handful of times, she wasn’t sure he’d show such restraint now that she’d left him.

“Oh, just let me come over.  You know you want to see me,” he replied.

“Actually, um, I’m kind of busy tonight.”  She wished her hand wasn’t shaking, but at least he couldn’t see her.

“Tomorrow, then.”

“I have to grade papers.”  The words came out in a rush.  She _hated_ telling him no.  It had never gone well in the past.

Jefferson laughed merrily.  “That doesn’t sound like real fun, doll.”

“I have a name,” Mary Margaret objected weakly.

“Of course you do, Mary Margaret.  I just call you doll because I like you,” was the flippant answer.  “Tomorrow night.  I’ll pick you up at seven.  No excuses, okay?”

Her resistance crumbled.  At least it would be nice to have a meal she didn’t have to pay for.  “Okay,” Mary Margaret gave in.  “I’ll be…ready.”

* * *

 

“I have to go home, Tony,” Lacey told her towering companion.  She refused to think of him as her boyfriend, even though it felt like half the town was still pushing for her to marry Anthony Rose.  But she didn’t _feel_ much of anything for Tony, and hadn’t since they’d dated in high school.  Tony was terrible with kids and had the manners of a star hockey player—which he wasn’t.  All in all, he drove Lacey French insane, and she couldn’t imagine spending the rest of her life chained to him.

“We just got here, Lace.”

She rolled her eyes.  “We got here three hours ago, and I have to work in the morning.”

He snorted.  “How hard is it to run a library, anyway?”

“It requires a certain amount of functioning intelligence,” she retorted pointedly, finishing off her chardonnay and standing.

“C’mon,” Tony wheedled, turning on his barstool to look at her pleadingly as he completely missed the jibe Lacey had thrown his way.  “The place is hopping!”

Actually, the Rabbit Hole was doing anything _but_ hopping.  It was nearly eleven, and tonight clearly was a slow night.  Lacey didn’t seem to be the only one uninterested in partying this evening; the bar was halfway to empty and getting their fast.  Even Deputy Sherriff Keith Law had already left, although not without leering at Lacey in a hungry way that made her skin crawl.  Dealing with Keith was one of the few times she was grateful for Tony—at least he chased the creep off.  Tony was a bore, an absolute meathead who had taken one too many hockey sticks to the head in high school, but he was much more of a gentleman than the deputy was.

“I’ve got to go.”  Lacey leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.  Tony was her friend, even if she felt nothing romantic towards him.  “I’ll see you later.”

“Fine,” Tony grumbled, and Lacey hurried out the door before he could decide that buying her dinner gave him an open invitation to her apartment over the library.

* * *

 

Errol Forrester and Meleville Anzo had been roommates for as long as either could remember, back from before Errol married his late wife Olivia.  They’d been friends for that long, too; in fact, they’d known one another for so long that they often felt like they’d lived entire lives together already.  After Olivia had died giving birth to Jamie, Mel had moved back into the old apartment to help Errol look after his three year old son.  They had always been like brothers, so it made perfect sense for his best friend to move in and help once Errol decided that he wasn’t interested in marrying again.  Besides, they still worked together at Storybrooke’s Fire Department, and it simplified things when the captain and the senior lieutenant shared the same phone number.

Unfortunately, it also meant that they usually had to leave at the same time, even when it was nine o’clock at night and Jamie was already in bed.

“Mel!” Errol shouted up the stairs, slamming the phone down.  “Fire at Widow Morton’s!”

“Comin’ down!”  The booming voice came from inside the shower, and Errol heard his big friend turning off the water and bolting out of the shower.  Of course, Mel tripped on the shower curtain and fell to the floor, and a muffled swear echoed down the stairs as Errol headed for the door.

“I’ll be next door!  Get dressed, you big lug!”

Bolting out the door, Errol headed right, banging on the door of apartment 4C.  It took a few moments—Ms. Wells liked to go to bed earlier than her younger neighbors—but soon enough, Jane Wells opened the door.  She was a gray haired, matronly looking woman, with a kind ready and a willingness to help that Errol feared he too often took advantage of.

“Called out?” she asked by way of greeting.

“How in the world did you guess?” he replied with a lopsided smile.  “Do you mind?”

“Of course I don’t,” Snow White’s old nurse (if only she knew) told him.  “I’ll be right there.”

“You’re the best, Ms. Wells!” Robin Hood (in another life) replied, pecking her on the cheek before he rushed back over to his own apartment. 

By then his much-larger best friend had managed to throw clothes on and was thumping his way down the stairs.  It was a miracle that Jamie slept through living with the two of them, but the lad really did have a gift for sleeping soundly.   Given the number of phone calls or radio reports they received, Errol often wondered if it would be better to leave Jamie with his wonderful neighbor, but Jane Wells worked as the mayor’s maid during the day and besides, Jamie was his son.

But there was no time for that as the two firefighters hurried down the stairs, sprinting for the fire house that was just two doors down.  Of course, the major fire turned out to be just a kitchen fire, and old Widow Morton had managed to overreact yet _again_ and call in a “massive house fire” that was nothing of the sort.  Her tiny little oven fire certainly hadn’t needed an entire team of fire fighters to put it out, so Errol and Mel elected to walk home and send the engine back to the station.  It was a nice night, after all, unseasonably warm for October, and they’d still be home before ten.

“Someone get a new car?” Mel wondered as they walked by the Nolans’ house, pointing at a battered yellow bug.

“Doesn’t look that new,” Errol shrugged, and thought nothing more of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and please do let me know what you think! Encouragement is wonderful, and I’m always uber nervous when posting a new story. For anyone confused on the characters who have cursed names (but didn't in the show), here's a list:
> 
> Errol Forrester: Robin Hood  
> Jamie Forrester: Roland  
> Meleville Anzo: Little John  
> Jane Wells: Johanna (Snow's old nanny)  
> Tony Rose: Sir Gaston
> 
> Next up: Chapter Two: “Love is Weakness”, in which Regina meets the Savior and Gold runs into Cora. Back in the past, Regina and Daniel are caught by Cora, and then Snow and Regina meet once more.


	2. Love is Weakness

_October 23, 2011_

“Henry!” Regina leapt forward and wrapped her arms around her son, pulling him in close and holding on tight.  Just a few hours ago, she’d been worried that she’d never see her darling boy again, so right now, Regina could forgive anything just because Henry was home.

“Thank you so much for bringing him back,” David spoke up from her side, holding his hand out to the blonde woman who stood just inside the doorway, her hands stuffed uncomfortably in her pockets and looking terribly out of place. 

“Hey, you’re his parents.  It’s the least I could do,” she replied, shifting uneasily.  But at least she accepted David’s hand to shake.

“Yes, thank you,” Regina straightened enough to say, forcing herself to let go of Henry.  “You’ve given me back my life.”

“Mom,” Henry said in an undertone, looking embarrassed.

“Don’t get to excited, munchkin.  You’re definitely grounded,” David put in, and Henry sighed theatrically. 

“I’m Emma Swan,” the blonde introduced herself, and Regina’s world rocked on its axis.  _Emma,_ she remembered a voice telling her.  _Remember that name. Seal it in your mind and_ remember _that name._  

Memories crashed in: riding horses, learning magic, arguing with her mother, fighting alongside her sister—Regina staggered under the strain, swaying woozily.  The human brain, even one of a sorceress, wasn’t quite equipped to handle a sudden influx of a _second_ set of memories, a second life.  Her _real_ life.  She was still Regina—she supposed she should thank her mother for allowing her to keep her name when no one else got to—and she was married to…

“Excuse me,” Regina managed to say as she bolted from the room, her stomach rolling wildly and barely noticing as David introduced himself to his daughter.

* * *

 

_15 Years Before the Curse:_

They’d gathered everything that they could and run that very night, slipping out of town under the cover of darkness and heading east.  Regina toyed with the idea of retracing their old route backwards and trying to throw off their followers that way, but in the end they had opted to put more distance between themselves and their onetime home.  After a week of running, that method seemed to have worked.  No one bothered to look their way for more than a moment as they rode into the next town, and Regina and Daniel exchanged a silent look.  Regina nodded, and they both dismounted.  She took the horses towards a public stable while her husband headed into a nearby inn.

Hopefully, Daniel would be able to secure a room without depleting too much of their savings, Regina reflected as she settled both horses into stalls and started untacking them.  A stable boy offered to help, but she waved him away.  They didn’t have money to spare on a tip, and Regina was perfectly capable on her own.  Money troubles aside, the mere thought of a hot meal was almost enough to make her drool, and sleeping in a bed would be sheer paradise.  They hadn’t dared stop for long during the last week, and had spent the eight consecutive days sleeping in the forest.  Regina was prepared to face plenty of hardships in the name of love, but being prepared to do so didn’t mean she enjoyed it.  She was ready for something nicer.

“You look a fright, darling,” a familiar voice said, startling Regina into dropping the saddle she’d just pulled off her chestnut gelding.

“Mother!”

In her worst nightmares, Cora always looked just like this: impeccably put together without even a hair out of place, gliding over the dirt floor like her expensive shoes never even touched the ground.  Regina had not seen her mother in almost two and a half months, and she had hoped to be free of her forever.  She loved her mother, but Cora had forced her to choose this life, and Regina would not look ashamed.  Even if she knew she looked nothing like the beautiful and refined daughter Cora had raised her to be, dressed in worn and stained clothes she had bought from a peasant three weeks earlier.

“Regina.”  Cora stepped forward to embrace her before Regina could pull away.  “I’ve been so worried for you.”

“I’m fine, Mama.”  She returned the hug; Regina _did_ miss home.  She just wanted freedom more.

“Of course you are. You’re my daughter, and you’re strong.” Cora pulled back to smile at her, and a chill ran down Regina’s spine.  She _knew_ that look, and it never meant good things.

“I’m not going back,” she said quickly.  Forcefully.  “You can’t make me marry King Leopold.  Daniel and I are already married.”

“Oh, you silly girl,” her mother laughed, her hands tightening on Regina’s arms painfully.  “Leopold doesn’t want you anymore.  You’re tarnished goods.”

Relief made her go a little limp despite the tight grip on her arms and her mother’s caustic tone.  “Good.”

“Regina!”

Hearing Daniel’s cry made Regina twist around, but she couldn’t go very far with the way her mother still gripped her arms.  Two guards in livery Regina didn’t recognize held her husband, dragging him into the stable while he fought their hold.  Regina swung back to glare at her mother.

“Let him go!”

“Now, why would I do that?” Cora purred, and then turned to the guards. “Bring him here.”

“Daniel, I’m sorry,” Regina whispered as the guards complied.  Whatever her mother wanted, it would not be good.

Her True Love smiled.  “Don’t be.  I love you.”

“And I love you!”

“How cute,” Cora interjected drily, letting Regina go…only to plunge her hand straight into Daniel’s chest.

_“No!_ ” Regina lunged for her mother, but slammed into an invisible wall, bouncing off and having to catch her balance.  Meanwhile, Cora withdrew her hand, now holding Daniel’s still-beating heart.  Daniel and Regina both stared at it in shock.  How could Daniel be alive without his heart?  What kind of horrible magic was this?  “Mother, please!”

“Be silent, darling, and listen carefully,” was the cold reply.  “Because you’re going to do exactly as I say if you want your dear Daniel to live.”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Regina vowed, her eyes flicking to Daniel.  He still looked stricken, numb, too horrified to speak.  But she would do anything to save him.  Anything at all.  “Just don’t hurt him.”

Cora smiled.  “You will return home with me,” she said bluntly.  “You will resume your proper place as my daughter, and you will speak of this so-called marriage to no one.”

“Our marriage is legal!” Daniel burst in.  “A cleric—”

That made Cora snort.  “It’s amazing what elastic memories the members of the Holy Order have when properly compensated.”

“You can’t do that!” Regina objected.

“I already have,” was the serene response.  “Now, as I was saying: you will return home, and conduct yourself accordingly.  Your marriage does not exist.  _My_ marriage will take place in three months, and you _will_ attend with a happy smile on your face.”

“Your…marriage?” Shock made it hard to get the words out.  “But Daddy…”

“Oh, you didn’t hear.  Your father tragically died searching for you right after you disappeared.  It was a terrible accident, but he was determined to bring your _kidnapper_ to justice.”

Regina felt like someone had punched her in the gut.  Her father was _dead_?  But he had always been there for her.  Her father had been the one person whose love she was always certain of, the one who had encouraged her to follow her heart and be herself.  He had taught her to ride, had taken her hunting, had introduced her to Daniel and never once argued when they spent time together.  His arms had been the ones that held her when she had nightmares, and Regina had always known that he was the best father in the entire world.  And now he was _gone_?  Her whisper was ragged.  “How?”

“A riding accident, of course.”

“You did this!”  Rage like she had never known before tore the words out of her, but Regina knew she was right, and her mother’s smug smile did nothing to disabuse her of the notion.  She moved forward again, furious and needing to hurt someone, but Cora’s magic slammed into her once more and held her fast, tearing her feet off the ground.  Regina hung there helplessly, staring at her mother’s outstretched hand and hating magic more than ever.  Once she’d calmed down a little, Cora chided her:

“Behave yourself, dear.  You wouldn’t want to get your dear kidnapper hurt.”

“He didn’t kidnap me!”

“Of course he didn’t.  But you’ll never tell anyone that if you want him to live.”

There was no way out.  Nothing she could do.  Her mother _would_ kill Daniel if Regina misbehaved, and all she could do was throw her _husband_ —he would always be that, no matter what Cora said—a helpless look and plead for his forgiveness.  Daniel, bless his good soul, nodded to her, and she could read the silent look on his face.  _Do what you have to do.  We’ll find a way out of this.  Together._

“Of course,” she whispered, and was glad when her feet touched the ground.  Her mother would expect an apology, and maybe if Regina could play the dutiful daughter long enough, she could figure out a way to help Daniel.  “I’m sorry.” 

“Much better.”  Cora smiled.  “Do you understand what you will do?”

“I will behave myself and come to your wedding.  And smile.  And tell no one Daniel and I are married,” Regina recited mechanically.  But she had to know, even though she was pretty sure she had already guessed.  “Who are you marrying?”

“King Leopold, of course.  He is desperate for a mother for his dear daughter Snow, and his old love for me has been reawakened.”  There was that smug and calculating look that Regina hated so much, and she didn’t want to ask what ‘old love’ her mother was talking about.  But then Cora’s eyes went hard, and she looked at Regina coldly.  “I will be Queen, and nothing, not insolent children nor disposable stable boys, will stand in my way.  Do you understand?”

What else could she say to that?  “Yes, Mother,” Regina whispered.

She would save Daniel.  Somehow.  She would save him.

* * *

 

Gold locked up the shop late that night; he had been conducting inventory and hadn’t precisely lost track of time so much as he simply did not care what time it was.  He had intended to finish the inventory the next night, but given how he knew that the only person whom he cared to spend time with was busy that evening, remaining in the pawnshop was no loss.  So, when he finished the inventory around eight, he found another several reasons to stick around; reorganizing his records, cleaning an old lamp, and then finally reading a bit of a book until his eyes were tired and he decided to head home.  He’d skipped dinner again, but that really wasn’t anything new.

Stepping outside into the crisp night air, Gold turned to lock the door without bothering to look down the street.  Unfortunately, when he _did_ turn away from the shop, the one person on the street was the last person he wanted to see at all.

“Good evening, Mr. Gold,” she said, smiling a too-sweet smile that was designed to be seen right through. 

“Madam Mayor,” he greeted her coldly.

“Working late, are we?” Cora cooed.

“No more than usual.”

Cora cocked her head at him, perfectly coifed in her business suit and still smiling that secretive smile.  “And you forgot to eat dinner, didn’t you?  You always do when you’re working too hard.  You poor thing.”

“I’m not looking for your pity, dearie,” he snapped, and turned away, heading for the black Cadillac waiting in the lot beside the shop.  For once, Cora didn’t move to step in his way, and she didn’t even object.  She actually let him get a half-dozen limping steps before saying:

“Tonight, dear.”

Gold stopped mid-stride, almost tripping as some invisible force seized a hold of him.  For a moment, breathing was almost impossible.  Electricity seemed to sizzle down his spine, and Gold found himself utterly unable to walk away.  This had happened before, he knew, but it never made any sense.  He never understood _why_ , and that fact made him coldly furious as he turned to glare at Cora.

“Excuse me?”

“You haven’t eaten dinner,” she said, stepping forward to put a hand on his arm; it made Gold’s skin crawl.  “Come share it with me.”

* * *

 

After a few minutes vomiting in the bathroom, Regina washed her mouth out and then headed back into the living room, where she found David and Henry entertaining their unexpected guest.  Henry, as usual, clutched his favorite book— _The book.  The curse.  Oh, my God._   Regina almost fled again, but she steeled herself and pasted a smile on her face, striding into the room like nothing was wrong.  There was so much to think about, so many memories to sort through, and so much to do, but none of that mattered right now.  Henry had brought the Savior here…because the Savior was Henry’s mother.

“Regina,” David Nolan, Prince Charming, her bloody _husband_ here in Storybrooke, turned to her with a smile.  “Emma is Henry’s birth mother.”

Apparently they’d talked a bit while Regina Nolan had been busy being swallowed by Princess Regina, because David Nolan would never have figured that out on his own, and Regina didn’t _think_ Henry had said so before she’d rushed off.  It was hard to remember; the first few moments after meeting Emma were a blur.  Still, she nodded, lowering herself carefully onto the couch next to Henry.  “I’d guessed as much.”

Henry beamed at her, and David smiled blandly.  He really had been turned into the perfect husband, hadn’t he?  Happy to be a stay at home dad, never one to criticize her, and always supportive of her career.  He was a bit indecisive and seemed to want Regina to make the decisions for him, but that was what Mother would have wanted, wasn’t it? _She created her perfect little world, with me married to the prince she always wanted._   It took all of Regina’s self-control to keep smiling.  To look at the wide-eyed blonde girl who was her _niece—_ and not much younger than her!—and not say something that Emma would not understand.  Or not point out that David was her father, and how messed up was it that Henry’s adopted father was also his grandfather?

“So, if you don’t mind my asking,” Regina said carefully, mindful of the still-spooked look on Emma’s face, “I thought you didn’t want any contact with Henry?  When we adopted him, the agency told us that the records were sealed and we would never hear from you.”

“I found her on the internet,” Henry volunteered when Emma floundered, obviously not wanting to admit in front of a ten year old that she hadn’t wanted him.  A surge of possessive satisfaction reared up in Regina—Henry was _her_ son, not Emma’s, and she wasn’t giving him up no matter what—but she pushed it down.   “I might have, um, borrowed Dad’s credit card.”

“Henry!” David chided him, but as usual, David wasn’t terribly assertive.  Cora had made sure he wouldn’t be, hadn’t she?

“You’re definitely grounded,” she told her son, accustomed to being the parent who had to put her foot down.

“But Mom, it was for a good cause!”

“That doesn’t matter,” Regina replied sternly.  “You should have asked.”

A ten year old pout: “You would have said no.”

“You never know until you try, now, do you?”

“You would have said no!  You always do!”  Suddenly, Henry was on his feet and bolting up the stairs.  The sudden tantrum wasn’t terribly surprising; Regina could tell when her child was exhausted, which he was, and Henry did have a bit of a point.  How many times had he tried to convince both his parents that his fairytale book portrayed the actual people who lived in Storybrooke, only to have his mother tell him that he was imagining things?  Regina felt horrible for that now, but before she’d known who she was, the Regina Mills Nolan who the curse had created certainly wasn’t the type to believe in fairytales.

“Is he okay?” Emma asked worriedly, glancing up the stairs.

“He’ll be fine,” David said in that soothing voice that _so_ didn’t belong to Charming.  “He’s ten, and he’s tired.  I’ll go check on him.”

David rose to do just that, and Regina almost asked him not to leave her alone with this strange woman who was also his child.  But David wouldn’t understand, so she kept her mouth shut and looked back at Emma.  “So…do I need to be worried about Henry hunting his father down?”

“Nope.”  Wide eyes turned decisive on that one, and Regina felt a shameful flush of relief.  “He doesn’t even know.”

“That’s good.  I take it that you…were surprised by this?  And I’m sorry, by the way, that he dragged you out of your life.  If Henry hadn’t run off on his own, we could have made this a lot easier on everyone.”

“Kid’s having a rough time.  I get it.  Happens.”

_You have no idea.  He’s the only child growing up in this entire town,_ Regina realized, and pasted on another smile.  “Yes.   It does.”

“You know…maybe it’s none of my business, but the whole way here from Boston, Henry kept going on about how this entire town is full of cartoon characters from that book,” Emma said in a rush.  “You know.  His dad is Prince Charming, his shrink is Jiminy Cricket…”

“Right.  That.”  Regina really needed to take a closer look at that book.  What did it say about her?  She knew she’d not always been the best person; her mother had given her very little choice.  But what did the book tell _Henry_ she had been in the Enchanted Forest?  “It’s uh, complicated.”

“Sounds like.  Look, he’s your kid, and I’d better be going.”

_When she comes, things will change.  Don’t let her leave!_   Damn him, the bastard had probably been right.  Pre-curse Regina had never expected to adopt a son who turned out to be her step great-nephew, but here she was, and here Emma was.  Their only hope of escaping her mother laid in making Snow’s apparently hard-edged daughter believe.  And stay.  First, Emma had to stay.

“It’s late,” Regina heard herself say.  “Why don’t you stay the night, and get a fresh start in the morning?”

“I couldn’t—”

“Nonsense,” she cut her off.  “We have a spare room, and it’s no trouble.  And besides, Henry will never forgive either of us if you leave now.”

“I…all right.  Sure.  Thank you,” Emma said a little awkwardly, and Regina tried to give her a reassuring smile.

_This is going to take a lot of work._

* * *

 

_15 Years Before the Curse:_

“I always wanted a sister,” Snow told her as Regina sat down next to the dark-haired princess on the gigantic bed. 

Despite herself, Regina smiled; it wasn’t her soon to be ten year old stepsister’s fault that Cora had found her.  No, the cleric who had married her and Daniel had apparently sold _that_ secret, which wound up with Daniel locked deep in a dungeon that no one but her mother could reach.  Cora had promised that Regina would be able to see her husband if she behaved herself, but after two weeks back at home, Cora had yet to let her.  But that wasn’t Snow’s fault.  Snow had kept her secret and allowed Regina to run away with Daniel, and Snow seemed to understand how badly hurt Regina was.

“Me, too,” she admitted, surprising herself.  There were seven years between them—almost eight, as Regina would be eighteen in a few months’ time—but she’d felt a bond with Snow when she rescued her from her runaway horse.

_A runaway horse that was obviously Mother’s fault.  Just like Daddy’s death was._   Regina still felt a pang of pain every time she thought of her father; she went to visit his grave almost every day, but it didn’t help.  She missed him so terribly, and no matter how many lectures she endured from her mother on the subject, she was _not_ going to see King Leopold as her father.  He seemed like a kind enough man—and had already decreed that Regina would be known as a princess by courtesy, as his future stepdaughter—but he wasn’t her father.  She’d _had_ a father, who was now gone because he stood in the way of her mother’s dreadful ambition.

But now she also had a stepsister, someone to talk to, and maybe, someone who would make her feel like she was not so dreadfully alone.

“I’m sorry about what happened with Daniel,” Snow said quietly, looking at Regina with big eyes.  “He seemed so nice.”

“He’s not dead,” Regina whispered, barely daring to say the words out loud.  The official story was that Daniel had kidnapped her, defiled her, and then Cora’s men had rescued her.  Daniel had supposedly died in the struggle, and Regina knew that if she ever came out and said otherwise, Cora _would_ kill him.  But Snow had kept one secret of hers already, and if Regina didn’t share her pain with someone, she would burst.  “Mother is keeping him to make sure I behave myself.”

“That’s horrible!”

“You can’t tell anyone.  Please.  She’ll only kill him if people know,” she pleaded.

“I won’t,” Snow vowed.  “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thanks.”  Regina hugged her soon to be sister, wanting to cry and refusing to let herself.  She’d cried enough already, both for her father and for Daniel.  The only way she was going to survive was to face the future with her head held high, and try to find some way to rescue her True Love before it was too late.  Until then, however, she had to do what she’d promised her mother she’d do, and be the perfectly behaved princess.

“That’s what sisters do.  They stick together,” Snow said, her smile innocent and pure.  Still, it managed to tug on Regina’s broken heart.  At least she wasn’t alone.  Regina wasn’t sure how she was going to face the future, but at least Snow gave her someone to face it with.

“And we will,” she agreed.  “We’ll look after one another, right?

“Definitely.”

* * *

 

“Thanks, Ashley,” Lacey said to the pregnant girl as she handed her a pair of twenties.  Ashley Boyd was chronically in need of money, and even though Lacey wasn’t terribly well off herself, her job as the town librarian still paid better than Ashley’s maid job at Granny’s.

“It’s good practice,” Ashley replied with a shrug and a smile, gesturing at her stomach.  “Besides, Renee was an angel.  Ate her dinner like a champ and went right to sleep.  I only hope mine is so well behaved for whoever adopts her or him.”

“It’ll take a few years, I promise,” Lacey replied with a crooked smile.  She couldn’t imagine having given up her child, but it _was_ Ashley’s choice.

“Well, I guess I’ll never be bothered by it,” the other girl said with a casual shrug that Lacey knew was forced.  “Good night.”

“‘Night, Ash.”  

Closing the door, Lacey leaned against it with a sigh.  She and Ashley had never really been close, but lately they’d become better friends.  After all, Lacey knew what it was like to be a single mother-to-be, though at least Ashley knew who her child’s father was.  Lacey had been all but ostracized in the town for refusing to volunteer that information, but the truth was, she didn’t know.  All she remembered was some very drunken nights where she had made some huge mistakes, and found herself left with _someone’s_ legacy in her belly.  Despite Doctor Whale’s best efforts, she’d refused to get a paternity test done, too; Renee was _her_ daughter and no one else’s.  The most common theory in Storybrooke was that Renee was Tony Rose’s daughter, but Lacey had never been able to see any traits they shared, and besides which, Renee absolutely hated Tony.  Her daughter had always been a great judge of character, though, which was one of the many reasons why Lacey stayed single. 

Her father never had accepted that, of course, which meant they spoke very rarely, except when he was trying to push her into marrying Tony for ‘her own good’.  Moe French refused to help Lacey pay for anything, including the high medical bills for Renee’s care when she’d gotten pneumonia the year before; he seemed convinced that if he didn’t talk to his ‘loose’ daughter, he could set her morals straight.  But Lacey had managed, working an extra job in addition to the one at the library, and she’d gotten Renee healthy once more without her father’s help.  Still, the fact that Moe refused to even visit his granddaughter broke her heart a little bit every time.

Thinking of her daughter made Lacey need to check on her, so she crept back into the bedroom to make sure Renee really was still sleeping.  She was curled up in her little yellow sleeper, cuddling her favorite stuffed crocodile, with curly brown hair obscuring her face.  What Lacey could see of her expression was peaceful, and when Renee woke up, she knew her little girl would look at her with warm brown eyes that always reminded Lacey of someone she couldn’t quite remember.  Renee was a usually a cheerful child; she had tantrums sometimes, like any three year old did, but overall, she was a dream to raise.  In fact, being her mother was easier than Lacey would have ever expected, particularly when she was doing it on her own in a small one room apartment over the library.

Leaning over to brush a quick kiss against her daughter’s forehead, Lacey then quickly turned to changing into her own nightclothes.  Something in her heart fluttered every time she saw her little girl, and Lacey didn’t care what people thought.  Her life was her own, and she was going to live it to the fullest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the lovely folks who left comments and kudos on the first chapter! I’m floored by the response to this story. Obviously, this chapter starts showing you how different Cora’s Storybrooke is from the one in the show, with more differences to follow. 
> 
> Next up: Chapter Three: “A World Unexpected”, where time starts moving, Regina faces off with her mother, and Rumplestiltskin wakes up (at the most inopportune time).


	3. A World Unexpected

Gold’s cell phone rang as they were finishing up dessert.  Cora hadn’t cooked, of course, so the meal was delicious, little though Gold had any desire to share it with her.  Storybrooke’s mayor was very much the queen in her own little domain, and even pretend queens didn’t cook.  No, Cora Mills had a regular maid in Ms. Wells and an on-call cook who lived in a small guest house out back, which meant her mansion was always immaculate and the meals always exactly what she wanted. Gold found himself sharing those meals with depressing frequency, even though he never really _wanted_ to.  Cora seemed to have some sort of hold over him that he could never quite define, even though letting her touch him made his skin crawl.

“Excuse me,” he said politely, rising with the help of his cane.  Gold headed for the window while he fished his phone out; not too many people had his cell number, and if one of them was calling him this late at night, it was undoubtedly important.  Doubly so if it was Dove, who was more than capable of solving most problems on his own.

But he happened to glance at the phone number before answering, and although it was one Gold recognized, he couldn’t for the life of him imagine why Cora’s daughter would be calling him at this hour.  Particularly when he was _here._   Annoyance mixed with his already smoldering temper to make his voice sharp when he answered:

“I’m a little busy, dear.  What do you want?”

“Good to hear your voice, too, Gold,” Regina snapped on the other end of the line, but she sounded a little…off.  Perhaps she was simply tired.

“Why are you calling me?”

“I had a visitor this evening,” the mayor’s daughter replied levelly.  “By the name of Emma Swan.”

“Did you indeed?” Gold asked automatically.

The world rocked under Rumplestiltskin’s feet, and he had to lean heavily on his cane to keep from showing it.  He had been prepared for this day—prepared for the onrushing memories, the sudden sense of self, the burst of knowledge filling his mind.  But that had been twenty-eight years ago, and Rumplestiltskin had been very different then.  Now it was a human mind filled with inhuman thoughts, with magic, with fury, with the soft voice of a deadly curse whispering in the back of his mind.  In the span of a second, Mr. Gold was pushed into an unused corner of that very vast mind and Rumplestiltskin emerged, all teeth and claws and razor sharp wits.  He never so much as twitched; Gold’s iron self-control helped there, for Rumplestiltskin had no problem using his cursed self where he proved useful.  Later, he would have to dig into that alter-ego, but at the moment, he had other problems to deal with.

_Problems._ What a mild word to describe his current situation.

“You _do_ know what I’m saying, don’t you?” Regina’s voice interrupted his musings, sounding angry and desperate at the same time.

“Of course I do,” he snapped.  “But I’m a bit occupied at the moment.”

That took a moment to sink in, and then she asked: “Are you at my mother’s?”

Clearly, Regina was in full ownership of her memories as well, and had probably had a bit longer to swallow them than he currently possessed, because she sounded a little bit concerned.  He snorted.  “Right in one.  I will talk to you tomorrow.”

Rumplestiltskin—Gold, he supposed—hung up the phone before Regina could say anything else.  He didn’t want her pity, and he certainly didn’t want to be _here_.  Already the knowledge of what was happening had sunk in: he had insisted that Cora insert a caveat (“Please”) in the curse for him, and clearly she had done the same for herself as well.  Twice over, if he recalled correctly, and that realization set off a sinking feeling in his stomach.  The Dark One lurking inside him wanted to snarl, wanted to rip the Evil Queen’s lungs out and make her eat them.  But he could not.  Firstly, doing so would be, at a minimum, difficult without magic.  Secondly, any attempt to harm Cora would undoubtedly tell her that Rumplestiltskin had indeed woken up, and her knowing this early had no place in any of his plans.

So.  The Savior had arrived, and Gold had been pushed aside, having served his purpose.  But now he would have to serve another purpose, to be a shield to hide behind whilst Rumplestiltskin went to work moving the proper pawns into place, making sure the curse was broken so that he could find his son.  For now, that meant Rumplestiltskin would have to play along with this travesty, little though he wanted to.  Even though he knew what that meant, and _not_ letting his body turn into a ball of tension was hard.  _Gold didn’t like her either,_ he realized dispassionately, making his way back to the table.  _At least my cursed self possessed some modicum of taste.  That should make this easier._

“Who was that?” Cora asked as he slipped the phone back into his pocket and headed back for the table.

“No one important,” Rumplestiltskin answered dismissively.  “Nothing that cannot wait until tomorrow.”

Cora didn’t care about Gold’s daily routine, he knew.  She allowed him power in the town because _she_ had power over _him_ , and whatever matter had demanded his attention, however briefly, was just a minor annoyance for Cora.  A distraction.  _I can use that,_ Rumplestiltskin thought, desperately trying to distract himself from the knowledge of what that “Tonight, dear,” from earlier meant.  Cora didn’t want to control his life, fortunately; she reserved that overbearing domination for her daughter’s daily life, not his.  That freedom would be useful when it came time to break the curse—necessary, actually.  Cora was too smart to let it happen easily, and he and Regina had always known that they would have to shield the Savior as best they could if they wanted the curse to be broken at all.  After all, Regina knew from personal experience just how vicious Cora could be.

And so did Gold, actually, and it was all Rumplestiltskin could do to keep himself from shuddering at that thought.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Cora purred.  “Don’t sit down.  Let’s go upstairs.”

Upstairs.  Upstairs was better than downstairs, because Cora’s bag of nastier tricks lived downstairs.  Upstairs usually meant she just wanted sex, and even if _that_ was preferable to the alternative, it still made Rumplestiltskin’s stomach roll.  Looking at her smile made his eyes narrow, and Rumplestiltskin thanked his lucky stars that Gold hadn’t liked this arrangement, either.  Of course, Gold hadn’t known about the magic that forced him to join her when he heard those particular words, but he’d known _something_ made him keep coming back to her.  Gold had thought it was just an unhealthy habit.  Gold had been wrong.

Cora leaned forward to kiss him when he dug his heels in, her hands flat against his chest.  “Don’t be difficult,” she murmured.  “Now, if you please.”

That magic hit hard, and almost made his feet start moving on his own.  But Gold had been prone to resisting, too, even if Rumplestiltskin knew it was pointless.  “And if I want to be difficult?” he asked tightly.

“Then we’ll go downstairs,” was the blunt reply.

“There’s no need for that.”  He didn’t like the way sudden fear made him shiver, but Cora clearly did; she licked her lips.

“Oh, but I think there is.  You’re in a mood tonight, aren’t you?”  The fingers of her left hand touched his face, feather light, while her right hand moved downwards, undoing his belt.

“Long day at the shop,” Rumplestiltskin tried to deflect her, tensing.

“Hmm.  What a pity.  Downstairs it is.”

“Cora—”

“ _Now._ ”

The word tugged on the magic inherent in the curse itself, and forced his feet into motion.  Rumplestiltskin gritted his teeth—Gold would have been furiously unhappy, too, thankfully—and headed down the stairs, hating Cora’s basement haunt more than ever now that he was stuck with a lame leg for the first time in three centuries.  She knew he hated that, of course, because Gold had, but she was patient enough, floating down the stairs behind him like they were about to meet for some sort of romantic if twisted tryst.  Cora knew it was nothing of the sort, of course; she’d never been the sort to delude herself.  No, she was reveling in her power, reveling in how she could force him to her will and even curtail his resistance.  Her commands did not last too long—or at least the “now” one didn’t; the other seemed to last the night, unfortunately—but they did the job well enough.

Briefly, Rumplestiltskin contemplated using his own caveat to get himself out of this situation, but he discarded the notion just as quickly.  If he did, particularly now, Cora would begin to suspect.  Gold had used a _please_ on her once or twice by accident, but had never caught on to exactly what that word did; usually, he’d been too…out of sorts…when he’d used the word to notice anything else.  But Gold hadn’t been the type of man who asked for anything, and he certainly didn’t enjoy pleading.  Which meant any use of it now would only show Rumplestiltskin’s hand far sooner than he wanted it to.

That meant he had to go along with this.  No matter how painful it got.

* * *

 

_4 Days Before the Curse:_

Like mother, like daughter.  Regina also chose to disguise herself as a rat, although at least she was less theatrical about appearing once the guards were gone.  Rumplestiltskin left the tray of maggoty food on the ground where the guard had thrown it; his curse meant he didn’t need to eat, and he certainly had no desire to eat _that_.  Besides which, unexpected visitors were so much more interesting.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” the “Dark Princess” said by way of greeting, flicking her eyes at the tray.  “How appetizing.”

“How nice of you to visit me, dearie,” he giggled with perhaps too much madness.  The time stuck in solitary confinement was really beginning to grate, particularly when he _knew_ the end was so close.  Cora was making her lists and tying things up, preparing to break Regina’s heart once and for all.  Regina didn’t know that, of course, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t afford to tell her.  So he laughed.

“Cut the crap, Rumple,” his student snapped.  “I don’t have much time.”

“Oh, of course you don’t.”  He cocked his head at her.  “Can’t have your sister knowing that you’re visiting the terrible prisoner.”

“I still don’t know why you got yourself locked up in the first place.  _I_ could have gotten Snow to tell me the name—I’m going to be Emma’s aunt, after all.  Why the theatrics?”

“Your mother, of course,” he answered seriously.  “Better for her to think me powerless, or at least…the enemy of her enemy.  And best to leave you out of this completely, I think.”

“It’s your plan,” she sighed.  “I don’t like it, though.  Are you sure we can’t just stop the curse?  That would be a lot easier than making sure it’s broken.”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head.  “The curse _will_ be cast.”  _I_ need _it to be cast,_ he didn’t say.  “But wouldn’t you rather it be under controlled circumstances?  To knowwho can break it?”

Regina waved a dismissive hand.  “Yes, yes.  I know the arguments.  Fine.  I’m in.  I’ll even commit my niece’s name to memory so that I can wake up from whatever nightmare Mother puts me in.  Then what?”

“Then we talk,” he answered seriously, all high-pitched and giggling mannerisms of the imp gone.   “Find me when the Savior arrives.  Waste no time.”

* * *

 

Regina did not waste time.  Aching and uncomfortable, never having even made it home the night before, Rumplestiltskin—Gold—opened his pawnshop the next morning with a scowl on his face.  The mayor’s daughter turned out to be his first customer, dressed immaculately for the job she was already late for.  Regina, of course, was Storybrooke’s chief administrative officer, or her mother’s principal assistant.  Cora would have accepted nothing less for her daughter when she built the curse, Rumplestiltskin reflected, just like she’d plunged her stepdaughter into misery and poverty while she married off Regina to the man she’d wanted her daughter to marry so many  years before.

That marriage was twisted, even for Cora, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t envy Regina for having woken up inside it.  He was just grateful that he hadn’t come to and found himself married to _Cora_ , because that was the only thing he could think of that would be worse than the events of the previous night.

“You knew!” Regina snarled by way of greeting.  “You could have told me!”

“Knew what, dear?” He cocked his head at her curiously, just to watch her fume.  Sometimes poking the infamous Mills temper was amusing, and it was far safer to do it to the woman who didn’t have such a hold over him.

“You _knew_ that she was Henry’s mother when you set that adoption up.  You _let_ me adopt my sister’s grandson—David’s grandson!—and didn’t say a damn word.  How could you?”

Perhaps he had stoked that temper enough for one day.  “I hate to disappoint you, Regina, but I didn’t know.  I was as under the curse as much you were until last night.”

“There’s no way you didn’t set this up.  It’s too perfect.”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “Believe what you will, but as you say, it _is_ rather perfect.  I trust you convinced your unexpected houseguest to stay for a while?”

“David talked her into staying a few days so Henry could get to know her.  Apparently she’s a ‘bail-bondswoman’ or something, and her job lets her travel,” Regina replied with a sigh.  “But I doubt that’ll be long enough.”

“No, it won’t,” he agreed unhappily.  “Your mother is far too clever for that.”

“Says the man who spent the night at her house last night.  Weren’t you two _over_ long before the curse?”

“Rather,” Rumplestiltskin replied dryly, trying not to think about the night before.  He’d _tried_ not to anger Cora.  Really, he had.  But stopping himself from mouthing off to her had been hard.  His only consolation was that apparently Gold had moments like that, too—Gold was _him_ , after all, for all he was different—but that also meant that Cora was an expert at beating those moments out of him.  Well, not beating per se, but she certainly knew how to cause pain that didn’t leave lasting marks.  Cora had discovered far too many ‘toys’ here in the Land Without Magic, and Rumplestiltskin was already beginning to regret letting her cast the curse.  Regina would have been so much better.

“Then why the hell did David see your car there when he went for a run this morning?” Regina demanded pointedly.

“It’s complicated, and that’s all you need to know.”

“Gee, that’s helpful, Rumple.  Sell me something else.” She rolled her eyes.  “Look, you can keep your damn secrets.  I just want to know what your end goal is.  Are you still on board with breaking the curse, or are you my mother’s newest happy little boy toy?”

Quashing his temper took an effort, and even then his fury colored his tone:  “Is that what you take me for?  Do you know me so little as that?”

“I don’t know.  You’re the one sleeping with my _mother_ ,” Regina shot back.

“That was not _my_ idea, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin snapped before he could stop himself.  “Your _mother_ cast the curse.  Storybrooke was made in accordance with _her_ desires.  She placed us all like pieces on a board—you married to your brother-in-law and me with her.  Do you want to be married to David Nolan?”

“Of course not!”

“Well, there you have it then.”

She glared; he glared.  Yelling at one another had become a major part of their relationship, but that was hardly unexpected.  Rumplestiltskin supposed that he should have expected some sort of reaction like this out of her, but truth be told, he hadn’t really gotten past his own reactions.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t want to examine his own feelings on the matter, didn’t want to think about how he felt after having been tied down to a bed in Cora’s basement for the night and—

_Don’t think about it.  Dwelling on it will not make things better._

He had to tell himself that.  Otherwise he’d continue on the downward spiral Gold had already been in the midst of…and Rumplestiltskin would not allow himself to do that.  Gold had been a mess inside, masking it with nastiness and sarcasm, damaged and frightened too often.  Rumplestiltskin, however, was not human.  He could deal with the worst Cora had to offer and come out of it on top.

He had to.

* * *

 

Her life had become seriously weird.  First, the son she had almost (but never, not really, not for a single moment) forgotten she had shown up on her doorstep in Boston.  On her _birthday_.  Right after she’d wished not to spend the day alone.  And then he had insisted that she take him home—saying that he’d say she kidnapped him if she tried to call the police, smart little bastard that he was—so that he could get to know her.  Even worse, the kid claimed that he lived in a town full of fairy tale characters!  And of course, his grandmother was the Evil Queen, right out of _Snow White_.  Poisoned apples and all, apparently.

The only thing that would have been better than that would be if he claimed his adopted mother was the Evil Queen.  Now _that_ would have been ironic, particularly because the woman in question seemed to be perfectly nice, even taking her understandable freak out into account.  Emma supposed that if she’d gotten a kid in a closed adoption, and then that kid’s birth mother showed up with no warning, she’d probably have freaked out a little bit, too.  Regina had recovered pretty damn quickly, all in all, and Emma found that she didn’t even really dislike her kid’s mother.  She liked David better, of course—he was hard not to like, just an all around nice and friendly man—but it seemed like Henry had pretty good parents.  She’d wondered from time to time who her son had wound up with, if he was happy, and Emma was glad to find out that she hadn’t been lying to herself when she’d told herself he had to be.

The Nolans had even offered her a room to sleep in, and Emma always kept a change of clothes in her trunk of the bug.  She could buy whatever else she needed, stay for a week or so to make sure Henry was really happy, get to know him a little, and then head back to Boston.  Simple.

“Look!” Henry pointed, grabbing her hand.  Emma was _supposed_ to be walking him to the bus, but somehow she got the feeling that she was being dragged into a tour of the town instead.

“At what, kid?”

“At the clock tower!” Henry said, and Emma heard the _duh_ in the ten year old voice.

Henry pointed, and Emma finally followed his gaze to look at the clock tower.  It looked perfectly normal to her, ticking away every second like any other old-fashioned clock Emma had ever seen.  She shrugged.  “What’s the big deal?”

“It’s _moving,_ ” the kid said as if that was somehow important.

“And?  Clocks are supposed to move.  That’s how they work.”

“Don’t you see?  It never has.  Because of the curse, time wasn’t moving in Storybrooke.  I was the _only_ one aging,” Henry told her, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and joy.  “But now time is finally moving, and all because you stayed.”

His smile was infectious, and Emma hardly had the heart to tell him: “Don’t put this on me, kiddo.  I’m sure that the clock repairman finally just did his job.”

“That’s Marco, but he’s really Geppetto.  You know, from ‘Pinocchio’.  And he _definitely_ hasn’t been up there.”

“You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you, kid?” she sighed.

“Yup!”  Finally, Henry seemed to find his bus, and he rushed on board when it stopped, waving at Emma.  “See you this afternoon, Emma!”

Waving back, she bit back the urge to just run away.  She had _no_ idea what she was doing here or where this was going to leave, but Emma had promised to stay for a week to get to know the boy she’d given up.   She owned Henry at least that much, but then she was going to get out of his life and let his parents raise him.  Oh, if Henry wanted, she’d exchange emails with him from time to time.  Maybe she’d even get him birthday and Christmas gifts; now he had a face and he was _real_ , so Emma supposed that was the least she could do.  But no more.  After this week, she was gone.

Then she could go back to Boston and stop listening to this insanity about curses, Evil Queens, and people without memories.  Then life could get back to _normal_.

* * *

 

“What _are_ you doing, darling?”

The familiar voice made Regina look up, and she almost snapped something very regrettable at her mother before she managed to remind herself that she was in Storybrooke, not the Enchanted Forest.  Her mother had crafted herself the perfect, obedient daughter with the curse, one who helped Cora, never questioned her, and married who she had been told to marry.  Maybe Rumple had a point.  They had to keep pretending until it was too late.  After all, Rumplestiltskin had never told _Cora_ who could break the Dark Curse; he’d saved that tidbit for Snow, Charming, and Regina.  Cora thought that Snow had lost her baby in the hours before the curse.  Regina had made sure of that when she ran into Cora as her mother strode into the Charmings’ castle ahead of the curse cloud to proclaim her victory.

_“Are you happy, Mother?” Regina demanded, only half faking her heartbreak.  If_ how _her mother had cast the curse wasn’t bad enough already, now everyone else was doomed to have their happy endings ripped away, too, including her beloved sister._

_“Happy about what, dear?”  Cora strode forward surrounded by guards, clad all in regal purple and red, looking every inch the queen._

_“You’ve won!  We’ve lost everything.  Snow even lost the baby because of you!”_

_“Did she?” her mother purred, and part of Regina knew that Cora’s smile was a victory for them.  “I’ll have to work that into her miserable fate.”_

_“Isn’t ruining everyone’s lives enough?” she demanded.  “Why the curse?  Why can’t you just leave us alone?”_

_“You’re my daughter, Regina.  I’ll never leave you alone.”_

“I’m looking over the accounts so that we’re prepared at the next city council meeting, of course,” Regina answered her waiting mother.  Cora was dressed as the Mayor, not the Evil Queen, but her suits still tended towards dark purples and grays.  Or maroon.  She did love red, Cora did.

“How lovely.  Did you find any discrepancies?”

“Not since you took Mr. Dougal to court for embezzlement.  No one dares,” she said as dutifully as she could manage.  Just looking at her mother made her want to scream.  How _could_ Cora stand there as if she was wholly innocent of making everyone miserable?  _Then again, knowing Mother, she’s quite happy with what she’s done to everyone, especially poor Snow.  She probably thinks they all deserve it._ Cora was probably happy to victimize even poor Old King Cole, or City Councilor Julian Dougal in Storybrooke, who had certainly not been guilty of embezzlement.  He’d just annoyed Cora.

“Of course not.  But that’s not what I was asking about, Regina.”  The edge in Cora’s voice was hard to miss, and Regina sat up straight.

“Then what is it?” she asked, trying for non-confrontational.

“You have a houseguest you didn’t tell me about.”

Regina blinked.  “That was fast.  Ms. Swan just came to town last night.”

_This can’t be happening.  How can she know_ already _?  This entire plan is going to go to pieces before we’re even a day into breaking the curse._   But no.  She was overreacting, wasn’t she?  Cora was just being paranoid.  As usual.

“We don’t often get visitors here, darling.  I’m simply curious about what she’s doing here.”  Cora’s fake smile had to be patented, didn’t it?

Tell the truth or lie?  Or use the truth to mask the more dangerous aspects of Emma’s presence?  Regina only had a split second to decide, and the words came out almost before she’d finished making up her mind.  “She’s Henry’s mother.”

“She’s _what?_ ”

“Henry’s birth mother,” Regina said as nonchalantly as she could manage.  Her mother was starting to sound possessive, which almost made Regina laugh out loud.  Henry was _her_ son, and Cora only showed interest in him when she felt that Regina was doing something wrong.  “Henry tracked her down, and David and I decided that it would be good for Henry to get to know her.  Ms. Swan isn’t interested in raising him, but she promised to stay a week for Henry’s sake.”

“Did she?  I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”  Under the curse, that hint in her mother’s voice would have been enough to make Regina backpedal from any idea she had, but today she felt a little more independent. 

So she smiled at her mother as innocently as she could. “It’s only a week, Mama.  What harm can she do?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the lovely coimments! As you’re waiting for the next chapter, think on these questions: 1) How long will it take before Cora realizes that Emma is Snow’s supposedly dead child and 2) What will Rumplestiltskin do now that he’s awake?
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Four: “No More Happy Endings”, where Lacey calls Gold, Regina and Henry try to make Emma believe, and Regina tells Henry a secret. Back in the past, Belle returns to the Dark Castle after Rumplestiltskin lets her go.


	4. No More  Happy Endings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: References to non-con/rape in this chapter.

“Lacey.”  Gold answered the phone in surprise, knowing that number the moment he saw it.  He’d avoided thinking about her, particularly last night, but now every memory  _Gold_ had of Belle’s Storybrooke self bubbled to the surface.  He hadn’t expected Gold to know Belle here.  He hadn’t  _wanted_ Gold to know Lacey.  The entire idea had been for them to stay apart, and then Gold had gone and fallen in love with her!  He had known that letting Cora cast the curse had risks—particularly for himself and Belle—but Rumplestiltskin had taken precautions to keep his True Love safe…the first of which had keeping  _his_ alter ego away from hers.

“Hey,” his beloved’s voice said warmly.  “Are we still on for tonight?”

Damn.  Gold had plans with Lacey, didn’t he?  He often did, much though the pair of them hid that from, well, everyone.  The only person who knew they were together was Renee—

Shock, need, and sheer terror almost tore Rumplestiltskin’s legs out from under him, and he staggered over to the stool at his worktable, barely managing to sit down before he collapsed. His cane clattered uselessly to the floor, but he didn’t notice where.  For a long moment, he couldn’t manage to say a word; too many emotions were rolling through his mind, too many memories.  His memories.  Gold’s memories.  Belle and Lacey merging together, the same beautiful face dancing through his mind over and over again.  Gold and Lacey finding one another, falling for one another, hiding their love because something told them both it was dangerous to let others know.  No.  It had been dangerous to let _Cora_ know, because Gold had been stuck in the same horrid trap Rumplestiltskin was; he just didn’t know why he was trapped.  And then there was the beautiful little girl who was caught in the middle of this terrible mess. 

“I, uh, well…I think I’m going to have to cancel,” Rumplestiltskin said, finally finding his voice. But just saying the words made his heart clench.

“Why?  Is she…?”  Lacey was used to that, Gold had known.  Their plans almost never panned out because Cora’s presence was a constant shadow marring their happiness.

“I suspect she may, yes,” he replied as honestly as he dared.  Perhaps Cora would not call him tonight.  But perhaps she would.  Or, as things began to change, Cora would notice his relationship with Lacey…and that would endanger Belle.  And her daughter.

 _What if she already knew?_   Rumplestiltskin felt cold.  The possibility certainly existed, but the thought alone was enough to make his hands shake.  Cora might already know, or she _would_ find out.  Either way, that meant he had to stay away from both Lacey and Renee.  Cora’s revenge would be as vindictive as it would be swift, and Rumplestiltskin would not risk those he loved. 

“Then…when do you want to meet?  Lunch tomorrow, maybe? You haven’t come to the library in a long time, and no one will think twice if you do.”

The hopeful note in her voice was enough to break his heart.  Rumplestiltskin had never been strong—Belle had always had the strength in their relationship—but he had to do this.  For her sake.  Closing his eyes, Rumplestiltskin scraped up the courage to say:

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart.”  _Don’t call her that!_   If he did, he’d never do this.  “I think…I think we should be careful for a while.  Not see one another.”

Lacey took a long moment to answer, her confusion painfully plain.  “But why?  We’ve always been careful, Gold.  Why now?  Did I do something?  Did _she?_ ”

“I just…I just think it’s what we need to do.”  With an effort, he turned his voice hard, banishing the tightness in his chest to the back of his mind.  “Goodbye, Lacey.  Don’t call again.”

He barely managed to hang up the phone before he could catch her response, but not before Rumplestiltskin heard the pain in her voice.  Lacey was not Belle, but she _was_ —and that meant she was the center of his very dark world.   And he had just hurt her.  Willfully.  Purposefully.  Coldly.  He wanted nothing more than to cross the street, go to the library, and wrap his arms around her, saying over and over again how sorry he was…but he couldn’t.  _Wouldn’t._ Above all else, Rumplestiltskin had to keep her safe, and if that meant staying away from her, that was what he would do.  Even if he broke his own heart in the process.  Even if he needed her so badly that it burned.

Slamming the phone down on his workbench, Rumplestiltskin dropped his head into his shaking hands.  He couldn’t do this.  He could— _No!_ He wouldn’t even think of that option, no matter how carefully he had prepared for it.  Cora in power had turned out far worse for him than Rumplestiltskin had ever dreamed she might be, and he had to keep them safe. 

The phone rang again, making his head snap up, eyes wide and hopeful.  If it was Lacey, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from apologizing, from heading to the library and—

It was Cora. 

“What do you want?” he snapped.  Gold knew better than to ignore her.

“My, you sound out of sorts.  Is everything all right?” she replied with false concern.

“Everything is quite all right, dear.  It’s so kind of you to ask,” he growled, forcing himself back on balance and ignoring the chill that ran down his spine upon hearing Cora’s voice.  It really was quite pathetic that she could affect him like that, but Rumplestiltskin had never handled feeling powerless well.

“Oh, lovely.  Then you’re free tonight?”

The words made him tense, but she had not phrased it properly.  Cora was offering Rumplestiltskin—or Gold, as she thought—the chance to come to her willingly, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that.  Particularly not after talking to Belle.  “I’m afraid I have other plans.”

“What, sitting at home by yourself?  Don’t be ridiculous.”  Rumplestiltskin could hear her laugh, and knew what the next words would be before Cora said them.  “Do say you’ll join me tonight, dear.”

The magic was instantaneous; he might not _want_ to, but now he had to.  The feeling was much like falling.  There was only one place to land, and he had no choice.  Still, he could infuse a good bit of sarcasm in his response.

“I’d be absolutely _delighted_ to.”

Rumplestiltskin slammed the phone back down on the workbench before Cora could gloat, hoping that it broke with the impact.  Unfortunately, the offending piece of electronics remained stubbornly intact, leaving him to stare at it in helpless rage and despair.  If he closed his eyes, images of the previous night would start dancing before his eyes— _crying out in pain, struggling against the bonds holding him, a gag stuffed in his mouth and Cora laughing—_ so Rumplestiltskin did not let himself.  He just stared, feeling his temper building as the voice of his curse whispered darkly in his mind.  It didn’t like being helpless, either.  Not at all.

* * *

 

_4 Years, 2 months Before the Curse_

“Rumplestiltskin!”

The voice that called his name was hauntingly familiar, and startled him out of the spell he’d been concentrating on.  A quick wave of one hand quelled the potion as it started to boil, killing the magical reaction before it could get out of control.  He’d probably pay for that later, but his loss of concentration had already ruined the potion, so discarding it the quick and easy way was just smarter than doing it the hard way.  Besides which—

“Rumplestiltskin?” her voice called again, and he _wasn’t_ imagining things.  She sounded so uncertain that his emotions got the better of his common sense, and next the Dark One knew, he was standing in the entrance hall.

Belle _looked_ real enough, but he knew that she couldn’t be.  Belle would never be in the Dark Castle again; like a fool, he’d let her go, told her to go to town.  He hadn’t wanted to, but he _loved_ her, and he couldn’t stand to keep her prisoner any more.  She wasn’t stupid enough to feel the same for a lonely old monster; ergo, she would not have come back.  Even if Belle _had_ taken leave of her senses and returned, she certainly wouldn’t be wearing such a form fitting warrior-like outfit.  Still, the pants and tunic she was wearing did compliment her quite nicely, and it took Rumplestiltskin a moment to tear his eyes away from this not-Belle apparition.  He’d dreamed of her impossible return too many times in the two months since she left; clearly, his subconscious desires were getting the better of him.  Still, he’d never hallucinated before, and Rumplestiltskin knew better than anyone how some people really did have identical doppelgangers out there.  Just look at his two Prince Jameses!  So he cleared his throat.

“You called, dearie?” he asked as casually as he could, as if he stared stupidly at Belle-like women every day of the week.

 “I came back,” the woman said, and Rumplestiltskin blinked.  The words did not process.

“Uh, come again?”

“Exactly.  I came back.”  And there was that smile, a little hesitant, but it was _Belle’s_ smile, and he looked at her even more stupidly.

“Err…I let you go,” he said rather foolishly.

“I know.”  Now she was the one who swallowed nervously.  “But I ran into a dwarf, and we had a good talk about not letting go of what you love.  So I came back.”

She’d said three sentences.  He heard three words of it.  Rumplestiltskin stuttered: “What you… _love_?”

“Why did you let me go?” Belle countered, her voice barely above a whisper.  Finally, she moved towards him, stopping barely an arm’s reach away and staring at him with big blue eyes.

He would drown in those blue eyes if he wasn’t careful. 

“Because I, uh…I…” He had no idea what he was going to say.

“I know there’s a darkness that’s taken root in you, but can you love?  I know that you loved the son you lost—that you still do.  Is there room for anyone else in your heart?” Belle asked softly, and Rumplestiltskin could see the bravery shining out in her eyes as she put her heart on the line.  “If I love you, can you love me?”

This was it.  He could lie and send her away, could try to avoid answering and effectively do the same, or he could risk his own battered and blackened heart by being honest.  His last attempt at love had burned him so badly that Rumplestiltskin had sworn to himself that he’d never love again…until Belle walked into his life and changed everything.  Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard.  _Don’t make yourself vulnerable,_ the voice of his curse whispered in his mind.  _She’ll end up just like Cora.  She only wants your power.  They all do.  She doesn’t want you_.No one _would want you._   Pushing the voice aside was impossible.  _No one will ever love you!_   No one but Bae, the precious boy who he had abandoned for power.

He had the same choice again, didn’t he? 

“I, uh… Why else would I have let you go?” Rumplestiltskin finally managed to say, feeling vulnerable and helpless and _hopeful_ for the first time in ages.

“You love me?” she gasped, her beautiful eyes going wide.

There was nothing suave about his nod, nothing controlled or certain, but suddenly Belle was in his arms, and if that wasn’t the best feeling in the world, kissing her _was_.  Because she was kissing him, hesitantly and wonderfully, and this was _Belle_.  Belle had said she _loved_ him, and his heart was absolutely singing with joy.  Power surged through his bones, and for a moment it was absolutely wonderful, until something began to _shift._  

Rumplestiltskin stumbled back a step, letting Belle go in his haste and reaching a hand—a pale, unscaled, normal hand—up to touch his face.  It was _changing._   “What?” he stuttered.  “What’s happening?”

“Rumple?” Belle sounded as confused as he felt.

But he wasn’t confused.  There was only one explanation.  _True Love can break any curse._ The thought itself was overwhelming— _Belle_ was his _True Love?_ —but it was also terrifying.  He needed his power, needed it to make sure the curse happened, to find Baelfire, to protect himself from his many enemies.  _Don’t let her do it!  Stop her!  Kill her!_ the curse screamed in his mind, but its voice was fading rapidly.  Even as Rumplestiltskin stared at his hands, the scales continued to disappear and his black claws slowly became human fingernails— _No!_   He had to stop this. 

 _Baelfire. I need the curse to find Bae._ He never even examined the irony of using his love for his precious boy to hold onto the darkest curse in all of creation; Rumplestiltskin just focused on that, focused on his rage over having lost his son, and pulled the curse back to himself.  Wide-eyed, he watched as his hands slowly returned to their accustomed form, sharp black claws replacing those fragile nails and scales replacing skin.  Reaching up to touch his face, Rumplestiltskin felt the lines of it changing back, felt the ugly darkness returning and power flooding back into him.  The breath he hadn’t known he was holding tore out of him in an explosive gasp of relief and regret, and he felt the curse of the Dark One return to full residence within his mind and body.

 _Kill her!_ it screamed again, knowing that the woman who stood in front of him was the most dangerous foe the curse of the Dark One could ever face.

“Rumple?” Belle asked again, interrupting his thoughts.  “What just happened?”

“I…”

He should throw her out.  Lock her in a dungeon.  _Kill her._   Be rid of her forever, so that she wasn’t a threat to him—

 _No._ Somehow, his love for Belle overrode the curse’s desire to be rid of her, at least for the moment.  She looked confused, not disappointed, completely mystified by what had just happened.  _She didn’t know what she was doing_ , Rumplestiltskin realized.  _Neither of us did._   And she’d almost broken his curse without trying.  That could only mean one thing, one terrifying and beautiful and amazing thing.  This wasn’t just love.  This was True Love, the most powerful magic in the world.  That sudden realization, and his acceptance of it—for why else could the overpowering warmth within him silence even the most insistent cries of his curse for blood and destruction?—tore a high pitched giggle out of Rumplestiltskin.  He didn’t need the bandit princess and her shepherd prince to make a True Love potion.  He could make his own!

“Are you all right?”  Brave girl that she was, Belle stepped forward again, placing a hand on his arm.  His head snapped around to look at her, and Rumplestiltskin somehow stepped on the desire to start laughing manically. 

“Oh, yes.  Aside from the fact that you just nearly broke my curse”—another laugh ripped out of him, uneven and uncertain—“I’m perfectly fine.  Are you?”

“Of course I am!”  Now she was looking at him like he was a little bit mad, but that didn’t surprise Belle any longer, so her glare was rather piercing.  “Your curse?  What curse?  And how would I break it?”

“This curse,” Rumplestiltskin replied, making a sweeping gesture at his own grotesque appearance.  “The curse of the Dark One.  You didn’t think I was born this way, did you?”

“You keep telling me that you’re not a man,” she pointed out reasonably.

“Ah.  Well, I’m not, but I was.”  A warning prickled in his mind; the last time Rumplestiltskin had told a woman he was in love with too much about his curse, it had not ended well for him.  Clearly Belle needed _some_ explanation, but that didn’t mean that he had to tell her the gory details, or about the dagger. _Definitely not about the dagger_.  “What you see is the result of the curse.  That darkness you spoke of…that’s the curse.  And your kiss, a kiss born of True Love…well, True Love’s kiss can break any curse.”

That almost seemed to stun her into silence, and for a moment, terror made Rumplestiltskin’s heart hammer in his throat.  She loved a monster.  Could she love a man cursed into a monster?  After a very quiet moment, Belle whispered: “We’re _True Love_?”

Relief made his eyes go a little wide, and he nodded.  Every child in the Enchanted Forest had grown up on stories of True Love, but so few of them ever actually found it.  And yet he had.  True Love for Rumplestiltskin.  How…unlikely.  “It would appear so,” he answered nervously.

“So I could free you?” Belle caught on fast, and her expression was eager as she moved forward as if to kiss him again.  Rumplestiltskin skittered back, tearing his arm free of her grasp.

“No!” he shouted before he could stop himself, the word coming out far more forcefully than he intended.  Belle blinked, looking hurt.

“Why not?”

“I need the curse,” he answered, driven to honesty by the confused pain on her face.  “Without it, I’ll have no magic, and I need the curse to find my son.”

“Oh.”

Another long moment of silence passed; Rumplestiltskin did not know what to say.  He _wanted_ to kiss her again, but there was no way he could dare.  He might have been able to push back the effects of their kiss once, but there was no guarantee that he could do so a second time.  A second kiss might very well undo him, and he _needed the magic to find Bae._   The world could not be so cruel as to make him choose between the two of them, could it?  Against all odds, he had found a woman he loved and who loved him; would she leave him because he was cursed?  Belle had been able to fall in love with the monster, but…

Of course the world could be that cruel.  It always had been to him.  Rumplestiltskin braced himself.

“Do you want me to leave?” Belle whispered unexpectedly.  He’d just expected her to say that she was.

“No,” he admitted just as softly.

Belle stepped forward to take his hands as Rumplestiltskin’s heart hammered in his throat.  “Then I won’t,” she promised.  “And I won’t kiss you, either, if you don’t want me to.”

“You won’t?” Rumplestiltskin echoed stupidly.

“I believe we made a deal before I left, about what you would do when I came back,” Belle replied with a smile.  “That means you owe me a story, Rumple.”

Although he knew exactly what story she meant, Rumplestiltskin was tempted to pretend he didn’t.  The last thing he wanted was to admit to his own cowardice, to tell her how he had lost the one person who he loved more than life itself.  But she was looking at him so trustingly, and Rumplestiltskin could feel Belle opening her heart to him.  Could he do any less than trust her a little?  He wasn’t going to give up his curse—he couldn’t!—but maybe he could give her this.  She had come back, after all, even though the beast had let her go.  Beauty had returned.

So he told her.

* * *

 

“You can’t possibly believe a word of this,” Emma snapped at Regina the moment Henry skipped out of the room, heading off to find the Book (it was definitely capitalized, given the way Henry talked about it).  David was off doing whatever it was he did at the animal shelter, and that left the two women alone in the living room of the Nolans’ extremely large house.  Emma, however, was done being intimidated by her birth son’s rather rich family after two nights under their roof, and she had had quite enough of listening to Henry go on about the supposed fairy tales behind the town of Storybrooke.

“Henry does,” Regina answered.  Rather evasively, Emma felt.

“So?  I’m not asking what Henry believes.  I’m asking if _you_ buy into this fairy tale crap.”

Henry’s adopted mother sighed.  “Look, Emma, this probably isn’t something we should talk about right now.  If Henry hears you saying that you think he’s crazy for believing this—”

“I didn’t say that,” Emma objected.

“You didn’t have to,” the other woman retorted.  “It’s written all over your face.  Look, Henry’s in counseling—my mother insisted on it after the first time he tried to run away two years ago.  He’s not crazy, but this is _important_ to him.  Doctor Hopper believes that he uses those stories to express complex emotions, and that if we crush Henry’s belief system, it will do more harm than good.  So don’t you _dare_ say that to him!”

“Take it easy, Regina.  I’m not going to go tell Henry he’s crazy or anything.  I’m just…worried about him, I guess,” Emma admitted.  “I mean, it looks like he’s got a great life here and great parents.  But he’s obsessed with fairy tales, and he thinks they’re real.  Can’t you do anything about that?”

Regina’s smile went very crooked.  “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“That doesn’t sound very promising.”

“Oh, it isn’t.”  Henry’s mother laughed briefly, and Emma got the feeling that there was something she wasn’t saying.  Regina wasn’t lying, not exactly, anyway, but she was definitely leaving things out.  Then again, who would be willing to spill out all of their childrearing secrets to a woman they’d met all of two and a half days ago, even if she did happen to be the birth mother of her son?   Frankly, Emma was more surprised that Regina _hadn’t_ tried to run her out of town right away.  She never would have expected the other woman to let her get to know Henry for Henry’s sake.  Regina really didn’t seem like the type of person who was terribly good at sharing, and Emma had a feeling she’d already gotten on Regina’s last nerve.

“I’ve got an idea!” Henry’s voice interjected before Emma could call Regina on the omission, and their son— _Regina’s son.  I just gave birth to him.  Nothing more!_ —barreled into the room with the book in his arms.  He was all smiles and laughter, and Emma had to admit that the kid was really engaged in this fairy tale stuff.

She just wished it was something normal, like computer games or sports. 

“And what idea is that, Henry?” Regina asked, turning to him with a smile.

“We need to give this operation a code name, so Grandmother doesn’t figure it out,” Henry replied seriously.  “I mean, she’s the Evil Queen.  She’s _going_ to try to stop us from breaking the curse.”

“Henry, that’s not a very nice thing to say about your grandmother,” Emma chided him when Regina said nothing.

Much to her surprise, the dark haired woman rolled her eyes, and muttered: “But not always far from the truth.”

“Yikes.  Do I want to meet her?” Emma asked, feeling her eyebrows go up.

“No!” mother and son answered together.

“Okay, so I can see that’s not a great idea…” She took a deep breath, and looked back at Henry.  “Kid, I think a code name might be going a little too far.  And besides, I’m heading back to Boston in five days.  Shouldn’t you talk to your parents about this one?”

“I can’t talk to Dad about this.  I already tried.  He’ll just think I’m crazy, like Mom used to,” Henry replied immediately.

Emma looked at Regina, narrowing her eyes.  “What made you change your mind?”

“Many things,” the other woman answered evasively, but luckily for her, Henry was too excited to dwell on that right now.  He steamrolled right over Emma’s question and Regina’s response as if they didn’t matter, grinning. 

“I think we should call it Operation Scorpion,” he announced.  “And you can’t leave, Emma.  You’re the Savior!  You’re the one who has to break the curse and bring back the happy endings.”

“Y’know, for a town that you say has no happy endings, your parents seem to be doing pretty well,” she countered, and was surprised when Regina grimaced.

“But they aren’t,” Henry replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They’re not even supposed to be married.  “Dad is actually my grandfather—he’s _your_ dad.  And Mom is your aunt.  Or step-aunt.  She’s your mother’s older stepsister.”

_“What?”_

Emma looked at Regina for support, but the other woman just shrugged.  “I could have told you that it gets weirder,” she said drolly.

* * *

 

“You do believe me, don’t you, Mom?” Henry asked quietly as Regina tucked him into bed.  David and Emma were still downstairs talking, but Regina had taken this moment to spend alone with her son, knowing that Henry needed someone to talk to and unwilling to let that be Emma.  Oh, Emma seemed nice enough, but she really didn’t know how to deal with an insecure ten year old, which left Regina to soothe Henry’s fears.

“Of course I do, sweetie,” she reassured him, sitting down next to him on the bed.

“Why?  You didn’t before.”

“Emma showed up,” Regina admitted slowly.  She had to be careful what she said—much though she loved and trusted her son, he _was_ only ten.  If Regina told him that she remembered everything, he’d get terribly excited, ask a thousand questions, and then possibly say something in front of _her_ mother that would give the entire thing away.  She knew Henry wouldn’t intentionally betray her, but Regina also knew firsthand how manipulative Cora could be.  Henry not knowing everything would only protect them both.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” he asked perceptively, and Regina smiled despite herself.  Henry really was such a clever boy, absolutely amazingly so.  There were times that he utterly astounded her, both with his compassion and his smarts. 

“I know my mother, and it all makes sense.”  She didn’t like telling Henry half-truths—and she knew that Henry would like it even less—but what else could Regina do?  _You can tell the truth,_ a voice inside her head that sounded awfully like her sister said.  There were so many reasons she shouldn’t tell Henry…but Henry also deserved to know the truth.  “I actually…I actually might remember the Enchanted Forest, and life there.”

“ _Really?_ Are you just humoring me?”

“No, sweetie, I’m not.  Though I do think you’re right in that your father won’t understand.  Not yet.  I didn’t, before I remembered.”

“Do you _really_ remember being Princess Regina?”  Henry asked, staring at her inquisitively.

“Yes, I do.  I’ll tell you about it someday—but not at bedtime.  I promise.”  The spontaneous hug warmed Regina’s heart, and as much as she had once been against the idea of letting the Dark Curse happen, now she firmly believed that it had been worth it, if only for Henry’s sake.  The thought made her feel a little guilty, but not too terribly much when her son was in her arms.

“Okay!”

“But no talking to your dad about this.  He doesn’t remember, and he probably _will_ think you’re crazy.”

Henry shrugged philosophically.  “He’s really my grandfather, not my dad.”

“He’s your dad, too, you know.  Even if it’s not in your book, it counts,” Regina pointed out.  “Am I less your mom because I didn’t give birth to you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then how’s it different with your dad?”

“It just is.  I guess.” Another shrug.  “Doesn’t mean I don’t love you both, though.  Even if I could do without Grandma.”

That startled a laugh out of Regina.  “I probably shouldn’t say this,” she said with a conspiratorial smile, “but there are times I agree with you.”

More than a few of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos! I really appreciate hearing from you. Next up, Chapter Five: “Never Again”, where Rumplestiltskin and Cora square off in the present. In the past, Regina tries to escape her mother’s plans, Snow tries to help, and Rumplestiltskin and Belle continue to build their relationship.
> 
> Here’s a few notes for anyone who might be confused:  
> 1\. Belle never ran into anyone on the road when she was leaving Rumplestiltskin, so she made the decision to come back after talking to Dreamy.  
> 2\. Cora’s curse created Lacey French as Storybrooke’s librarian and a single mom. No heavily drinking barfly here.  
> 3\. Regina and David are not actually a couple. They got cursed together by Cora, but back in the Enchanted Forest, David and Snow are married. Emma is still their daughter.


	5. Never Again

_13 Years Before the Curse_

“I can’t believe she’s doing this!” Regina snarled, barging into Snow’s room and flinging her hairpiece at the bed.  It missed, bouncing off a nearby mirror and making Snow flinch.  Her twelve year old younger sister threw Regina a cross look.

“Who is doing what?” Snow asked.

“Mother!  Who else?”

Flinging herself down on the bed, Regina let out a huge sigh, flopping onto her back and staring up at the ceiling in frustration.   She’d lost the argument with her mother—she always did—when Cora had oh so quietly threatened to kill Daniel if Regina did not agree to meet the damn prince.  _“And be_ gracious, _darling,”_ Cora had said, venom dripping from every word.  _“Your natural beauty should draw him in well enough, but if you start complaining, you will never find a suitable husband.”_

 _“I_ have _a husband,_ ” she had snarled.

 _“Your farce of a marriage never existed, remember?  The man who performed the ceremony has repudiated it.  Besides, no princess would ever have resorted to such a_ low _marriage.  Daniel took you against your will and forced you.  Remember?”_

_With threats to Daniel hanging over her head, all Regina had been able to do was nod meekly and promise to behave herself suitably._

“The gala?” Snow asked knowingly.

Regina groaned.  “Yes.  King George is bringing his son.”

“He might be perfectly charming,” her little sister pointed out, sitting down next to her and lying back so that they were side by side.  “You never know.  You’ve never met Prince James.”

“You’re way too optimistic for your own good,” she shot back.  “And I’m not going to betray Daniel like that.”

Snow was the only one she could talk to about Daniel.  Her mother continuously threatened him, everyone else thought Daniel had _kidnapped_ her, and King Leopold was blissfully unaware that his ‘beloved’ queen had an innocent man locked away to keep her daughter in line.  Even if Regina _did_ tell him, and if by some miracle her stepfather believed her, everyone still thought that Daniel had kidnapped her back when they’d run away.   No one would believe a word of it, not two years after Cora had imprisoned Daniel…and not with Leopold as deeply in love with Cora as ever.

“I tried to tell Papa again,” Snow said quietly, and Regina felt a smaller hand slip into her own.  “But he doesn’t believe me.  He only believes Cora.”

“We’ve always known she was using some sort of enchantment on him,” Regina replied.  “I only wish knew how to get it off.”

“Me, too.  I miss him,” her little sister replied, and Regina sat up to hug her.  She felt so sorry for Snow.  Like Regina, Snow had once been so close to her father, particularly after her mother’s death.  But now Leopold utterly ignored his once-beloved daughter.  The King had attention only for Cora, and was constantly going on about how he was so fortunate that he had been granted a second wife so uniquely suited to his inclinations and who understood him so perfectly.  He constantly threw balls in her honor, waxed poetic about her beauty, and indulged Cora’s every desire.  Leopold was utterly smitten. 

As a consequence, Snow rarely even saw her father.  Regina saw him even less often; so far as Leopold was concerned, his stepdaughter might as well not even exist, unless he was telling her to obey her mother.   Regina had never felt so lonely—or she would have, if not for Snow.  They only had one another now, but at least they had that much.

Several moments passed in silence, before Snow suddenly said:

“Maybe we could.”

Regina blinked.  “Could what?”

“Get it off.  The magic, I mean,” the young princess said.  “After all, if your mother can do magic, you probably could, too, right?”

“I…I don’t know about that.  I don’t know any magic at all.”

“Doesn’t Cora have a spell book?  I’ve seen her with it.  I think.”  Snow pulled back to look up at Regina, biting her lip nervously.  “Could you use the book if we steal it?

Regina swallowed.  “I don’t know.”  But the hope on Snow’s face—the hope of getting her father back, free from Cora’s influence and himself once more—made her nod hesitantly.  “But I can try.”

* * *

 

There had been a time when he had loved Cora. 

Or, at least Rumplestiltskin had _thought_ he did.  Perhaps he had been only in love with the idea of a woman as drawn to darkness as he was, the idea of someone who looked at him and saw something desirable instead of someone to be despised or feared.  Cora had not cared what he looked like.  She had cared for his knowledge and his power, and he had thought she cared for his love.  He had believed she returned that love until she ripped her own heart out and chose power of a different sort, breaking his heart in the process.  At the time, he had cursed himself for a fool, told himself that no beautiful and powerful young woman could ever want _him._   Rumplestiltskin was a monster, and desirable young women did not fall in love with monsters.

Despite that, Cora had always held a special place in his heart.  Perhaps he was just growing sentimental in his old age, or maybe Rumplestiltskin just had a hard time letting go, but he’d always felt affection for her, even when they had been at odds.  Even when he’d been taunting her and baiting her, watching her creep ever closer to casting his curse (and trying to slow her rage down enough so that his preparations could be completed first), he had been somewhat proud of her.  He had been pleased to see his former student and lover doing so well, even if it was in a life other than the one he had offered her.  Oh, a part of him had rejoiced when he’d heard how she murdered the prince she left him for—he’d giggled quite gleefully upon receiving the news—and he’d even wondered, for a few moments, if his own rage over her betrayal would mellow enough that he might accept her back.  But she’d never made the offer; Cora had been too focused on snagging the prince she had once lost out on.

His lingering affection for her weathered that; it was not exactly a rejection, and Rumplestiltskin was not sure he was prepared to forgive Cora, anyway.  But it could not weather _this_.   Gold had been a little confused concerning his feelings for Cora; after all, without knowing what it was that kept him going back to her, Gold had understandably assumed that it was his choice.  Gold had known he loved _Lacey,_ but he had not known what he felt for Cora.  He hated her, but he had also been drawn to her, and he had always wondered what exactly was wrong with him for that.  Rumplestiltskin, on the other hand, experienced no such ambiguity in his feelings.  Not now.

Now he simply hated her, hated the magic that forced him up her front walk, burned to rip her to pieces when Cora greeted him with a kiss, pressing her body against his.

 _“Tonight, dear,”_ she had said to him on the phone just three hours earlier, right after he’d ignored another phone call from Lacey and was hating himself for it.  This made three nights out of the four since he’d woken that she had demanded his presence, which was worrisome.  Did she suspect something?  Usually, Gold had found himself at Cora’s a maximum of three nights a week, although the frequency of their ‘dates’ did seem to increase when Cora was bored or frustrated.  He had never told her about the Savior; perhaps she was just irritated to find Regina hosting a stranger.

No matter.  There was not time to think on that now.  Cora was far too clever, and knew him far too well.  He had to school his mind as well as his face around her, because Cora was far too adept at guessing.  He could not afford to let her realize that Rumplestiltskin was lurking dangerously behind the façade of Mr. Gold.

“No need to be so stiff, dear,” she cooed at him, and his curse screamed in his mind for her blood.  “You’re acting like you aren’t happy to see me.”

“I’m not,” he replied bluntly; Gold had been direct to the point of insolence, even when Cora tried to hurt that out of him.  Sometimes she succeeded, sometimes not so much.  “I had plans.”

She cocked her head.  “Nothing that can’t wait, surely.”  A sly smile came as she gestured him in, closing the door behind him.  “Particularly since I know how anti-social you are.  You should get out more often.”

 “Not if it means spending time with you,” Rumplestiltskin retorted, stopping in the entryway.  “I was planning to be perfectly happy with a new book this evening.”

After all, the last thing he wanted was for her to start thinking he had plans with anyone else.  He hadn’t, but Rumplestiltskin couldn’t afford to have Cora starting to wonder if he cared about anyone other than himself.  Gold had been a loner, for all his stolen moments with Lacey— _Don’t think of her here!_ —and Cora needed to think he still was.  Otherwise, his plans might fall apart before things even got moving.

“Oh, we are feisty this evening!” Cora laughed, and then leaned in to press another kiss against his lips, this one harder and more demanding.  “I do love it when you work to suit my moods so nicely.”

“I’m not doing this for you,” he snarled, feeling his hackles rise and his curse’s fury reaching a fevered pitch.  It hated being helpless, just like he did, and neither liked being cornered.  “And I’m not in the mood.”

“That’s too bad,” she replied, the laughter never leaving her eyes.  “Because _I_ am.”

“Then I suppose you’ll simply be left wanting,” Rumplestiltskin snapped viciously, despite the way he could feel the power coiling up in his mind, pushing him to submit.  Gold had tried to sidestep that _Tonight_ command more than once, and succeeded very rarely; it brought him to her home and encouraged compliance, but Rumplestiltskin was not sure how binding the caveat was.  “Unless you want to call someone else, of course.”

Cora still had Graham’s heart, and Storybrooke’s Sheriff was one of her on-again, off-again lovers, along with a pirate who Rumplestiltskin had not been at all pleased to see in Storybrooke.  He didn’t think she had Jones’ heart, but she certainly had torn Graham’s out years earlier, which meant the unfortunate huntsman was even more at her beck and call than Gold had ever been.  Normally, even Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t wish Cora’s nastier moods on any man, but tonight he just needed to get away from her.  He didn’t want her touching him, and Rumplestiltskin sure as hell wasn’t in the mood to indulge her more sadistic whims tonight.

“I don’t think so.”  Her voice went cold.  “Let’s go downstairs.”

The magic build inside him, demanding obedience.  Rumplestiltskin gritted his teeth.  “I think I’ll pass.”

“Just for that, I’ll show you the new delivery I received today.” Cora leaned in close, her smile dangerously hungry.  “ _Now._ ”

He could keep fighting.  Maybe.  The pressure was building and building, and Rumplestiltskin had little choice, but there was a slender possibility that he could still get himself out of this—but he did not dare.  He’d already pushed as far as Gold ever dared, perhaps further, and unless he wanted to let the cat out of the bag tonight, he had to play along.  The curse had found Gold—confused, angry Gold—much easier to manipulate, but the Dark One was another matter.  Despite that, he was caught in a trap of his own devising.  If he did not want Cora to guess that he remembered, he would have to do as Gold would have done, and that meant going downstairs.

Even if going downstairs meant letting Cora hurt him.  She’d planned her caveats well from the beginning, had clearly known exactly what she intended to do even if she hadn’t decided on the exact details prior to casting the curse.  The first years had been rather vanilla; Cora had been testing her power and content to have a mostly willing Gold in her bed.  Gold had withdrawn a little after meeting Lacey—things _did_ happen in Storybrooke, although very little actually changed.  Time inched along at a glacial rate, but small changes occurred, particularly where Cora was directly involved.  And she had driven Gold straight into Lacey’s arms once she started hurting him. 

After all, Cora didn’t want to hurt someone who _liked_ it.  Where was the power in that?  Gold had both hated and feared the pain, and had the curse not held him to her, he would have sent Cora packing.  But it did, thus giving Cora an intoxicating hold over the most powerful man in Storybrooke.  Upon reflection, Rumplestiltskin realized that was probably why she had agreed to give him power in the first place.  Dominating and hurting someone who was already powerless wasn’t nearly so sweet as being able to force the powerful ‘Mr. Gold’ to her will.  Particularly when he grew so angry over it, and yet was still helpless to avoid her.  All it took was two words, and he found himself back in her bed again. 

Lately, however, her interests had grown more daring, more and more painful.  Cora had clearly done her research in this Land Without Magic, discovering the many inventions that let her hurt him without leaving a mark.  She didn’t always limit herself to such things—why bother, when she knew Gold was too proud to turn to anyone for help?—but Cora made a quite thorough study with Gold as her test subject.  Over the years, she had both determined what she liked and what he _didn’t_ , and now she had hurting and frightening him down to a science.

These days it was electricity, metal on sensitive skin and turning the shocks up high enough that there was nothing erotic about it.  Cora _liked_ watching him writhe and scream in pain, and her basement was soundproofed for a reason.  She always made sure to bind him.  Cora was too smart to trust her caveats to make him too compliant; Gold had tried to fool her more than once over the years, for all the good it had done him.   Even though she always made him pay for such defiance with enough pain to stop him from trying again for quite a while, Cora was still careful, and that meant now Rumplestiltskin was paying the price for his cursed self’s clumsy attempts to free himself.  Unfortunately, different men though they were, they were still much the same, and what hurt Gold also hurt Rumplestiltskin, and Cora knew how to play his body like a flute.

Several hours later, she left him tied to the bed while she headed upstairs to sleep, shaking and shuddering and wishing he had magic with which to escape her.  At the moment, Rumplestiltskin would have even forgone vengeance in favor of getting away; his entire body burned.  No matter how many times she hurt him, raped him, and then hurt him again, he would _never_ grow used to it.

And the first chance he got—the first chance that did not harm his chances of seeing the curse broken and then finding his son—Rumplestiltskin was going to kill her.

* * *

 

_3 ½ Years Before the Curse_

“Put your feet up, sweetheart.”

“I’m _fine_ , Rumple.”  Belle gave him an exasperated look, but obliged anyway, allowing Rumplestiltskin to slip a footrest under her feet.  “I just said I was a little bit nauseous this morning, but I feel fine now.”

“Well, you can’t be too careful,” he countered, the knot of worry tied up with love in his stomach refusing to lessen.  He’d never imagined this, never even _thought_ something so miraculous might happen—

“But you _can_ be too smothering,” she retorted pointedly.

“Would you like a book to read?” Rumplestiltskin asked, ignoring the remark.  “I can get it—”

“My feet work fine!” Belle snapped, but then he saw guilt flash across her beautiful face, and she reached out for his hand.  “I’m sorry.  I’m just bored out of my mind, and you _can_ be a little overbearing when you worry.”

He knew she was right, and shrugged sheepishly.  “I know,” Rumplestiltskin admitted softly.  “I just love you, and I _do_ worry.  I—”

Belle stopped him with a finger to his lips as she squeezed his other hand.  “I know,” she said gently.  “But history doesn’t have to repeat itself.  We’ll make _sure_ it doesn’t.  Together.”

He loved this woman more than words could express.  There were times Rumplestiltskin still wondered what this beautiful young noblewoman saw in him, why Belle stood by him—and came back!—even through his worst moments.  She’d even (mostly) managed to understand once he’d told her about the Dark Curse, and Belle had promised to stand by him no matter what.  He didn’t deserve her at all.

 _Rumplestiltskin_.

The voice was a cold whisper in his mind, enough to send shivers down his spine.  Years had passed since he had last heard her call; his preparations for the curse wove around her in an intricate web, but Rumplestiltskin had not actually _seen_ Cora in years.  He’d hardly even thought of the woman since meeting Belle; nowadays, the way she had broken his heart seemed utterly unimportant.  Of course, Rumplestiltskin had known he would have to see her eventually, but Cora had not sought him out and he’d had no reason to intrude on her whilst she’d been so busy playing the Evil Queen so well.  Her stepdaughter had been on the run for almost two years now, and while Cora seemed content to let Snow hide in the woods (befriending a wolf girl, no less, but Cora didn’t know that Snow was making friends who would help her in the future), Rumplestiltskin was happy to leave her be.

Now, however, her call cut through his conversation with Belle, and Rumplestiltskin could not afford to ignore her.  Not if he wanted to keep her on track.

“Someone calling?” Belle asked, reading the look on his face.

Rumplestiltskin sighed.  “Cora.  I need to go.”

“Queen Cora?” his wife echoed, her eyes going a little bit wide.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t told her about who he intended to have cast the curse—he was still hoping for Regina, much though she seemed unlikely to comply—and he’d never mentioned Cora in front of his True Love.

“That would be the one.  We are…old acquaintances,” he explained, not willing to go into too much detail.  “I taught her magic.”

That was safe enough, wasn’t it?  Belle didn’t need to know the sordid details.  He wasn’t sure how to explain this to the woman he loved, so rather typically, Rumplestiltskin chose to avoid the important parts instead.

“Oh.”  She squeezed his hand again, and offered Rumplestiltskin the smile that could bring sunlight onto even the stormiest day.  “Then be careful, and hurry home.”

“I will,” he promised, kissing her hand before he allowed magic to sweep him away. 

A simple thought was enough to take him across several kingdoms and into the small, secluded grove that Cora waited in.  She had never been the outdoors type, or at least not since becoming a princess and putting such ‘low’ things behind her, but Cora clearly wanted privacy for this meeting.  Since she was as capable of teleporting as he was, even a queen could escape for a few minutes without her guards being any the wiser.  Rumplestiltskin knew that Cora would still relish the freedom to do so, even as she reveled in the ultimate power of ruling a kingdom all of her own.  Never mind that said kingdom was not hers by right—Cora’s power was unquestioned now, and most of her own subjects really did believe that Snow had killed Leopold.

“Queenship looks good on you,” Rumplestiltskin commented, appearing behind her and trying to make Cora jump.  She didn’t, but he knew that he’d startled her, and that counted for something.

Royalty always had flattered Cora, though; Rumplestiltskin had not been making idle compliments.  Even as the miller’s daughter, she’d possessed a regal bearing that drew men to her, and Cora had lost none of her pride.  She was dressed now in reds and blacks, royal to a fault and holding her head high as if the world was beneath her.  Queen Cora had carved herself out a fearsome reputation, too; her fellow monarchs were leery of angering her, and her people feared her even more than they hated her.  But she smiled when she turned to face him, giving Rumplestiltskin that slight twitch of her lips that meant she was truly happy and not faking the emotion for an audience.

Without her heart, Rumplestiltskin knew that every emotion Cora felt was muted, but she _could_ still feel them.  If she wanted to.  Otherwise, ignoring her emotions, particularly the kinder ones, was undoubtedly easy.  That was something she had used to her advantage over the years, he knew.  Cora had always prized her detachment.

“Rumple,” she said, sweeping forward to close the distance between them.  “It’s been too long.”

“I don’t recall our last meeting being nearly so pleasant,” he replied, dancing out of her way with a small giggle.  All the while, he swept a critical eye over his onetime lover, the woman he once had wanted so desperately to make his wife. 

_She doesn’t hold a candle to Belle._

“Oh, but that’s ancient history,” she replied with another of that secretive little smile. “Can you blame a girl for trying?”

“You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that to get my dagger, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin retorted.  “You don’t have _nearly_ enough power to take it from me.”

“I don’t want to,” Cora said bluntly, making his eyebrows go up in surprise.  “Betraying your trust like that was a mistake, one I’d like to make up for.  And even apologize, if you’ll let me.”

For a long moment, he could do nothing more than stare at her rather stupidly.  “I didn’t think you _did_ apologies very well.”

“I don’t.  But I’ll try, for you.”

Rumplestiltskin blinked.  Hard.

When he said nothing, Cora stepped forward to take his hand.  She had always been bold, and she’d once—years ago—seduced him rather thoroughly.  He’d not exactly been innocent, of course; Rumplestiltskin had jumped in head first and had gleefully taken everything she had to offer.  The months he’d spent with her had been some of the best in his life before he’d met Belle, and Rumplestiltskin had spent them utterly drunk on darkness and lust.  Cora had been such a toxic influence on him, had encouraged him to be worse than he had been save in his earliest days as the Dark One, but Rumplestiltskin had been too in love to care. 

“I _am_ sorry, Rumple,” she said softly, persuasively.  “I should not have tried to take your dagger.  And…I should not have left you the way I did.”

That made him swallow.  He had not expected such honest emotion from her.  Rumplestiltskin knew her well enough to know when Cora was lying, and here she seemed genuine.  “It’s a little late for regrets, dear,” he finally managed, but the words were not as harsh as he wanted them to be.  A corner of his dark heart would probably always belong to Cora.

“Will you accept my apology?” Cora asked, and then smiled self-depreciatingly.  “I’m not terribly good at groveling, but I will try if I must.”

“There’s no need for that,” Rumplestiltskin snapped awkwardly.  He had never liked women who debased themselves, and could not imagine Cora doing so.  Even poor, she’d been proud.  “I—I accept your apology.”

Peace between them was better, after all.  That might make Cora less dangerous after she cast the curse, and anything that decreased Cora’s unpredictability was a good thing.  He could sacrifice a little pride for that—or for anything that got him a step closer to finding Baelfire.

“Thank you,” she replied, and her smile was blindingly beautiful. 

Rumplestiltskin had to get this conversation back on track; it was going places he had not expected, places that made him uncomfortable.  Somehow, he had to regain control.  He cleared his throat, trying not to show his unease.

“What did you want, Cora?” he asked bluntly.  “I doubt you called me for this.”

“But I did.  I miss you, Rumple.  I miss _us._ ”

His jaw almost dropped.  For years, he would have given almost anything to hear an apology from her, to hear the invitation now in her voice.  He had been so damn _lonely_ , so broken, and _now_ Cora offered him this?  While he stared, she continued:

“My husband is dead.  I am the undisputed queen in this kingdom, and no one can tell me what I can or cannot do.  I am tired of choosing worldly power.  I want love.”

“Couldn’t find another king to wed, then?” The words came out before Rumplestiltskin fully thought of them, but he didn’t regret them.   He could bend enough to accept her apology, but this was too damned much.

“I suppose I deserved that,” she replied philosophically.  It was an impressive display of self-control, one he hadn’t anticipated, and Rumplestiltskin flashed her a hard smile, all black teeth and fury.

“That and more,” he snapped, yanking his hand out of hers.  “I’m not some toy to be discarded and picked up at your whim, Cora.”

“We _were_ good together.  And I know how much you loved me.”

“So good you ripped your heart out, eh?”  His hand flashed out to wrap around her neck as Rumplestiltskin ignored the second sentence; he had loved Cora, but she had hurt him too badly, and even if he _hadn’t_ been in love with Belle— _married_ to Belle—he would like to think that he would not have lost enough self-esteem to take her up on her offer. 

“I regret that!” Cora squeaked, obviously taken aback by the physical assault.  Rage began to build in her eyes immediately, but Rumplestiltskin saw her force it back and adopt a more conciliatory tone.  “I understand that you’re angry.  You have every right to be.  But I am being _truthful_ , Rumple.  I chose power, and I was wrong.”

Her hand came up to touch the scaled one wrapped around her neck, and Rumplestiltskin let go, pushing her away as if her touch burned him.  He snarled in fury.  “It’s amazing how you come to that conclusion _after_ your ambitions are realized, _Your Majesty_.”

“I know I hurt you.  I can’t change that, but I can put my—”

“You missed your chance,” Rumplestiltskin cut her off, not wanting to hear the rest.  “I’m not interested in you.  Not anymore.”

A corner of his mind—the ever calculating one, the one that put the pieces of every puzzle together to meet his ends—told Rumplestiltskin that perhaps he should let her down more gently.  Oh, he shouldn’t tell her that he had found someone else, because Cora had always been the jealous type, but perhaps he should be kinder.  But it was too late for that.  He was too angry, and yes, too hurt, by her past actions.  Cora might mean what she said _now_ , but in the end, her ambition would always win.

“Of course you are.”  Now Cora went cold, and he could see her anger masking her wounded pride.  _And that’s all that’s wounded: her pride.  She’ll never allow anyone to break her heart, so why should_ I _care for her feelings?  She barely feels them._  

So he laughed at her, high-pitched and harsh.  “Oh, no.  I’m not going to be your next road to power, dearie, and I don’t want you back.  Go find someone else to manipulate with your smiles and your pretty apologies.”

“I was not trying to manipulate you.”  Her back straightened and her eyes flashed; danger rumbled along with the slight gust of magically-driven wind around them.  “I was being honest with you.  And you’ll regret rejecting me, Rumplestiltskin.”

“I doubt that.”  _And now you know how it feels_ , he had enough sense not to say.  Rumplestiltskin was sure Cora heard the words, anyway.

His magic swept him away before she could respond, taking him home to Belle, to a woman who gave him peace instead of power, love instead of ambition.  Once, he would have been so terribly tempted by Cora’s offer.  Once, he might have been weak enough to give in and fall for her all over again.  But Belle made him stronger, and she was the woman Rumplestiltskin loved.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin went home instead of to the shop the next morning, in desperate need of a hot shower to wash away Cora’s touch.  He stayed under the stream for a long while, waiting for his shaking to stop and trying to will himself back under control.   This wasn’t the first time that Cora had been quite this creatively vindictive, nor was it the worst, but the previous night had been damn close to the later.  He didn’t care if he opened the shop late today, didn’t care what people thought of him.  Rumplestiltskin needed some time to compose himself.

Finally, he pulled himself out of the shower and gingerly dried himself off.  Cora’s repeated electric shocks hadn’t left a permanent mark, but his skin was red and inflamed everywhere she’d targeted and hurt to touch.  Just the act of getting dressed almost left him in tears, but he wasn’t going to hide.  No matter how much he _burned_ to stay home today and shut out the world, he had work to do.  There was a curse needing to be broken, and Rumplestiltskin would be damned if he was going to give Cora one moment of victory longer than necessary.  He had originally intended to shepherd the Savior along in order to speed up the process; the faster the curse was broken, the faster he could find his son.  But now, however, Rumplestiltskin had far greater motivation.  He wanted to shove Cora’s revenge down her throat and make her pay.

The phone ringing interrupted his pleasant thoughts of vengeance, and his heart sank.  Picking up the phone without even looking at the number—because he knew who it had to be—Rumplestiltskin snapped:  “What now?”

“Gold?” Belle’s soft voice asked, making his heart constrict painfully.

“Yeah,” he breathed, wanting to hang up on her but unable to make himself.  Just hearing her voice was a balm for his wounds, and he _needed_ Belle.

 _Lacey,_ Rumplestiltskin reminded himself.  _She’s still Lacey, and you need to keep her safe._

“She was worse than usual, wasn’t she?”

Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes.  Even Lacey knew him far too well, knew how to tell when he was hurting and how bad things were just from the tone of his voice.  She was the only one in the whole of Storybrooke that knew what Cora’s ‘habits’ consisted of, and even then she knew more from inference than from Gold actually telling her.  But Lacey _was_ Belle, deep down, which meant she understood him in ways that even she couldn’t voice. 

“A little,” he finally answered, by which either Belle or Lacey knew he meant _a lot._

“Do you want me to come over?” she asked, and then continued too quickly for him to get a word in edgewise.  “Or I could meet you at the shop.  You don’t have to deal with this alone.  I—”

“Sweetheart, no,” Rumplestiltskin cut her off, biting his lip hard to keep himself from telling her yes.  He needed her so badly, but he couldn’t indulge that need.  There was too much at stake.  “Cora…Cora’s likely to notice if you do.  And I need you to be safe.”

“She can’t hurt me, Gold.  I don’t know why you _let_ her.”

“She can.  She will.  Please, Lacey.”  It was an absolutely inadequate explanation, and Rumplestiltskin knew it.  But Storybrooke was a dangerous place.  People who had displeased Cora had been known to disappear, and he was _not_ going to add Belle to that list.  Even Gold hadn’t been able to figure out where the others went.  His voice dropped to a ragged whisper: “Just stay away from me.”

“Gold—”

He hung up.

He had to, otherwise he would have given in and risked everything to see her, to listen to Belle, Lacey, or whoever she was tell him everything would be all right.  Rumplestiltskin knew his own weaknesses and he knew himself.  Given half a chance, he would take the coward’s way out, and right now he had more important things than himself to protect.  He’d never been strong, but he _had_ to be now, or at least pretend he was.  Otherwise everything would go to pieces.

Closing his eyes tightly on tears, Rumplestiltskin forced himself to his feet and got on with his day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments and kudos! It’s making me write so much faster than I would otherwise. For those of you who think Jefferson is a creep—well, he is, but it’s not his fault. That’s all the curse, just like all the awkward matchups we see are, including Gold/Cora.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Six: “Power is Freedom”, where Regina meets Errol Forrester (Robin Hood) for the first time and turns to Rumplestiltskin for help in both the past and the present.


	6. Power is Freedom

_13 Years Before the Curse_

“It’s an honor to meet you, Princess,” George’s handsome son said, bowing and kissing her hand.  Smiling graciously, Regina tried not to grimace.  Good looking or not, the boy was only two years older than Snow, which made him six years younger than her.

Not that her mother felt such an age gap was insurmountable, of course.  Cora wanted to make her a queen, and as far as she was concerned, this boy was just a means to that end.

“Prince James,” she replied, taking her hand back as soon as she could.  “Welcome to our kingdom.”

The fourteen year old prince in front of her moved on to Snow—who should have taken precedence over Regina in any case, kissing her hand with considerably more warmth.  Not that Regina could blame him.  Snow was already a beauty, and _she_ was the heir to the kingdom.  Not Regina.  _No matter what Mother is trying terribly hard to imply by having me stand right after her and Leopold in the receiving line.  Snow’s the real princess here, and Mother just looks petty because she’s trying to cover that up._

“Princess Snow.  I have long wanted to make your acquaintance,” James said, lingering over her hand.

Snow had been raised for this, so she didn’t blink or blush, but Regina thought she saw a little bit of color enter her sister’s cheeks.  Having a handsome prince fawn over her had to be flattering, particularly because Snow was now old enough to actually notice.  She’d started giggling about handsome young men a few months earlier, and Regina could tell that James had caught her eye.  Judging from the gleam in the young prince’s eye, he realized that as well, and Regina scowled at James when her mother wasn’t looking.  He’d obviously broken more than a few hearts already, and she wasn’t going to have him adding Snow to that list.

King George looked equally pleased as the receiving line finally ended and with it their official duties.  For the moment, anyway.  Regina knew she and Snow would not be able to sneak off for long, not with George looking to marry James off to Snow and Cora looking to snag the boy for Regina.  But for the moment, they were free to sit down in their seats on the dais and whisper with one another, particularly because Cora was still making her rounds while Leopold tagged alongside her like a lost puppy.

“You think he’s handsome,” Regina teased her little sister.

Now Snow did color slightly.  “Most princes are.  I think that they’re enchanted to be handsome while still in the womb.”

“Is that what happened to you?” she countered with a grin.

“I never asked.”  Snow managed a very royal shrug before she burst into giggles, and Regina laughed with her.

“Can you cover for me?” she asked, the words coming out in a rush.  Regina had to speak quickly, had to get it out while Cora was engrossed with talking to King George.  “Just for a few minutes?” she pleaded.

“Regina, this is a _terrible_ idea…”

“I have to.  Snow, please.  This might be the only chance I get.  Everyone is here, even Mother’s closest henchmen…and I have to see him.”

Almost five months had passed since Cora had let Regina see Daniel, and although she’d promised to let Regina see her True Love if she behaved herself, that promise was starting to wear really thin.  Regina was desperate to see Daniel, particularly if she was going to find herself packed off to become a broodmare for some petty princeling before too many more years passed.  There had to be a way to save Daniel, but in order to do that, Regina had to get down there and look at where Daniel was kept, and not when her mother was in control of the situation.

“Regina…”

“Please.”  She hated begging, but she would do it for Daniel.  Snow must have seen that on her face, because her sister sighed.

“Fine.  I’ll come up with a distraction of some sort,” Snow said bravely, bouncing out of her chair and heading over to her father.  On the way there, she managed to artfully bump right into some noble from King George’s kingdom, tripping him (and his wife, somehow) so that he fell into Cora and George, who were still talking.

Cora snarled in fury, but Regina didn’t stay to watch her mother’s reaction.  Queen Cora would have to be gracious and accept that noble’s apology; after all, one could hardly turn nobles into small creatures and squash them when you were a queen.  Cora was big on propriety, had always hammered proper behavior into Regina.  She could hardly act anything less than the part of the perfect queen, particularly when her ‘dear’ stepdaughter was apologizing so prettily.  Snow was an expert at using those big eyes of hers to look innocent and pure—which she usually was, anyway—and Cora couldn’t call her on it in front of an audience, even if she did suspect something.  Fortunately, Cora didn’t seem suspicious at all, which was even better.

The scene didn’t take long to play out, but it was more than enough time for Regina to slip out of the reception and head down to the dungeons.  She wasn’t supposed to know where these cells were—Cora allowed her to meet with Daniel elsewhere—but Regina had managed to bribe two guards into telling her the truth some weeks earlier.  So she slipped down four flights of stairs and into the bowels of the castle, down below where even the most dangerous prisoners were officially kept.  The deepest layer didn’t officially exist, but Regina knew where to go and had only been waiting for the right time to do it.  Fortunately, the way down to the prison was quiet; even most of the guards were off celebrating, and those that did see Regina did not question her.

The final gate was one that even the guards were not allowed to pass; magic brought Daniel food, and the gate was guarded by blood magic.  But although Regina might not have known how to work magic, she understood blood magic well enough, and she quickly pricked her finger on a hairpin and pressed it to the lock.  The heavy metal door obligingly swung open, and Regina sprinted through to the end.

“Daniel!”

A moment passed before a scratchy voice answered from the darkness: “Regina?”

“Oh, Daniel.”  For a long moment, she didn’t know what else to say; she could only reach desperately through the bars and grope blindly for his hands.  Fingers closed around hers before Regina’s eyes had a chance to adjust to the darkness, but when they finally did, she could see his face.

He was far too thin and needed a shave, but there was nothing about those features she did not find beautiful.  Regina was sure that her smile was utterly stupid and besotted, but she _loved_ him, and she had not seen him in so long.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he told her quietly.

“I can’t just leave you down here!” 

“You can’t do anything for me, either.  The Queen is too powerful,” Daniel countered, sounding too defeated for Regina’s tastes.  So she squeezed his hands desperately.

“I’ll find something,” she promised.  “I love you.  I won’t abandon you, no matter what.”

“I love you, too,” he said softly, and Regina felt lips press against her hands.  She didn’t care if he was dirty—and he was—or that she’d have to wash up before going back to the reception.  Any stolen moment with Daniel was worth its weight in gold, and Regina was going to treasure every second.  “And I believe in you,” Daniel finished.

“I’ll find a way,” Regina repeated, pressing her forehead against the bars.

“I know.”

“How adorable,” a third voice cooed, and Regina whirled around, almost tripping over her ornate dress in her haste.  “But certainly unworthy of you, darling.”

“Mother.”  She said the word as steadily as she could, but her voice still tried to shake.

“Regina, dearest, the dungeon is no place for a princess,” Cora said as if she had no idea why Regina was there, looking far too beautifully put together and regal for the dank and dark dungeons.

“I’m not actually a princess,” she shot back, Daniel’s presence giving her strength.  Fingers squeezed her right hand; Regina had turned to her left, so she’d had to let go with that hand, but Daniel still held her right in his.

“You will be once you marry the prince I have chosen for you,” her mother replied serenely.

“I already _have_ a husband, and that stupid prince isn’t interested in me, anyway!”

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Regina knew she should not have said them.  Speaking of her short-lived marriage to Daniel always infuriated her mother, and Regina had learned three years ago not to mention it at all.  Sure enough, Cora’s eyes narrowed, and then suddenly her hand came up.  Before Regina could even begin to object, a purple spark flashed out of her mother’s palm, sailing by Regina and impacting Daniel.  The force of the spell ripped his hand from hers and made Regina’s beloved howl in pain as he hit the back of the cell hard.

“Daniel!” Regina cried, turning to face him once more as he twitched wildly, collapsed into a ball on the floor.  Another purple spark hit him, and Daniel screamed.  Almost too stunned for words, Regina wheeled back to face her mother.  “Mother, please!”

Cora’s dark eyes were unmoved.  “You’ve brought this on yourself, Regina.  I did warn you.”

Daniel screamed again as another spell hit him, and Regina reached for her mother’s arm desperately. 

“Please.  I’ll behave.  I’ll do whatever you want.  Just don’t hurt him anymore,” she begged. 

“Regina, don’t…” a voice from inside the spell whispered, only to be cut off by another scream as Cora flicked another spark his way.

“Do not interrupt conversations between your betters, stable boy,” the Queen said imperiously, and then turned back to Regina, who had almost said something regrettable about how Daniel was a far better person than her mother could ever _hope_ to be, but stopped herself just in time.  “Now, darling, we will be missed at the reception if we do not return.  Come.”

Cora turned to walk away, but Regina was rooted to the spot, staring helplessly at her True Love as he laboriously dragged himself into a sitting position.  Daniel tried to smile for her, but the effort turned into a painful grimace.  He was breathing hard and obviously still hurting; what _had_ Cora done to him?  Regina had never hated magic as much as she did in that moment.

“Please stop hurting him,” she whispered.

“Oh, I have,” Cora replied dismissively, looking over her shoulder.  “But let this be a lesson to you.  I obviously cannot trust you to behave yourself without proper motivation, so any further acts of defiance will be punished accordingly.”

“It’s not Daniel’s fault!”

“Of course it isn’t.  It’s yours.  Now come along, unless I need to repeat the lesson.”

“No.” The word was a broken whisper, and Regina followed her mother back to the reception.

* * *

 

 

The next morning, October 27th, dawned gray and foreboding, with storm clouds gathering overhead to match her mood.  Regina woke stiff, sore, and grouchy; finding reasons to reject David’s advances was growing more difficult by the day.  _His_ cursed memories insisted that they were more or less happily married, but Regina knew that the man in her bed (dressed in pajamas, thank you very much) was her brother-in-law and the love of her little sister’s life.    She wasn’t sure she could forgive herself for what had taken place between them under the curse, but Regina _knew_ she’d never forgive herself if she slept with David now that she knew. 

Not that she wanted to.  Strong, heroic princes had never been her type, even when they were the identical twin of the _actual_ cocky prince that David had replaced some years ago.  Of course, that little tidbit had been late in getting to their disjointed family.  George had seemed to think he could easily substitute one for the other since it had been years since anyone in Leopold’s kingdom had seen James, but Snow and Regina had both noticed the differences immediately.  They just hadn’t known why “James” was so different than the first two times they’d met him, with self-absorption replaced by modest and actual charm.  There had been an immediate spark between the new James and Snow, which had meant Regina did her best to step aside, despite her mother’s plotting.  Regina had liked him a great deal better after the swap, too, even if she’d still been holding out hope for Daniel, and she still _liked_ him.  As a person.  Not a lover, and certainly not as her husband. 

As far as Regina was concerned, she didn’t have one of those.

Those thoughts kept her mood foul throughout the morning, and the fact that the door was locked when she dropped by Gold’s shop on the way to work only made things more annoying.  She needed to talk to Rumplestiltskin, so where the hell was he?  Thankfully, his car had not been outside her mother’s house when Regina drove past—and _that_ was a relationship she wanted to know absolutely nothing about, thank you very much—but the bastard was nowhere to be found.  It wasn’t rent day, and he never slept in, so what was he doing?  Regina needed advice, and he was supposed to be the one running this damn show.  Except for the fact that he wasn’t around. 

So, she headed to work in the same crummy mood, snapping at worker bees in a fashion that was certain to make her mother proud.  She’d forgotten her lunch at home in her rush to get out the door in time to talk to Gold, but Regina chose not to drive back and get it.  Instead, she walked out of city hall and headed towards the center of town.  The weather had improved remarkably since storms had threatened that morning, and now the sun was starting to peek out of the clouds again.  It was a nice day for a walk, and she could always stop by the damn imp’s shop again and strangle him while she was out and about—

Movement caught her attention, and Regina turned her head idly to see what it was she had spotted out of the corner of her eye.  She’d figured it would be a car or someone walking by, but what she hadn’t expected was the cute, dark-haired little boy darting out into the street after a ball that he’d clearly dropped.  It was small and blue, and rolling too quickly for a three year old to keep up with, try though he did, his short legs pumping to catch up.  There was a truck coming, too, a big red pickup that she was pretty sure was owned by that obnoxious deputy sheriff, Keith Law, and its owner was equally oblivious.  As usual, Keith blew through the stop sign, and no one was _doing_ anything while his truck bore down on a little boy.

Without thinking, Regina rushed forward, grabbing the boy and pulling him aside even as Keith’s truck sped by.  She had to fling them away so quickly that Regina tripped on a pot mark in the pavement, breaking the heel of her shoe and tumbling to the ground.  She didn’t quite manage to let go of the child as she fell, but at least she took most of the impact, groaning while the little boy yelped in pain.  By the time she managed to sit up, the boy was staring at her with wide eyes and a blonde man was standing over both of them.

“Are you all right?” he asked.  He seemed to be asking both of them, but Regina’s voice caught in her throat.

“Uh huh.”  The boy nodded, and the man swept him up in a hug, holding him close for several moments.

“What have I told you about rushing out into traffic, Jamie?” the man said in the tone of someone who had just almost lost everything they’d ever loved.  “Next time, _I’ll_ get your ball.  Don’t you ever do that again!”

“Sorry, Daddy,” the little boy—Jamie—answered.

“I’m just glad you’re all right,” he breathed, and then looked down at Regina.  “I’m sorry.  I’ve completely forgotten my manners.  _Thank you._   You saved my son’s life.  I can’t ever repay you.”

“I…uh, it was nothing,” Regina managed to say, struggling to her feet and finding that balancing on only one heel was difficult.  She had to look a frightful mess by now; her business suit was dirty and she’d managed to skin one knee, but the man was still looking at her like she was some sort of angel.  “I have a son, too,” she said with rather more composure.  “And he did the same sort of thing at that age.”

The blonde man smiled.  “I think I did, too,” he admitted, then shifted Jamie over to one arm and held out his hand to her.  “I don’t think we’ve met.  Errol Forrester.”

“Regina Nolan,” she replied, accepting his hand to shake and wondering who he reminded her of.  She was certain she’d never met Errol Forrester before, and she had no idea at all who he really was, but he seemed vaguely familiar, somehow.

“I think everyone knows who you are,” he said with a sheepish smile, but at least it wasn’t one that said he hated her for who her mother was.  Cora wasn’t a popular mayor; people feared and respected her, but no one actually _liked_ her.  Not that it mattered.  They all remembered electing her anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Regina said automatically.

“Don’t be!” Errol protested.  “I just meant…ah, hell, I’m terrible at this.”

“Daddy said a bad word,” Jamie interjected helpfully, and that seemed to break the ice.  They laughed together as Errol went a little red in either frustration or embarrassment, and a traitorous part of Regina’s mind thought he was rather cute when he did that.

“Yeah, Daddy did do that.  You’re not supposed to notice that, kiddo,” Errol laughed, and then looked back at Regina. “Now that I’ve thoroughly shoved my foot down my throat, may I buy you lunch?”

“I couldn’t,” she tried to say, but he waved her off.

“You just saved my son’s life.  Buying you lunch is the least I can do,” he pointed out, and Regina found herself smiling in response.

“Oh…all right,” she gave in.  “Though I think I may need to go home to get new shoes first.”

“Who needs shoes? If Granny argues, I’ll just tell her that we won’t put out her next kitchen fire.  Happens pretty often when she lets Ruby cook,” Errol replied with a huge grin.

“You put out fires?”

“Yeah.  It’s kind of what firefighters do.”  He gestured at her shoes.  “C’mon, live a little.  Just take them off and come along.  I’d offer you Jamie’s shoes, but I think they’re a bit small for you.”

Regina couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so freely, or when she’d been so daring—or so improper!—as to walk into a diner without any shoes on.  By the time she was done with that, her stockings were going to be ruined, but Regina found she just didn’t care.  Errol’s grin was infectious, and he did indeed threaten not to put out any fires at the diner if Granny complained about Regina’s lack of shoes.  Under normal circumstances, Regina was quite certain that Granny _would_ have made an issue of it, but Errol seemed more popular there than Cora was hated.  Surprisingly, Granny let it slide, only giving Regina a half-hearted glare and telling her not to let it happen again.

Regina promised not to, and found lunch surprisingly pleasant.  Jamie was downright adorable, shyer than Henry had been at his age but still a very engaging child who loved to draw on any placemat at the table.  Errol was sweet, funny, and altogether too grateful to Regina for doing what any mother would have done…and she felt something flicker inside her that she had thought dead and gone.  She knew it was foolish, and even dangerous—the man sitting across from her was under the _curse_.  Whoever he was now as much of a lie as her marriage was, and for all Regina knew, he might have been an axe murderer back in the Enchanted Forest.  _Or a stable boy._

Pushing that traitorous thought aside, Regina concentrated on her lunch and somehow still managed to enjoy herself.  But she couldn’t indulge herself too far.  The Dark Curse was still plenty strong, and she had introduced herself as Regina Nolan.  She and Errol were both living lies, and their paths would probably never cross again.

* * *

 

 

Her unplanned lunch date made Regina reach Gold’s pawnshop much later than she intended.  She was damn glad that her mother had an afternoon full of meetings scheduled, otherwise Cora might have noticed that her daughter/chief administrative officer was absent from city hall.  But Cora always held all of her meetings on Fridays, and that meant Regina had considerably more freedom than usual.  _Pity I’m using that freedom to visit Rumplestiltskin,_ she thought wryly, but with no real rancor.  Rumplestiltskin had always been there when no one else was, and although there were times that she burned to ring the imp’s gold-flecked neck, Regina was glad she wasn’t the only one awake.

Had she been alone, looking at the faces of old friends and family who didn’t know her, Regina was sure she would have gone mad.  Five days into pretending that she to be just Regina Nolan was hard enough.

“This grand plan of yours is growing distinctly unpleasant,” she announced by way of greeting.  Behind her, the door clanged shut, the little bell jingling merrily.

“Well, I’m ever so sorry to make you uncomfortable,” Rumplestiltskin replied with all of Gold’s sarcasm.  “But I did warn you that this wouldn’t be easy.”

“Your explanation was a little short on actual details,” Regina snapped, and waited for the annoying, trilling giggle that never came.

She had never expected her old mentor to be so _different_ here.

“Need to know, dearie, and you didn’t,” he answered.  At least he was still maddeningly vague.  Her mother’s curse might have made Rumplestiltskin human, but knowing some things were the same was definitely a comfort.

Still, she glared at him, anyway.  “Yet I’m the one with the Savior staying in my guest bedroom.  So, what’s the next step, O Mastermind?”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled softly.  “First, we have to make her believe.  Has young Henry shown her his book yet?”

“How the hell do you know about that?” Regina had toldHenry to be careful, and she thought he understood that if Cora got the Book, everything could go up in flames.  Had Henry misunderstood and shared it with half the town already?

Rumplestiltskin only smiled, and _there_ was the imp lurking in his oddly normal brown eyes.

Regina sighed.  He wasn’t going to answer, so she went on: “Of course he showed her.  I think he started talking about the curse before they even got to Storybrooke.  She doesn’t believe him.”

“Of course she doesn’t.  Does she believe _you_?”

“I haven’t tried.”  She scowled.  “Emma is as stubborn as a mule.  Believing in ‘fairy tales’ is not going to come easily to her, and as much as I’m usually a firm believer in shoving the truth down peoples’ throats, I think that’ll be counterproductive here.  Hell, I’m still worried that she’ll leave at the end of the week.”

At least that finally made Rumplestiltskin frown.  “You can trust the curse to keep her here.  It wants to be broken,” he said contemplatively.  “The trick is making her want to.”

“There’s an opening for a sheriff’s deputy.”  The idea hit Regina like lightning, and the words came out before she even thought about them.  But there _was_ an opening.  Graham only had one deputy, and the law said he could have two.  And Emma didhave a background that actually made her qualified for the job.  “I’m having lunch with Graham tomorrow.”

“The idea has merit,” he mused.  “But don’t forget that your mother has his heart.”

How could she forget that?  Regina had been present for that travesty.  Still, this was Storybrooke, not the Enchanted Forest.  There were advantages to being in the Land Without Magic.  “Graham doesn’t know that,” she pointed out.  “I think he’ll like Emma, too, once he gets to know her, and besides, Mother is far more interested in you than him these days.”

“Indeed.” Barely a flicker of discomfort flashed across his face, but Rumplestiltskin could handle himself.  They also both knew that a more distracted Cora was far safer for everyone, so Regina didn’t comment.  It was his business, anyway.  Every day that she failed to realize Emma could break the curse was a victory.

“I’ll put the bug in Graham’s ear, then.”

“You should also set her up with somewhere to live other than in your house.  Get her to put down roots, become an upstanding member of the community and all.”

That made Regina grimace.  The thought of sending Emma elsewhere was _not_ something Regina wanted to contemplate.  Oh, her niece drove her absolutely crazy and they’d already had several explosive spats, but at least Regina could keep an eye on her this way.  She’d failed to save her little sister from her mother, and she would not do the same for Snow’s daughter.  The least Regina could do was protect Emma, and that was far easier with Emma under her roof.  Still, Rumplestiltskin was right.  Emma wasn’t a child—even if it was odd seeing her a bit older than Snow—and she needed a place of her own.  Cora would even notice her far less if she didn’t live with Regina, and that was reason enough.  Gritting her teeth, Regina asked:

“Do you have any suitable apartments, then?”

_Now_ the crafty old smile resurfaced.  “I understand that Mary Margaret Blanchard is looking for a roommate.”

“She is?”

“Her bills are quite piling up.”

“And whose fault is _that_?” Regina demanded.

“I trust you’re not blaming me for situations your mother set up with the curse, given your own present position,” he retorted smoothly, making Regina’s scowl deepen.

“Damn you,” she swore, and then nodded grudgingly.  “Fine.  I’ll point her in that direction.

“And while you’re at it, may I suggest that you take the opportunity to reacquaint yourself with your sister?” Rumplestiltskin said with a thin smile.  “After all, you or your ‘husband’ will undoubtedly take Henry over to visit his birth mother from time to time.”

Damn the man, he _was_ brilliant.  Regina hated him as much as she trusted him sometimes, but the genius of his plan was obvious.  They both knew that people would begin inching towards their true selves the longer Emma was in town.  That meant that timid Mary Margaret would slowly become more like Snow, and David would undoubtedly be attracted to her.  _True Love always wins out, after all,_ she thought with a pang of pain.  Still, David falling for Mary Margaret could free Regina from her awkward false marriage, _and_ let her spend time with the sister she missed so much.  That wasn’t even counting the many benefits of acquainting Emma with her mother, which would be good for all of them in the long run.

Maybe she’d even be able to put her shattered family back together.

Someday.

* * *

 

_13 Years Before the Curse_

“Rumplesh... Stilts... Rumpleschtiltskin, I summon thee.”

The words reached him immediately, and although he would usually have ignored someone who butchered his name so thoroughly, Rumplestiltskin had been waiting for this call for far too long.  Originally, he had expected it over a year ago, but the future did have a habit of changing.  So, he appeared in a swirl of purple smoke behind the dark-haired princess, saying:

“That's not how you say it, dearie, but then...you didn't have to say anything.”

She spun to face him, shocked and curious all at the same time.  Regina peered at him, looking fascinated.  “What _are_ you?”

“What?  What?   _What?_  My, my, what a rude question.  I am not a what,” he tittered, pretending to be offended just to see how she would react.  Cora would have thrown her chin up and answered arrogantly; her daughter flushed with embarrassment.  But her eyes were kind, perhaps too kind.

“Sorry. I don't really know what I'm doing,” she admitted.

That made him smile and offer her an exaggerated bow.  “Allow me to introduce myself: Rumplestiltskin.”  He rolled the word off his tongue to make it sound even more exotic; there were times when having such a showy name was its own reward.  Other times, it was just annoying.  But after this long, he was used to it, and Rumplestiltskin would use whatever tools he had at hand.

She curtseyed, bless her innocent little soul.  “And I'm—”

“Regina. I know.”

“You do?”

“But of course.”  _Let’s see what she makes of that.  Which parent_ did _she inherit her intelligence from?_   Looking at the girl was a bit bittersweet; perhaps that was why he was toying with her so.  But Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t ever forget that Regina might very well have been— _should_ have been—his daughter, had Cora not broken their deal.  He would have loved her, he thought.  That smile would probably have done him in as a parent.

“Because of my mother,” she replied immediately, and yes she was indeed sharp.  “Cora. You taught her?”

That made his smile sharper and less playful; thinking of Cora’s betrayal still burned over twenty years later.  Still, Cora had taught him several valuable lessons, and he _had_ intended to have his revenge upon her through the girl in front of him.  Then, of course, Regina had managed to change that by running away, although Rumplestiltskin had thought he could get things back on track until this very moment.  Looking at her, however, told him otherwise.  He could probably corrupt her, but—no.  Instead, he swallowed his fury and twirled his hands in a flourish.  “My legend precedes me!”

“People say I look like her when she was younger,” the princess offered, a little hesitantly. 

“Really?” he said slowly, studying the girl who he had once been so certain would cast his curse…and now he knew would not.  She wore her broken heart on her sleeve, Regina did, though she had no idea how much strength that gave her.  Yet.  “I don’t see it.”

The silly girl—strong though she was, she didn’t know that, and thus her courage sometimes failed her in ways her mother’s never would—looked a little disappointed.  Still, she asked boldly enough: “What do you see?”

_I see Cora casting my curse,_ Rumplestiltskin didn’t say, pushing aside the images dancing through his mind.  He could look at the future later.  For now, he needed to _influence_ the future.

“Power,” he answered honestly enough, prowling a circle around the princess and then giggling, just to see if it would unnerve her.  “Yes, yes.  You’ll do.”

“I’ll do for what?” Cora’s daughter demanded, sounding distinctly like her mother.  “I called you here to ask you for your help.”

Oh, she _was_ brave.  That was good.  Regina wasn’t bitter enough, despite her True Love’s imprisonment, to fully embrace darkness.  She loved her sister too strongly, and Rumplestiltskin had joined the game far too late if he wanted to craft her into his perfect monster.  No matter.  Cora would do well enough; she had been the one to derail his original path, anyway, when she’d married Leopold.  Let her play the Evil Queen.  He didn’t particularly _want_ to use Cora, but Rumplestiltskin had always known that he would have to be flexible to pull this off.  Regina would fill a different role; he was starting to See that already.

“Of course you did, dear,” he replied with an excited little wiggle.  At least this wouldn’t be boring, and it was revenge on Cora, too, of a sort.  “Let me guess.  You want help freeing your _Twuu Luv_.”

“How did you know about that?” the princess demanded hotly.

He shrugged. “I know your mother.”

And he did.  The only thing Cora would have viewed as lower than a stable boy would have been some miller’s son.  Rumplestiltskin remembered her telling him some story about the first boy she’d fallen for.  His father had owned a stable, and his family had been relatively well off.  Compared to being the daughter of a drunk miller who hardly ever met his quotas, that boy’s circumstances had seemed like paradise to a fifteen year old Cora, and she’d tried hard to win him.  Of course, when the stable owner went to talk to her drunk father, the miller snored through the conversation and did Cora no favors, which meant the boy she’d wanted wound up marrying the second daughter of the local innkeeper, and Cora got nothing.  Daniel had nothing to do with that—he wasn’t even from the same kingdom—but she’d still hold that against him.  Cora was good with grudges.

“Oh.  I was actually going to ask for your help in getting rid of the enchantments put on my stepfather,” Regina said softly.

My.  _That_ was interesting!  Regina had indeed come to love that little stepsister of hers, the one girl he had foreseen Regina swearing vengeance upon in a future that would now never happen. That certainly changed things, changed _Regina,_ and Rumplestiltskin made a snap decision to tell the truth.  Or most of it, anyway.

“I can’t help with that, Princess.  Those spells have been on King Leopold for too long and are in too deep.  Your mother holds their strings, and there are precious few ways to release him short of killing her.”

He half-hoped Regina would jump on that, but not this gentle girl.  She blanched.  “Surely there has to be another way!”

“Not at a price you’re willing to pay,” Rumplestiltskin answered, then swung to point a finger at Regina.  “But I can do one better than that, and maybe even give you the chance to save your stable boy as well.”

“How?” she demanded, all focus and determination.  And power.  Oh, there was a lot of power there.  Regina would rival her mother someday, if she let herself.  If he could convince her to.

“Your mother wants you to learn magic, no?” he asked, bouncing forward to look her in the eye, his face close to hers.  Regina recoiled slightly, but whether that was because of his looks or what he had said, Rumplestiltskin did not know.

“I don’t like magic.  Magic hurts people.”  And that was a _yes_ to his question if nothing else was.

“It doesn’t have to.”  Odd how he found himself reassuring the girl, but it was necessary.  She wasn’t his daughter and never would be; Regina was just another puzzle piece.

“Mother wouldn’t teach me anything that doesn’t,” she pointed out.

“Of course she won’t.  That’s where I come in,” Rumplestiltskin replied with a smile, stepping back and giving Regina space to think.  “Tell your mother to teach you.  And then I'll fill in the gaps that she leaves.”

The princess bit her lip, and spoke hesitantly: “Do you really think it will help me rescue Daniel?”

“You never know.”

Of course, Rumplestiltskin would have bet nearly anything on Cora not allowing her daughter’s True Love to escape under any circumstances, but stranger things had happened.  Regina had enough potential that she _could_ possibly take her mother on and win, someday.  Provided she was willing to risk her stable boy to do just that, of course, which Rumplestiltskin didn’t think she was.  Anything could happen, but at the moment, what was important was that she learned magic.  Everything after that was a jumble he’d have to sort out later.  But Regina was going to be his wildcard—he knew that much already—and for that, he needed her to become a sorceress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! This is the longest chapter yet – so much for me trying to keep them short for this story. Also, thank you so much to everyone who’s reviewed! I’m glad you’re enjoying reading as much as I’m enjoying writing. Now here’s my question to you: what *do* you think has happened to Daniel in the past? And how is Snow having met James before David going to change things?
> 
> Next up is Chapter Seven: “Where You Belong”, in which Cora calls on an old acquaintance for assistance, Emma wakes up in jail, and Rumplestiltskin’s plans start to bear fruit. In the past, Belle meets the Huntsman.


	7. Where You Belong

The clock had started moving five days ago, and something was certainly going on.  Cora was no fool; the fact that her grandson's birth mother had shown up just the day before time started moving was clearly no coincidence, although she was not yet sure what that meant.  Was the mere presence of an outsider enough to start time moving now that 28 years had passed?  Certainly the first two outsiders to find Storybrooke—the only ones prior to Emma Swan—had not been such a threat.  Kurt and Owen Flynn had been easy enough to dispose of; she sent Hook—or Cyril O’Malley, as he was known here—to kill them, and both were still wherever he had buried them in the woods.  Usually, she would have chosen Graham for such a task, but her Huntsman was such a soft creature.  There would be no erasing his memory in this world, even with the curse to back her, so she chose not to use his heart to force him.  The good captain, however, was more than happy to help.  Part of the deal they'd made was that Hook had always been free of the curse's memory-wiping effects, and sometimes Cora did indeed find it useful to have a henchman who knew exactly what he was doing.

It also helped that Hook was largely amoral and willing to do pretty much anything.  Oh, he had his sticking points.  For a pirate, Hook had an odd sense of honor, which sometimes clashed with his overriding need for vengeance, and was in any case an inconvenience.  When Hook balked, Cora was forced to use her hold on Graham.  Though in the long run, it was perhaps a good arrangement.  It meant neither of them knew too much about the more personal miseries Cora sometimes chose to deal out, which was probably for the best.  Cora enjoyed having her secrets, and she had enough of a hold on the pirate to ensure that he behaved himself.

Of course, Hook had not been happy when she forbade him from exacting his revenge upon Rumplestiltskin, but that had been the condition under which he kept his memory.  He accepted that, and the fact that Cora hardly planned to give Gold a happy life, with a modicum of grace, and that was enough for her.  For now.

“Are you sure you didn’t slip up and dream of the clock working again?” he asked now.  “From what I understand, managing the curse exists solely inside your mind, so is it possible you did this by accident?”

“Of course not,” Cora replied, shooting him a withering look.  There were times she wished that she had allowed Rumplestiltskin to retain his memories.  _He_ would have been useful, assuming he wanted to be.  _Not that Rumple was terribly helpful at the end, but we could have come to an accommodation._ Hook was just a pretty face.  “ _Time_ is moving,” she snapped.  “That will not have happened by accident.”

“You said yourself that it could be because of our lovely visitor.  Perhaps her staying for so long has been enough change to influence the curse itself?” the pirate guessed.  “After all, our last visitors hardly stayed long enough to have an impact.”

Perhaps his pretty face hid at least a modicum of intelligence, although he was still no expert on magic.  Cora sighed.

“You might be right,” she admitted.  “Approach Miss Swan.  Befriend her.  Find out what she _really_ wants and how much she knows about Storybrooke.”

“I can do that.” Hook looked thoughtful.  “Any limits on how I do?”

“No,” Cora answered coolly.  “None at all.”

* * *

 

Waking up in jail on a Sunday morning was not the way Emma had planned on spending her weekend.  First of all, the bed was hard and full of lumps.  Secondly, she had planned to be back in her own apartment in Boston by now, armed with Henry’s email address and a phone number she could call.  She’d said her goodbyes to the Nolans—who were surprisingly nice people, given how she’d intruded on their life—and had gotten on the road.  But _then_ what had happened?

Emma’s memories were depressingly vague.  She’d been on the road leading out of town, had just spotted the _Welcome to Storybrooke_ sign, and then what?  There had been something— _A wolf?_   Were there even wolves in this part of the country?  Emma didn’t know much about wildlife, but she was pretty sure it had been a wolf.  Or a hell of a big dog if not.  She’d hit it…maybe?  Remembering was hard, but Emma _thought_ she’d managed to avoid something.  But then what had she hit?

The sign. 

Oh, man, her car was going to be a mess.  Did they have a repair place in this weird little town, or would she have to have it towed somewhere else?  David would probably know the answer to that, or Regina would; Emma was willing to bet that the repair place paid taxes, and Regina would probably know from looking over the city’s books.  From what Emma could gather, Regina’s job seemed to be doing whatever parts of the mayor’s job that her mother didn’t want to do, which meant she knew a lot about the town.  She would have thought that was even weirder than most things here, but Storybrooke was a small town, and Emma had travelled enough to know that small towns seemed to do things their own way.  Both of them did appear to have been elected, so at least that didn’t quite scream of naked nepotism.

Back to her car.  _So much for leaving anytime soon!_ she thought.  _I bet it’s halfway to totaled, given that I’m sleeping in a…cell?_   Emma sat up quickly enough to make her head spin.  What was she doing there?

“Finally awake, are we?”

Emma turned her head to see a man in a police officer’s uniform standing outside her cell.  He had longish dark hair, greasy and unkempt looking.  He looked like he needed a shave, or was trying to grow an ill-advised goatee; either way, the sort-of trimmed facial hair made him look like some idiotic medieval villain.  _Maybe I_ can _see where Henry gets his ideas from.  Some of these people are awfully strange.  Saying they’re from fairy tales might just be the only logical way to describe them._ The almost-mustached villain type wore his uniform sloppily, but did appear to be local law enforcement, and if she squinted, Emma thought she could make out the word ‘deputy’ on his badge.

“Yeah,” she groaned, her head still pounding mercilessly.  “Why am I in here?  And who are you?”

“Wow.  You were so drunk that you don’t remember crashing your car?  Babe, you’ve got issues,” he replied with a leer.

“I’m not your ‘babe’,” Emma shot back, getting to her feet and approaching the bars.  “And you didn’t mention who the hell you are.”

“Keith Law.  Deputy Sheriff,” he replied, stepping closer so that his face was uncomfortably near hers.  If Emma had an ounce of back down in her, she probably would have recoiled—his breath smelled suspiciously like liquor, and it was early in the morning—but she only scowled at him.

“My, doesn’t that make you important.”

The leer deepened, and the letch actually licked his lips as he looked Emma up and down.  “Important enough to have the keys to this cell, _and_ a way out for you if you behave yourself—”

“Get yourself some coffee, Keith,” a cheerfully rustic voice interjected, making both Emma and Keith turn to face the newcomer.  “I’ll take it from here.”

He also wore the same sort of uniform, except his was topped off with a comfortable-looking worn leather jacket.  Although a little bit scruffy, with a beard and messy brown hair, he didn’t give off the same creepy vibe as Keith.  Emma detected a hint of warmth in his brown eyes, although that cooled significantly when he looked at the deputy sheriff.  Despite that, his smile was light, almost joking, and he seemed completely at ease with his surroundings.

“Fine,” Keith grumbled, and headed out of the sheriff’s station, glancing over his shoulder at Emma once more before closing the door behind himself.  She ignored that leer, too.

“I’m sorry about him,” the other man said, unlocking his cell.  “He’s really quite harmless…or mostly, anyway.  I’m Graham, by the way.”

“Emma Swan,” she replied, taking the offered hand as she walked out of the cell.  “And I wasn’t drunk.”

“I know.  I found you after you hit the sign last night, but you clearly hadn’t been drinking.  You were unconscious, though, so I brought you here to sleep it off,” Graham said.

“To the _jail_?”

He shrugged.  “I am the sheriff.  And it seemed less…questionable than sticking you on my couch.  Besides, the bed here is more comfortable.”

“I find that a little hard to believe,” Emma said dryly, rolling her shoulders to work the aches out.  “Am I free to go, then?”

“Well, you could, but your car’s going to be in the shop for days.  Want me to give you a ride back to the Nolans’, instead?”

Emma resisted the urge to groan out loud.  “I’ve imposed on them enough already.  Don’t you have a bed and breakfast somewhere in this town?”

“I can take you there, yeah.”

“I could also walk.”  Great.  Now this guy was coming onto her, too, for all his gentlemanly protests about how leaving her passed out on his couch would have been inappropriate.  At least he was more polite about it.

Graham gave her a crooked smile and opened the sheriff station’s door for her.  “But how am I going to offer you a job if I don’t get a chance to talk to you?”

“You’re going—you’re _what?_ ”

“Regina and I were chatting last night, and she mentioned that you had experience tracking criminals down,” he explained. “And while the crime rate here might not be anything like Boston’s, I _do_ have an opening for another sheriff’s deputy…and it’ll give you a chance to see your boy more often.”

Emma stopped to glare at him. “You’re telling me that _Regina_ put you up to this?”

“Honestly, no.  It’s my idea, but it does seem to fit, doesn’t it?”  Another charming smile followed that remark, and Emma had to at least give him credit.  Graham _didn’t_ seem to be trying to jump in her pants; he was trying to hire her, which was even more uncomfortable.  She knew what to do with letches and flirts.  Nice guys, on the other hand, were a bit more of a mystery.

“I’m gonna have to think about this,” she said uneasily.  “Can you give me a few days?”

“The job’s not going anywhere,” Graham confirmed with a smile.  “Your car is going to need at least that long to get fixed, anyway.”

“Great,” Emma muttered.  What _was_ it about this town?  First Regina convinced her to stay for a week, and then when she tried to leave, she got in an accident.  Sure, it all had to be a coincidence, but Emma was starting to find that a little hard to believe.

* * *

 

_2 ½ Years Before the Curse_

Belle was reading in the great hall when the unexpected visitor arrived, and she was so engrossed that she hardly noticed until he was already in the room.  In her defense, the book she was reading was fascinating.  It was one of Rumple’s older volumes, a history of the way magic had changed over the centuries, and although Belle would never be a sorceress, she was certainly curious about the forces that seemed to rule Rumplestiltskin’s world.  He _had_ insisted on teaching her a spell or two, a few defenses that allowed her to draw on his magic if she needed them, but Belle knew in her heart that she’d never embrace magic the way he did.  That didn’t mean she couldn’t learn about it, though, so she didn’t even hear the black-clad stranger walk in.

“Um, pardon me, My Lady…?”

“Oh!”  Belle looked up so fast she almost dropped the book.  “Hello.  What can I do for you?”

Quickly, she clambered off the chaise she’d been sitting on, smoothing her dress down and carefully putting the ancient book down.  The stranger was dressed in some sort of military uniform, with a ridiculously plumed helmet tucked under one arm, but he didn’t look like most soldiers Belle had ever met.  Most of them were more like Gaston: posturing, self-important, and muscle-bound louts.  This man had kind and sad eyes, and smiled at her like she was a person, not an ornament.  _Much better than Gaston, then._   Belle liked him already.

“I’m sorry.  I have never been here before.  Is this the Dark Castle?” he asked, looking around curiously.

Belle smiled.  He was undoubtedly confused by the sun streaming through the windows and the flowers on the grand table; people always expected the Dark Castle to live up to its name, expected Rumplestiltskin’s home to be a haven for horrors of all sorts.  But they were wrong.  Even before Belle had torn down the nailed-up curtains and Rumple had agreed to ‘get used to’ the light streaming in, the castle had been a place full of curiosities, not terrible things.  Oh, there were some truly frightening objects that Rumple had collected over the years, but most of those were safely locked away.  Especially now.

“It is,” she confirmed.  “Don’t let the sunlight fool you.  Rumplestiltskin is—”

“What are _you_ doing here, Huntsman?” her love’s voice suddenly intruded, high pitched and furious.  He’d appeared on the other side of the hall, but was now striding forward with a deadly purpose to his walk that Belle had rarely seen from him, radiating fury and danger.

The Huntsman straightened, turning from Belle with slightly wide eyes.  “I am here to deliver a message from Queen Cora.”

“Still has your heart, does she?” Rumplestiltskin said nastily, stopping next to Belle.  His eyes swept over her, and the intensity of his gaze almost made her shiver.  Belle wasn’t afraid of Rumplestiltskin—particularly not after living with him for this long and knowing him as she did—but there were times that he could frighten her for others.

The way the Huntsman stiffened silently provided answer enough.  Rumplestiltskin’s eyes narrowed, but his next words were addressed to Belle:

“Did he touch you?”

“No,” she answered, confused by the urgency in his tone.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”  Exasperated by his odd questions, Belle asked one of her own: “Why?  Rumple, what is going on?”

“I don’t trust his Mistress,” he snapped, gesturing at the Huntsman.  “If she knew about you, she’d undoubtedly send _someone_ to hurt you, and this one might very well be her choice now that he’s failed to capture Snow White for her.”

“What _is_ it between you two?” Belle demanded, seeing the raw rage in Rumplestiltskin’s eyes, the possessive protectiveness that drove her insane.  Usually, he was so much better than this—well, getting better, anyway—but the Evil Queen seemed able to bring out the worst in him.  _Or just her messenger can._

“I assure you, my mission has nothing to do with the lady,” the Huntsman said stiffly.  “I am only here to deliver a message, nothing more.”

“Ah, I’m afraid it’s more than that, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin replied with the high-pitched giggle that Belle disliked.  She didn’t hate anything about him, but he only laughed like that when he wanted to be cruel.  She disliked it because she felt it chipped away at the good man who lived under the curse, the one who loved her and who she loved, but so long as he insisted on remaining cursed, there was nothing she could do about that.  Still, she wasn’t expecting him to continue with: “Now you’ve seen Belle, so now you’re going to have to die.”

 _“What?”_ Belle gasped.

The Huntsman took a step back.  “I am here as a royal messenger—”

“I don’t actually care about diplomatic niceties,” the Dark One cut him off, ignoring Belle.  “What I do care about is Cora knowing about Belle, which I can’t allow to happen.  And since _she_ has your heart, you can’t lie to her.  Ergo, you have to die.”

“I don’t serve her by choice.  I would keep your secret,” the young man replied, looking offended that Rumplestiltskin would imply that he would.”

“Rumple, you can’t,” Belle interjected, grabbing his arm before he could step towards the Huntsman once more.  His head swiveled to her, his golden eyes unreadable.

“She’ll hurt you if she knows about you, Belle,” Rumplestiltskin replied, his tone going far softer than Belle expected.  “Both of you.  Cora considers love to be weakness, and you _are_ my weaknesses.  I must keep you safe.”

“Not by murdering someone who only came to deliver a message,” she whispered desperately. “Please.  I can’t live with that on my conscience.”

“It’s the only way.”

“It can’t be,” Belle replied, thinking fast.  “Can’t you…I don’t know, erase his memory or something?”

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “Such potions are much less effective if the recipient is unwilling to forget.  It’s far easier to kill him, sweetheart.  I won’t make you watch.”

“I’ll take it,” the Huntsman interjected with sudden passion.  “I know I can’t be trusted to keep your secret, but I do not serve the Queen by choice.  I would stop her if I could, but she has my heart.  I will take your potion.”

Belle’s breath caught in her throat, and she swung to look at Rumplestiltskin, pleading with her eyes.  “See?  You don’t have to kill him.”

“Belle…” It was a growl, but she knew he was close to giving in.

“Please?” she whispered, her hands still on his arm.  “If he doesn’t remember me, what harm can it do?”

One last glare at the Huntsman, and then—“Fine.”

Grinning, Belle went up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek, which they had at least long since figured out would not break his curse.  True Love’s kiss between lovers needed to be on the lips to work, so she could show him affection this way, even if she would vastly preferred to have done so in other ways.  Rumplestiltskin still gave her an exasperated look as if he couldn’t quite figure out why he’d given in, but he did pluck a hair off of the Huntsman’s head to create the potion without further ado.  When it was complete, the Huntsman accepted it willingly, apologizing softly to Belle before she made her way upstairs, knowing that she could not be present for him drinking it, lest Rumple have to create a second potion so that Cora’s messenger would forget her a second time.

The Huntsman delivered his message to Rumplestiltskin without her there, and left the castle none the wiser.

* * *

 

As fate would have it, Cora ran into Emma before Hook had the chance.  Henry had discovered that Emma hadn’t managed to leave the night before and shown up at the door to the room she’d rented at Granny’s, all smiles and stories about how _of course_ the curse wouldn’t let her leave.  Somehow, he talked her into taking him out for ice cream along the way, so they found themselves sitting outside the ice cream parlor eating sundaes.  She kept telling him that she was planning on leaving as soon as the bug was fixed—not without keeping in touch, of course, but she really did have a life to get back to.  No matter how many crazy stories Henry told her about her family being here in this funny little town, the real world was still waiting outside of Storybrooke. Like it or not, she had to get back to that.

Even if she had kind of come to like this kid she’d given birth to, she wasn’t his mother, and it was time to go back to Boston.  _Even though I just got offered a job that would be a lot more stable than the one I have now._ Having a steady job would be nice, and being near Henry would be…well, nice.

“Henry,” a new voice interrupted Henry’s recount of something one of his classmates (the Mad Hatter’s daughter, apparently) had done.  “What are you doing here?”

“Oh.  Hi, Grandma,” her boy answered, looking up guiltily.  “I’m, uh, here with Emma.”

“So I can see.”

Emma looked up at the older woman, seeing Cora Mills up close for the first time.  She was a handsome woman, even if she had to be over fifty, with dark hair and darker eyes.  There was something unsettling in Cora’s steady gaze, something that made a chill run down Emma’s spine.  Her hackles came up instinctively; people like Cora had always put Emma’s teeth on edge.  But this _was_ Henry’s grandmother, creepy as the woman seemed to be, so Emma would try to be nice.

“Hello,” she said, rising and holding out a hand.  “I don’t think we’ve met.  I’m—”

“I know who you are, Miss Swan,” Cora cut her off.  “And I presume that you know who I am.”

“Yeah.  You’re the mayor.”  Emma dropped her hand after leaving it out for a moment.  She was definitely not impressed.

“Good.  That will make this easier.”

“Will make _what_ easier?” she demanded.

“Henry, go home,” Cora ordered, not even bothering to look at the kid.  “I will deal with this.”

“I’d rather stay,” Henry objected, and Cora finally turned to glare at him.

“I did not ask what you wanted.  I told you to leave, and you shall.  Need I call your mother?”

Emma watched her son deflate.  “No.  I’ll go.”  He started to walk out, and then looked over his shoulder at Emma.  “I’ll see you later, Emma?”

“You bet you will, kid.”  She might have been determined to leave Storybrooke, but the more hostile Cora became, the more obstinate Emma felt.

Henry headed out of the ice cream shop, leaving Emma to face Cora alone.  The two women glared at one another in silence for a long moment before Cora said:

“I don’t like you in my grandson’s life.”

“Well, luckily for both of us, that’s his parents’ decision, isn’t it?” she retorted.

“No.  It isn’t.”  Cora’s eyes narrowed.  “What _is_ your purpose here, Miss Swan?”

The question made Emma scowl.  “I’m just here to get to know Henry a little,” she replied.

“No.  You aren’t.  Stay away from my grandson, or you’ll regret ever coming to Storybrooke,” the mayor said softly.

“Is that a threat?” Emma demanded.

“Take it how you will, dear.  Just remember what I’ve said, and you’ll be perfectly fine.”

Emma snorted.  She’d never liked being pushed around, and Cora Mills reminded Emma of every bully she’d ever met while in foster care.  Storybrooke’s mayor was more cold blooded than most of them; but her self-absorbed focus was just the same.  Apparently, she didn’t like having her little applecart of a perfect town upset by Emma’s presence, or her perfect little family (which Emma already knew was not so perfect) upset by Henry’s birth mother showing up.  But that was too bad.  If Cora wanted her to leave, she might just stay a little longer.  Not forever, of course—but a month or two wasn’t out of the question.  Not if it ticked off this self-righteous bitch.

“You know, I’ve never taken threats really well,” she told Cora.  “And the fact that you’re _trying_ to make me leave only makes me want to stay.  So shove your threats, Madam Mayor.  I’m going to live my life my way.”

* * *

 

“Miss Blanchard!” Henry called, running over to catch his teacher as she walked out of Storybrooke Elementary on Monday morning.  She looked unhappy, just like she always did outside of class, and he couldn’t help but compare her to the strong and bold woman that Snow White had been.  It wasn’t Mary Margaret’s fault that she had been cursed, but he still wished he could meet his _real_ grandmother.

“Oh, hello, Henry.”  She smiled, of course, because when did Mary Margaret not smile for one of her students?  She was the best teacher he’d had yet, and everyone in Henry’s class liked her a lot.

Of course, everyone else had been in her class for twenty-eight years, but now that he’d come to terms with that, Henry was coping pretty well.  It was certainly better than wondering what was wrong with himself when he was the only one aging and advancing a grade every year.  Before Miss French had given him the Book, Henry had just thought he was crazy.  Now he knew better.

“Hi,” he said as cheerfully as he could manage.  His mom’s idea was clever, but Regina was counting on Henry to pull it off, and he wasn’t going to mess this up.  He couldn’t let either his birth mother or _her_ mother suspect what he was up to.  If they did, they probably wouldn’t go along with it at all.

“What’s on your mind?” Mary Margaret asked, shifting her bag on her shoulder.  She looked like she was walking home again, and Henry wondered if her car was broken.  Again.

“I wanted you to meet my birth mother.  She’s here from Boston.”

Mary Margaret turned in surprise to look at Emma, who had trailed Henry at a more sedate pace, wide eyed and uncertain.  She was still wrapping her mind around this place, Henry knew, and had only just made the decision to stay in Storybrooke the night before.  But she _had_ accepted Graham’s offer of a job, and Henry was dead certain that his mother was behind that, too.  His mom was absolutely brilliant, and her plan was going to work.

“Welcome to Storybrooke,” Mary Margaret said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.  But she was trying to be nice, and Henry knew they’d hit it right off.  After all, Emma was her daughter.

“Uh, thanks,” Emma said uneasily.  It was hard meeting a parent you’d never met.  Henry thought she believed him enough to at least accept the possibility of Mary Margaret being her own mother, and _that_ had to be worse than tracking down the mom you’d found online.

“Emma’s moving to Storybrooke, and she saw that you were looking for a roommate,” Henry put in before his birth mother could chicken out.  “She just took a job as deputy sheriff,” he added proudly.

“I…I’ve had that ad in the paper for ages.  I didn’t think anyone would be interested.” Mary Margaret’s voice was soft, and spoke of so many disappointments over the years.  His adopted grandmother really had been awful to her, and Henry _hated_ Cora for that.

“Well, I’m new in town, but I guess I’m interested.” Emma’s smile was crooked.  “Assuming you’ll have me, anyway.”

“Of course I will!  Do you want to come over and look at the loft?  It’s kind of small, but there’s plenty of room for two.”

“I’d like that,” Emma said, and Henry was glad to hear that her tone sounded more natural.  She turned to him.  “Can I trust you to take yourself home without getting in too much trouble?”

“Actually, I was going to go to the animal shelter to see Dad.”  _Grandpa,_ Henry corrected himself silently, but he couldn’t say that in front of Mary Margaret.  Not yet, anyway.  He gave Emma a reassuring smile.  “I’ll be fine.  You two should go.”

So they did.  Henry watched his birth mother walking off with her mother before heading over to the animal shelter (he really did want to go there; he really liked one of the cats and wanted to play with it).  Their conversation started off awkward but slowly seemed to become more animated, and Henry hoped that they’d start getting along quickly.  Mary Margaret seemed so lonely under the curse, and the Evil Queen hadn’t been very nice to her.  Between Grace’s dad stalking her and her constant money problems, Mary Margaret wasn’t doing very well.  But maybe Emma moving in with her could change that.  She certainly wouldn’t let Jefferson bully Mary Margaret any more, that was for sure!

It wasn’t Jefferson’s fault, Henry knew.  He was cursed, too, and was probably a nice guy back in the Enchanted Forest.  But here he was a jerk who had even barged into class to harass Mary Margaret one day, and all Ms. Cole had told him to do was leave.  The principal hadn’t even pressed charges!  Under the curse, Ms. Cole had been Princess Abigail, and she’d been brave and true, but not here in Storybrooke.  Here she was a tyrant who always picked on Mary Margaret, giving her the worst duties and always yelling at her for her classroom being a mess.  His book said that Princess Abigail and Snow White had been friendly back in their _real_ lives, but here Kathryn Cole treated Mary Margaret terribly, and it wasn’t fair.

There were a lot of people like that in Storybrooke, people Henry knew weren’t supposed to be like this but had been given terrible lives and nasty personalities by Cora.  He’d always known that his grandmother was vindictive, but he had never understood how much until he’d read the Book.  Jefferson and Abigail weren’t the only ones who had been turned upside down; King Midas was Tobias Cole, estranged from his daughter and owned a struggling lawn company that was perpetually in debt.  King Francis, or Mitchell Herman was a rich judge, but he had some really nasty habits that Cora seemed to know about, which meant he never decided cases in anything but her favor.  Prince Eric was Cora’s cook, and he was vain, vapid, and nasty to everyone.  The nicest people were mean in Storybrooke, and everyone who was supposed to be good and noble had been force into lives they would hate themselves for living.

The list of tragedies went on.  It wasn’t fair, Henry knew, but it was his job to get Emma to break the curse, and he wouldn’t fail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Eight: “The Truth”, where Regina tries to convince Emma that the curse is real, Cora discovers the Book, and starts getting suspicious. In the past, Regina learns magic and Belle reads a bedtime story.


	8. The Truth

“You’ve reached Mr. Gold,” the familiar voice said.  “Leave a message.”

Sighing, Lacey hung up the phone.  Again.  She _knew_ that he would have recognized her number, and after three calls during the last hour, Gold would certainly have been near his cell phone for one of them.  He was probably in the shop, too, but that didn’t help when he wouldn’t talk to her.  Gold had said that he needed her to be safe, and that Lacey had to stay away from him for that reason, but she didn’t understand any of that.  He’d started avoiding her—and hanging up on her—over a week ago (nine days, now, actually)—and Lacey was going to go mad if he didn’t stop.  She _missed_ him.  Gold was irritable, sharp-edged, and downright nasty at times, but she loved him.  Lacey didn’t always know why, but she loved him more than almost anything in the world.

“Mama?” a small voice asked, and Lacey bent down to pick up her daughter as Renee toddled towards her.

“Hello, angel,” she said with a smile, banishing her loneliness and her worries from her expression.   Renee was just old enough that she was starting to pick up on such things, and Lacey didn’t want to have to explain why one of Renee’s favorite people was ignoring them both.

“Bake?”

Lacey almost said no, but big brown eyes were fixated on her, round and hopeful, and how could any mother ignore that?  Renee’s favorite purple stuffed crocodile still dangled from one hand, but the three year old used her other hand to pull gently on Belle’s hair, still looking at her intently.

“Oh, all right,” she sighed.  “Cookies or brownies?”

Renee had a serious sweet tooth, though where she’d gotten it, Lacey didn’t know.  Lacey tried to limit her daughter’s intake of sugar and sweets, but sometimes she just gave in.  Bad days were always the hardest for her to resist on, and today was extra bad. 

“Cookies!” Renee said cheerfully, and Lacey managed to smile.  Gold was being a jerk—or paranoid and frightened, more likely—but she still had the most perfect little girl in the known universe.

“Cookies it is,” she agreed.  “I’ll make ‘em, you decorate them, okay?”

“Okay!  Can I have sprinkles?”

“Of course you can.”

So, Lacey got out the cookie dough and sprinkles, and together they started making chocolate chip cookies complete with rainbow-colored sprinkles.  Usually, she would have used sugar cookies, but she’d run out of those last week and hadn’t managed to buy any more.  Besides, she knew that Renee would like them regardless.  Lacey had yet to find a type of sweet that her daughter didn’t like, although her absolute favorite was probably the expensive chocolates that Gold imported from England.  Now _he_ had a sweet tooth to match Renee’s; Lacey couldn’t hold a candle to either of them when it came to eating junk, and she really did like chocolate and candy herself.  But the pair of them were in another category entirely.

 Renee was almost done decorating the cookies when a knocking came on their apartment door.  Immediately, Renee looked up at her mother with hopeful eyes.  “Gold?” she asked.

“I don’t think so, angel,” Lacey answered regretfully, a painful fist wrapping around her heart.  She pasted on a happy smile.  “But we should go see who it is, right?”

At least Renee was a cheerful child, and she liked most people that came to the library.  Lacey couldn’t afford daycare for her beautiful little girl, so she usually brought her down to work with her, although they didn’t get a lot of visitors at the apartment.  “Right!”

Wiping off her hands, Lacey picked Renee up again and balanced her on one hip.  Renee was getting a bit too big to haul around all the time, but she still liked carrying her baby around.  Besides, Lacey hauled boxes of books around most days, and some of them were every bit as heavy as Renee, or worse.  Lacey might have been slight, but she was pretty strong for her size, and carrying her daughter was worth the effort.  And it allowed Renee to use both her hands to open the door, which made Lacey smile.

The man on the other side of the door, however, did not.

“Tony,” she greeted the strapping dark haired man with surprise.  “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see if you wanted to go see a movie, Lace. Just the two of us, have some time out, y’know?  I haven’t seen you all week,” Tony Rose replied.

She sighed.  “You know I can’t just drop everything on a moment’s notice,” Lacey tried to say as reasonably as she could.  It was an ongoing argument between them; Tony never seemed to understand the responsibilities inherent in being a parent, and he didn’t want to spend time with Renee, either.  Everyone in town seemed to think that he had to be Renee’s father, but Lacey knew better.  Her memories on that front were rather foggy, but Lacey knew that Renee was nothing like Tony.  “Besides, Renee and I have plans for tonight.”

“We’re making cookies!” the toddler volunteered, but without the invitation that she would have issued if Tony had been someone she liked.

Renee was a good judge of character, after all, and although Tony had been Lacey’s friend for as long as she could remember, she rather thought her daughter was right about him.  _Even if Dad did want me to marry him, how could I marry someone so superficial?_

“How…exciting,” he replied dryly.

Lacey smiled her brightest smile, glancing down at Renee. “It is, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

“Yes.  But boys aren’t allowed,” her daughter replied solemnly, and Lacey had to bite back a laugh.

“I’m sorry, Tony, but the princess has spoken,” she said, trying to look a little regretful for his sake.  “We’ve got plans.”

“Of course.  I’ll call you later, then,” Tony said, as if he was expecting her to be excited about that.  Of course, he’d always been a bit of an egotistical jock, but there were times Lacey wondered how he never got the message.

Then again, she never came out and actually told him that she didn’t want to see him, so she supposed that was partially her fault.

“Sure,” she replied, and closed the door before he could invite himself in.  Thankfully, her three year old shield usually scared him off, so Lacey was able to go back to making cookies without any further interruptions.

* * *

 

_3 Months Before the Curse_

“Where’s Papa?” the small voice asked as Belle sat helplessly at the spinning wheel, running her fingers over the wood. 

Turning, she spotted her daughter as she toddled into the room, clad in a purple nightgown and soft blue slippers.  Gabrielle was only three, and barely that, and explaining to her why her father had had to go away for several months had been one of the hardest things her parents had ever done.  She was used to having her papa leave for a few days at a time, as was Belle, but now Rumplestiltskin had been gone for a week and they were both starting to get lonely.  The Dark Castle was far too quiet without him.

“Hey, you,” she said, standing up and going over to pick her daughter up.  Gabrielle snuggled up to her immediately, sleepily sucking on her thumb.  “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed, Gabi?”

“Don’t want do,” Gabrielle muttered, pressing her face into Belle’s shoulder.  “Want Papa.”

“Me, too,” Belle whispered before she could stop herself.  “But Papa explained why he had to go, remember?  We’ll see him again before you know it.”

“Want him _now_ ,” their daughter insisted, and Belle’s heart melted as she carried Gabrielle upstairs towards the spacious nursery she and Rumplestiltskin had meticulously put together for their child before she was born.  She was just glad that Rumple had managed _not_ to get himself thrown in prison before their daughter’s birthday.  Explaining his absence on that special day would have been impossible.

“How about I tell you a story instead?” she suggested.

“Want Papa’s stories.  Papa’s stories _better_.”

“I miss him, too, sweetie,” Belle admitted, swallowing back her own pain when she looked down to see tears glistening in her baby’s eyes.  “But we’ll see him soon.”

 _This had better be worth it, Rumple,_ she thought to herself.  _I am_ not _facing twenty-eight years of the curse without you there, and I’m definitely not facing the aftermath without you._ Belle knew that their current situation was necessary, and in the grand scheme of things, missing Rumple for three months while he let the Charmings think they had locked him up was nothing.  They would have the rest of their lives together after he woke her in the Land Without Magic, and everything would turn out all right. 

She had to believe that, or she would go insane.

* * *

 

“Your mother is crazy,” Emma growled across the kitchen table.  Mary Margaret was busy with parent-teacher conferences, which gave her a chance to talk with Regina and Henry without having to explain Henry’s crazy theories to the woman she’d moved in with all of four days ago.  “I mean absolutely certifiable.  I’ve only been a deputy sheriff for _three days_ and I already want to kill her.”

Regina shrugged.  “This is hardly news.”

“She’s the Evil Queen.  What do you expect?” Henry put in, and Emma scowled.

“Kid, your grandmother doesn’t have to be evil to be crazy,” she pointed out, wishing that every conversation with Henry didn’t somehow come around to his theory about this curse.

“What’d she do this time?” Regina asked, sounding tired of it all.  And Emma could hardly blame her—after all, what must it have been like to be raised by a woman like Cora Mills?  Thinking like that made Emma a little glad that she hadn’t been adopted.  Someone crazy might have grabbed her instead of someone like Regina.

“She wanted me to arrest Doctor Whale for being drunk and disorderly.”

“That’s not a surprise,” Regina replied with an eye roll as Henry asked curiously:

“Was he?”

“Drunk, sure.  Not terribly disorderly.  Though he was flirting like mad with that librarian, what’s-her-name?”

“Lacey French,” Regina supplied.

“She’s Beauty from _Beauty and the Beast_ ,” Henry added, and Emma sighed.

“Is it _always_ fairy tales with you, kid?” she asked before she could stop herself.

She was expecting some sort of explosion, expecting Henry to be hurt by her words.  She wasn’t anticipating the intensity of his response, however.  “Of course it is,” Henry said hotly.  “This is _important,_ Emma.  Everyone here is depending on you to break the curse.  They don’t know it, but their lives were stolen from them, and you’re the only chance they have to get them back!”

The outburst left Emma speechless for a moment, and she could only stare at the stubborn and imaginative child she had given birth to.  He believed this so strongly that even after almost two weeks in Storybrooke, he could utterly astound her with his faith.  Henry was so absolutely certain that everyone in his hometown was under a curse, but that was utterly impossible.  Magic didn’t exist in the real world.  People couldn’t cast curses.  As odd as Storybrooke was—and Emma did have to admit that the town was weird—what Henry believed flat out wasn’t possible.

“Henry…” she started, trying to say this as gently as she could, all the while remembering what Regina had said Henry’s therapist believed.  Should she humor him instead of trying to be the voice of reason?  Regina seemed to be trying that tact, and maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.

“You don’t believe me,” Henry cut in.  “That’s okay.  You haven’t been here very long.  You’ll see.”

Helplessly, Emma looked at Regina, but the dark haired woman (or semi-evil princess, according to Henry) just shrugged.  But then she said something that rocked Emma’s entire world.  “Henry’s right, you know.  It isn’t just a storybook.”

Emma’s jaw almost dropped off her face, and a long moment passed before she could find her voice.

_“What?”_

“I wasn’t wholly truthful with you before, Emma, but it’s time that you knew everything,” the mayor’s daughter said bluntly.  “Henry’s book may tell stories, but it tells _true_ stories.  It tells all of our stories.  Even yours.”

Wide eyed, all Emma could do was stare as Regina took the book from Henry, opening it to the story at the end that Henry always tried to use to convince Emma that he was right.  There was a picture on the page Regina chose, one of a mother with her newborn child.  Emma knew that picture, knew that the man at the woman’s side was supposedly her father (who was supposedly David Nolan, which was just plain _strange_ ), and that the baby was supposed to be her.  There was another woman in the picture, however, one with long dark hair who stood on the other side of the bed, and it was that woman Regina pointed at.

“This is me,” Regina told her.  “I was there.  I remember _everything_ about that life, and I have since you arrive.  My mother cast this horrible curse to enact revenge on my stepsister—your mother—and on everyone else she believed had slighted her.  And you are the only one who can break it.”

Emma gulped.  “Look, I’m just a foster kid from the system.  I don’t have any fairy tale beginning.  I’m no Savior.  I’m just…me.”

“And that’s what we need.”  Regina grabbed her arm when Emma started to pull away, and the other woman’s grip was surprisingly strong.  “Look, I’m not asking you for belief right now.  Just…keep an open mind.”

Was everyone in this town crazy?  Henry believing in this was one thing, but the fact that his mother—who Emma had figured to be the sane woman in that family—also believed was just too much.  Emma’s first instinct told her to run, told her to put as much distance between herself and this crazy town as she could, but Henry was staring at her with huge brown eyes, and how could she do that to him?  Besides, she’d just started a new job four days ago, and although Emma had held some jobs for really short periods, none of those had been honest.  It would hardly look good on her resume to quit this one so early, and her stuff had just arrived yesterday.

“Do you have any idea how crazy you sound?” she finally demanded, out of diplomatic ways to say that.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was _not_ telling you that for the last two weeks?” Regina countered, rolling her eyes.  “And if you think I _sound_ crazy, you should try having two lives rolling around in your head. Sometimes I think it’s a wonder I haven’t gone insane.”

“Are you sure about that?” Emma couldn’t help asking drily. 

Henry looked horrified, but Regina snorted wryly.  “You have no idea.”

They stared at one another in silence for a long moment, and Regina finally shrugged.

“I know this sounds insane to you,” she continued.  “It would sound insane to me if I hadn’t lived it.  But I did, and you’re going to, whether you like it or not.  The curse won’t let you leave for good, so you’re stuck here like the rest of us.”

“I swerved into a street sign to avoid hitting a wolf,” Emma objected.  “That’s not some mythical curse keeping me from leaving town.”

“Fine.  Then try again.”  There was something fed up, something I-know-better-than-you-know, in Regina’s expression that just got under Emma’s skin, and before she knew it, she was snapping:

“I will!”

“Go ahead.  Just try not to total your car this time.”

Emma scowled.  “I didn’t _total_ it last time.  And it’s fine now.”

“Go on then,” Regina goaded her.  “Try to leave, and then we’ll talk again.”

* * *

 

Regina took Henry home after Emma stormed out of the apartment she shared with Snow—err, Mary Margaret.  Henry protested, of course, but Regina reassured him that Emma _would_ be back. Her niece was just so hard-headed that she needed to see this for herself, and the curse would prove it to her when it wouldn’t let her leave.  _Or at least it will if Rumple’s right,_ she thought to herself as they settled in at the kitchen table for homework time.  _He’d better be right.  Then again, he’s been right about everything else so far._ Snow used to tell Regina that she shouldn’t trust Rumplestiltskin the way she did, but she had a different relationship with the imp than her sister did.  Snow didn’t really know Rumple, whereas Regina _did_ , and she knew how many brains he used to hide behind that scaly exterior.  He wasn’t a ‘good guy’ by any stretch of the imagination, but then again, Regina wasn’t really one, either.  But they had been in this together from the beginning.

Noticing that Henry was flipping through the Book again broke her out of her reverie.  “Aren’t you supposed to be doing your math homework?” she asked her son.

“Sorry.  I just had a thought about Jane Doe in the hospital,” Henry said brightly.  “What if she’s Sleeping Beauty?”

“You can look it up later,” Regina reminded him. “Homework now.”

The sound of the front door opening interrupted before Henry could respond, so he called out: “We’re in the kitchen!”

It was a little early for David to be home—one of his assistants at the animal shelter had called in sick, so he was working the late shift and feeding the animals—but Regina thought nothing of it until a familiar voice asked: “What are you reading, Henry?”

They both froze; son’s eyes met mother’s, and Henry answered quickly:

“Just a book, Grandma.  Nothing important.”

Regina picked up immediately: “And you need to be doing your homework.  Why don’t you take it upstairs?”

“Good idea,” Henry agreed, probably a little too fast.  Immediately, he started gathering up his school supplies—and the book—while Regina turned to look at Cora.

“What brings you by so late, Mother?” she asked as mildly as she could manage.  “Not that it isn’t wonderful to see you, but this is unexpected.”

Something flashed in Cora’s eyes, and Regina kicked herself mentally.  She had to be careful.  Her cursed self probably would not have questioned Cora at all, even such an inoffensive question as that one.

“Can’t I visit my family like any loving grandmother?” Cora asked with a viper’s smile, leaning over to kiss Henry on the cheek.  The affectionate gesture was out of character for her, however, and Regina realized with a sinking heart what Cora was doing without being able to stop her.  One manicured hand landed on the Book, turning it towards her, and Cora frowned.  “ _Once Upon a Time,_ ” she read aloud.  “Aren’t you a little too old for fairy tales, dear?”

Henry frowned.  “I’m only ten.”

“I thought you’d be interested in more exciting tales by now.  Something like those comic books you used to like.”

“I still like comic books.  I can like both,” Regina’s adopted son replied stoically, one hand gripping the Book protectively.

But Cora was older and stronger, and Henry couldn’t yank the Book away without drawing even more attention to it.  Regina knew that she had never been particularly pleased with Regina and David’s desire to adopt a child.  Oh, she’d been caring enough with Henry over the years (barely), but now that Regina was awake, she realized how her mother had always viewed Henry: the consequence of allowing her daughter and son-in-law a little bit of growth within the curse.  Cora hadn’t appreciated the idea of _no_ time moving at all, so she’d allowed some people to change a little.  Regina’s cursed self, of course, had wanted a child desperately, though that had probably been Cora’s doing, too.  But since the curse would not allow for a pregnancy, the only answer had been adoption.

Still smiling, Cora pulled the Book from Henry’s hands and flipped it open.  “How quaint,” she said softly, her eyes flicking rapidly over the first few pages.  “And rather battered.  Regina, darling, surely you can afford better books for Henry if he insists on reading such children’s tales.”

“She didn’t buy it for me,” Henry scowled.  “I got it from the library.”

“Oh, did you now?” Cora purred.

“Mother, I think it’s time for Henry to do homework, don’t you?” Regina cut in, trying her hardest to sound like Cora’s well behaved and cursed daughter.

“Of course.  May I borrow your book, Henry?  Just for a few minutes.”  The smile was dangerous, but what could Henry say?  There was no way to argue with Cora without giving the game away, so he had to nod.

“I’ll be upstairs, I guess,” the ten year old replied uneasily, but he did glance over his shoulder at Regina with pleading eyes.  She tried to give him a reassuring look in return, but could say nothing as Henry tromped up the stairs, shoulders hunched and angry.

Cora waited until he was gone to say: “I don’t approve of this, Regina.”

“Approve of what, Mother?”  Slowly, Regina rose to look her mother in the eye, trying to still act meek and well-behaved.  “It’s only stories.  He’ll grow out of them soon enough.”

“I would hope so,” Cora looked up at her, eyes dark and unreadable, yet still dangerous.  “Nevertheless, you’ll put a stop to this.  I will return the book to the library.”

Taking a deep breath, Regina said cautiously.  “That might not be the best idea.  Henry is at the age where he will only get more interested if you take the book away.”

“Are you questioning my good judgment, darling?”

Impossible to miss the warning in that tone.  It would have made Regina’s cursed self turn to jelly.

“Of course not, Mother,” she replied quickly.  “I only…well, if you want him to lose interest…”  She trailed off, hoping that Cora would connect the dots herself.  And not take the book.

“I will handle this, since you are clearly incapable of doing so,” her mother told her, and Regina knew that fighting would be foolish.  Hopefully, Cora would return the book, and Regina would be able to get it back.  If not, well, she remembered what had happened well enough, and Rumplestiltskin could undoubtedly fill in anything she missed.

“As you wish.  I don’t mean to argue.”

“Good girl,” Cora praised her, leaning in to kiss Regina on the cheek before she gathered the Book up.   “I will see you at the office tomorrow.”

“Good night, Mother,” she said tonelessly, and showed Cora to the door.

* * *

 

_12 ½  Years Before the Curse_

He didn’t expect her to show up for her lesson in tears.

Rumplestiltskin had enchanted one of Regina’s necklaces to give her a one-way transport to the Dark Castle for lessons—he couldn’t exactly show up anywhere near the Summer Palace to teach her, lest Cora notice, and he wasn’t going to play chauffer every time she needed a ride before she learned to teleport for herself.  Besides, when and if Regina could get away from her overbearing mother was always hard to predict, so it was easier to give her a way to bring herself to him when she was ready to learn.  The spells he used always gave him enough warning to be ready to greet her, which meant Rumplestiltskin was waiting in the great hall when she arrived, but he still hadn’t expected her to be crying.

Oh, it wasn’t full-blown sobs or anything quiet so disappointing as that, but Regina’s eyes were definitely glistening with tears and there were suspicious wet tracks gleaming on her cheeks.  One look at him made her gulp, and Regina immediately turned away, wrapping her arms around herself.  Several minutes passed in silence—what was _he_ supposed to do with a crying princess?—while Rumplestiltskin racked his brain for something appropriate to say.  He wasn’t the comforting sort, and he certainly wasn’t her father, even though he very well could have been if things had worked out differently.  He was the Dark One!  If a princess was in tears, she should be there because he made her cry, not because he was apparently the one she went to when she was crying.

“I don’t know if I want to do this,” she whispered raggedly.

“Uh…do what, exactly?” he asked her back, shifting nervously.  Crying princesses were not his specialty, unless it was mocking them.  And instinct told him that mocking her would probably not turn out well right now.

After all, he was trying to turn Regina into something of a wildcard.  She was never going to cast his curse, and a long time would pass before she escaped the hold her mother had on her, but once she did, the still-weeping princess was bound to be extraordinary.  He would need her against her mother in the long run, would use her as a means with which to ensure the Dark Curse—almost completed now, save for a few key components and a few twists that Cora casting it would necessitate he include—was eventually broken.  But that meant they would have to work together, and that necessitated a certain degree of trust between them.  And despite himself, after a half year of teaching Regina, he was growing…fond of her.

“Magic!” Regina spat as if it was a dirty word.

“Wh—What?” Surprise jerked that response out of him.  She couldn’t do that!  He was going to _need_ her, and without magic, Regina was never going to feel strong enough to stand up to her mother.

“It’s all darkness!” She whirled on him, tears streaming faster down her face.  “I don’t want to be evil.  I don’t care about power.  I just want to protect those I love.”

Rumplestiltskin blinked.  That was the key, wasn’t it?  Cora wanted Regina to embrace darkness and power, because that was all Cora cared about. Regina, however, was much more her father’s daughter.  Regina wanted _love._ After all, Prince Henry had tried to love even Cora, had been loyal to her no matter what she had done to him, and had made his daughter the center of his world when Cora proved time and again she would not love him back.  Possibilities flashed through Rumplestiltskin’s mind, and he knew what he had to do.  _Be a counter to Cora,_ he told himself.  _Show her how to embrace the strengths Cora doesn’t know she has._

Slowly, as cautiously as he would approach a wounded animal, Rumplestiltskin stepped forward.  “Who says magic cannot do that, dearie?” he asked softly.

“What do you mean?” She peered at him suspiciously.

“Magic isn’t only darkness, Regina,” Rumplestiltskin replied seriously, reaching out to touch her arm gently.  “Magic can protect as well as it can destroy, heal as well as it can hurt.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

A slight smile touched his lips.  “What did she make you do?”

“Rip a servant’s heart out.  Like she did with Daniel,” Regina whispered brokenly.  “And then she made me crush it.”

“Tsk, tsk,” he giggled shortly.  “Your mother’s a fool.  There’s much more to magic than that.”

Regina swallowed her tears.  “Like what?”

“She’s teaching you to hurt people, yes?” he asked, and she nodded.  “Well, then, I shall show you how to heal them.”

Her nod was hesitant, but a little hopeful, and soon enough Regina’s tears dried.  She threw herself into learning, and Rumplestiltskin made sure to teach her well.  Had he been crafting her to cast the curse, he would never have encouraged her to embrace emotions like love and the need to protect people, but that ship had sailed.  Regina was never going to cast his curse; Cora was the only option remaining.  For a while, he had thought that Zelena might be another option—he’d taught her when she’d shown up in the Enchanted Forest, but by the time she’d left for Oz in a huff, he’d been glad to see her go.  She’d been less sane than her mother and almost as unpredictable, and having his own heart used to cast the curse had not been any part of Rumplestiltskin’s plans.  Zelena would have been less _dangerous_ than Cora and far easier to manipulate, but he couldn’t take that chance.

That left him with Regina as a student while Zelena wreaked havoc in Oz, slowly exiling her “sister” witches and establishing her own rule over the place.  He had no doubt that she’d eventually return to the Enchanted Forest, undoubtedly to seek her mother out, but he’d given Zelena enough warnings about Cora to ensure she’d not do so until she felt she could impress the woman who had given her up.  Regina didn’t know about her real sister, however, and Rumplestiltskin had no intention of telling her.  That was Cora’s problem, and Cora was not likely to want her bastard daughter united with her legitimate one.  Meanwhile, he would continue to teach Regina, help her recover from Cora’s wrath, and plan for the future.

* * *

 

Well.  She had always known that any curse Rumplestiltskin created had to be tricky, so Cora supposed that she should not be surprised.  It was something of a miracle that the first wrinkle had waited so long to show up, and that it was as minor as a book full of so-called ‘fairy tales’ that were poorly disguised stories from their world.  Flipping through the book told her that the stories were slightly skewed versions of the truth, ones that built up her foolish stepdaughter as a hero and Cora as a villain.  As children’s stories, Cora supposed they served well enough, but she would not have her grandson reading such filth.  Henry was impressionable enough as it was, particularly with his indecisive father and cursed mother.

Hm.  Regina had been acting out a little more lately; was that another sign of time moving, or was this something else?  Cora would need to study her daughter further to determine what was happening, but if there was anything she had a plethora of in Storybrooke, it was time.  She had not expected Regina to act like this, however, so she would have to decide if it was time to tweak the curse slightly.  Perhaps she would turn a school bully on Henry, one whom the administrators there could not stop, forcing Regina to remember that her mother did indeed have the answers to her problems.  Or perhaps she should just further encourage David to discipline Henry, pulling the boy away from foolish books that he need not be interested in.

Upon walking into her own mansion, Cora dropped the fairy tale book on the front table.  She didn’t need to read the entire book to know what was in there, and had no desire to.  She remembered well enough.  In the morning, she would take it back to the library and give it back to the promiscuous librarian.

 _Belle,_ her memory supplied.  The girl was one of those whom Cora had known nothing about prior to casting the curse; the daughter of a minor knight was hardly worth a queen’s attention.  But here in Storybrooke she had grown much more interesting.  Somehow Lacey French had managed to catch Gold’s eye, and Cora had watched their illicit relationship with much amusement over the years.  The more she hurt Gold, the more quickly he turned to Lacey, and they both thought they were hiding it from her, the fools.

Still, Lacey was easy enough to intimidate, and she’d make sure the foolish librarian kept unsuitable books away from Henry in the future.  That would be a simple task to accomplish come tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is Chapter Nine: “Hope Amidst Darkness”, in which Cora tries to bully Lacey, Henry tries to get the Book back, and Ashley Boyd maces Gold. Back in the Enchanted Forest, Rumplestiltskin and Belle plan to get married, and he takes her someplace utterly magical.
> 
> Also, for anyone who is confused - Keith Law is the Sheriff of Nottingham.


	9. Hope Amidst Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions to Answer: I’ve received a lot of questions, so I thought I would answer them here:
> 
> 1\. Where did Gabrielle (Renee)’s name come from? Gabrielle is named after Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve, who wrote the first published version of “Beauty and the Beast.”  
> 2\. Will Graham live? Probably. This is a very different Storybrooke from the one we know, so anything is possible.  
> 3\. Who is Keith Law? Keith is the Sheriff of Nottingham. The show didn’t give him a last name, so I improvised.

_November 7, 2011_

Cora waited until she was done with work on Monday before heading to the library.  After all, what was the hurry?  Time might be moving, but Cora viewed that as an interesting challenge to overcome, not a threat to her power.  Lacey French was hardly a force to be reckoned with, Gold’s doxy or not.  She might be the kind and gentle sort that a traumatized Gold turned to, but she was no match for a woman who had scraped, fought, and killed her way up from being the miller’s daughter to the most feared queen in the entire Enchanted Forest.  Lacey French had been no one of importance back in their world, and she continued to be insignificant here.  Cora could make her disappear with the snap of her fingers, and that would not even require magic.

Power was power, after all, and Cora cultivated it in all its many forms, not just magical.  So, she was fully confident when she stepped into the library, pausing to look around and see if any patrons were there.  There weren’t, of course; few people other than children and teachers frequented Storybrooke’s Library, because that might have given some of them a measure of peace.  Peace, of course, was not welcome in Storybrooke.  Cora had no intention of allowing her peons to be happy.  None of them had ever done anything for her.  Why would she want them to be anything other than miserable? 

“Miss French,” she called, and watched the librarian jerk in surprise across the room.  Lacey spun around, her too-bright blue eyes wide with surprise.

“Madam Mayor,” she said a little shakily; Cora was pleased.  “What brings you to the library?”

The librarian hurried over gratifyingly quickly, and Cora gave her a hard-edged smile.  “I wanted to return a book to you.”

“Oh.  That’s the fairy tale book I gave Henry.  Is he done with it already?”

“He most certainly is,” Cora snapped, and then caught herself.  Queens only showed anger when they wished to, and she did not need outright threats to frighten this little girl.  More calmly, Cora placed the book on the desk between them.  “He will not need this book again.”

“All right…” Lacey said slowly, and Cora did not appreciate the quizzical look the librarian was giving her.

“Is there something you do not understand, Miss French?” she demanded.

“No, I think I understand you just fine.”  But there was an edge in the reply Cora had not expected, so she specified:

“You’ll not give this book back to Henry again.  Is that clear?”

Lacey definitely did not take the hint; the girl only shrugged and said: “This is a library, Madam Mayor.  All the books are available to everyone.”

Was she really that stupid, or was the girl just pretending not to understand her?  Cora wasn’t certain, though she did have to remind herself that Gold’s nice little woman probably had to have at least a little intelligence, otherwise she would never have kept even Rumple’s cursed self interested.  Of course, Gold was not nearly as complicated as Rumplestiltskin, but the curse did keep some of his more intriguing attributes intact—otherwise Cora would never have continued to be interested in him herself. 

And that was another reason to dislike the little whore.  Her eyes narrowed as she turned to face the librarian fully, not yet drawing on the power of the curse but gathering it to herself just in case. 

“Miss French, if you want to keep your cozy little job here—and not have to answer inconvenient questions about the level of care you do or do not provide for your little brat—you’ll do as I say,” Cora told her bluntly, letting her eyes travel to the playpen that contained a cheerfully laughing three year old child.  The little bastard was paying no attention to them, but Cora could still use her presence against Lacey if need be.  “And I do not want my grandson to reading such filth.”

The mention of her little brat had made Lacey flinch, and Cora knew the blow struck home.  “I…I understand.”

“Good,” she said with another sharp-edged smile.  “See that you do not forget.”

“I won’t.”  Blue eyes flicked away from hers, a clear sign of defeat, and Cora felt the sweet feeling of victory soaring through her.

“Have a nice afternoon,” she told the librarian, and strode out of the library with her head held high like the queen she was.

* * *

 

Lacey spent a few long moments in silence after the mayor left, sitting down and shaking, glancing every few seconds at Renee to make sure that her daughter was still there.  She knew that she _shouldn’t_ be afraid of the mayor, that those threats shouldn’t faze her, but one word from Cora Mills could lead to Lacey losing her job and all hope of taking care of Renee.  Being the librarian didn’t pay well enough for a luxurious life, but she was able to make ends meet well enough that she didn’t _need_ the money that Gold slipped her from time to time.  Or had, anyway, before he’d started ignoring her for her own “safety”.  She’d been doing well before that happened, but the fact that the mayor had marched in and threatened her only made life a thousand times worse.  She’d already lost Gold—what if she lost her job, and then Renee, too?  Her father had already tried to force her to give up Renee for adoption more than once, and Lacey knew that her father wouldn’t take them both in if she lost her job.  He’d demand she give up Renee first.

But Lacey had never been the sit and cry type; after a few moments of bawling her eyes out quietly, she wiped her face, cuddled her daughter, and went back to work.  There were books to be organized, and she was thinking of redecorating the children’s section.  It had been painted with that peeling rainbow for as long as Lacey could remember, and Ruby had offered to help her repaint it this weekend, if only she could manage to move all the books out of the way first.

 “Hi, Miss French!”

Startled, Lacey spun to see the young owner of that cheerful voice and watched young Henry Nolan bounce into the library.  He was all smiles and optimism, just like he always was, ready to like everyone regardless of the circumstances.  Henry was the library’s most frequent patron, young or old, and usually she was delighted to see him.  He was a ray of sunshine in an otherwise dreary town, and what with the way Lacey’s last two weeks had been going, she really could use a pick-me-up.  But after her conversation with Cora less than an hour earlier, it was all she could do not to grimace.  Why _did_ Cora not want Henry to read a book about fairy tales?  What did she have against such stories?  Some sort of recognition pricked at the edge of Lacey’s mind, hovering just out of reach, but when the answer didn’t come to her, she shrugged the thought away.

Henry seemed not to notice, breezing into the library with a grin on his face.  “Hiya, Renee,” he added, and Lacey’s daughter waved in response.

“Henry!”

Everyone liked Henry, particularly Renee.  And at least watching her daughter’s enthusiasm could make Lacey smile wanly.

“Hello, Henry,” she said.   “What brings you in today?  Do you need something for class?”

Deep brown eyes studied her intently, and for a moment Henry reminded her very strongly of someone, although Lacey could not think of who.  “My grandmother was here, wasn’t she?”

Lacey blinked.  She’d always known Henry was smart, but she hadn’t expected him to figure that out.  “Well…yes.”

“I’m sorry.  She’s not very nice,” the youth said, plopping down in a chair and looking at Lacey solemnly.  “She doesn’t like my Book, does she?”

Somehow, Lacey didn’t have to ask which book.  The fact that Cora had been there less than an hour earlier to berate her for even daring to think that books in the library were available for loan—and one book in particular—told Lacey everything she needed to know.  What it didn’t do was make her understand _why_ Mayor Mills was so angry; all Lacey had done was give a curious boy a book on fairy tales.  Oh, the fairy tales inside that specific book were a little unorthodox.  Lacey _had_ read the book before giving it to Henry, and had found them strange if engaging.  Henry was a special boy, though, and he had come to the library more than once to look for answers that no one seemed able to give him.  So, Lacey had handed him the book and suggested he read it, hoping that he could at least find something to capture his imagination.

It seemed that she’d been successful on that front, perhaps more so than she had intended.  Henry had carried that book _everywhere_ for the last three weeks or so; Lacey had seen him with it in the library, at Granny’s, and even walking to school with it in his hands.  He seemed to be sharing it with both of his mothers, too, even the new deputy sheriff who seemed to be his birth mother.  Lacey hadn’t met Emma Swan yet—she tried to steer clear of the entire office thanks to Keith Law’s obsession with her—but she was happy to see that Henry was connecting with her, even if it was through a book full of fairy tales.  After all, Lacey had been quite an odd child herself, so she knew the feeling of being _different._

“No, she doesn’t,” she answered Henry’s question with a little nervous laugh.

“Did she tell you not to give it back to me?” the boy asked bluntly, and Lacey gaped.

“How…how did you know that?”

He shrugged.  “She doesn’t like the book because it’s true.  All of it.”

“I’ve read that book,” Lacey reminded him, managing a real smile this time.  “It’s about a curse cast by an evil queen, and—”

“And she’s the Evil Queen,” Henry cut her off.  “Don’t you see it?  That’s why she doesn’t like the Book, because it tells everyone what she did.  That curse is why everyone is here, and why everyone is unhappy.” 

“Henry…” Lacey started to object, not sure what to say.  But the ten year old only strode over to the circulation desk where the fairy tale book still sat, grabbing it and flipping through the pages until he found the right one.

“Look!  You’re in here.” 

Against her better judgment, Lacey looked at the picture that Henry was pointing at.  It was a watercolor of a dark-haired girl about her own age, with long hair and blue eyes of the same shade that hers were.  The artwork wasn’t that good, and the features were a little cartoonish, but even Lacey could detect the resemblance between that picture and the face she saw in the mirror every morning.  _Why didn’t I ever see that before?_ she wondered to herself.  _That’s from one of my favorite stories, and I love yellow dresses._   A little startled, she looked back up at the boy holding the book, and Henry grinned triumphantly.

“I bet you never noticed before, did you?” he demanded.

“No,” she admitted with an awkward smile.

“That’s because you can’t,” Henry explained.  “The curse keeps you from knowing.  But you’re Belle from _Beauty and the Beast._   You have to be.  You love books, you run the library, and you look just right.  The only thing I can’t figure out is Renee.”

The unexpected reference to her daughter made Lacey blink.  “What?”

“Well, the story’s pretty straightforward. Beauty goes with the Beast to save her people from the ogres, and then they fall in love.  So he lets her go, but she comes back.  Then they get married—the Book gets a little vague there, something about some special town where she can’t break his curse.  Because the weird part in their story is that he Beast doesn’t _want_ his curse broken for some reason, but Belle loves him anyway,” the boy recounted the story that Lacey had read at least a hundred times.  She’d always liked that story the best out of the entire book, because its message wasn’t about making someone change because you loved them; Beauty loved the Beast no matter what he looked like, and he loved her despite the fact that she was willful and stubborn.  Theirs’ wasn’t a typical fairy tale—they got married but they couldn’t really kiss—but it spoke to Lacey for some reason.

“You think that’s _me_?” she finally managed to ask.  Why did she believe any of this?  But it all made sense.  That story felt more real that most of her own memories did.

“Well, yeah, it’s obvious,” Henry said with the kind of certainty only a ten year old could muster.  “But what I don’t get is Renee.  She’s not in the story.  I think she might have been misplaced.”

“ _Misplaced?_ ” Lacey demanded, not sure she liked the implication of what that meant for her beloved daughter.

“Some of the kids in my class aren’t with the right families.  The Evil Queen liked to split people up,” he replied.  Henry looked a little like he was bracing himself before he added: “I think Renee might be one of them.”

A long moment passed before Lacey could find her voice.  “You mean that you think Renee isn’t my daughter at all,” she said flatly.

“Maybe?”  He looked a little guilty.

“Absolutely not.”  Renee had always been her daughter.  Renee was the only thing in Lacey’s life that really mattered, the only thing she’d ever done _right_ in a very screwed up past.  Almost on their own, her blue eyes traced in on her daughter, who was giggling obliviously at the puzzle she’d been working on.  “That’s not possible.  Even if you’re right—and I’m not saying you are—the story doesn’t end there.  There’s nothing that says Beauty and the Beast can’t have a daughter.”

The thought of losing Renee scared her even more than the mayor’s threats had.

“I dunno, Miss French.”  Then Henry smiled, perhaps a little too brightly.  “But that means you have a True Love here in Storybrooke, and the Beast would be human here.  Do you have any idea who he might be?”

“I…I have no idea,” she stuttered, her mind still full of the idea of losing her daughter.  Henry really was good at throwing her for loops today.

“Will you think about it?”

Lacey swallowed hard, pushing her fears aside.  “Sure.”

“Thanks!”  Henry beamed.  “It’s nice to have someone else to talk about this with.  Emma thinks I’m crazy, and Mom…well, Mom has to deal with my grandmother, and that’s no picnic.”

“I imagine it isn’t,” she answered automatically.  _No one_ was going to take Renee from her.  No matter what.  Lacey wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Grandma told you not to give me the Book back, right?”  Henry asked suddenly, and _that_ managed to cut through the fog in Lacey’s mind.

“I can’t risk my job over a book, Henry,” she said softly, glancing back at her daughter once more.

“Then…why don’t you go pay attention to Renee, and then you won’t know who borrowed it?” the clever boy suggested.  “If you don’t see me take it, you don’t know, right?”

“Henry…”

“If Grandma sees me with it, I’ll tell her I stole it,” he replied brightly.  “I promise.”

She didn’t know why she went along with it.  Common sense said that she shouldn’t, that she shouldn’t believe a moment of Henry’s wild tales about fairy tales being true and the entire town being under a curse.  But Lacey _wanted_ to.  If Henry had not brought up the possibility of Renee being someone else’s daughter, she would probably have believed him wholeheartedly, because that book had always seemed so very real to her.  Lacey had felt out of place her entire life, like she didn’t quite belong and almost no one understood her.  The only one who ever seemed to understand her at all was Gold, and the dreamer inside her desperately wanted to know there was a better world waiting out there, something nicer than this terrifying little town where one woman could so easily ruin so many lives.

Lacey French was afraid of Cora Mills, but she turned her back and let Henry take the fairy tale book, anyway.  After all, the Belle from the stories was strong and brave.  Maybe Lacey could be like that.

* * *

 

_4 Years Before the Curse_

Gaston had not returned, nor had any kind of word.  They had sent him back to Avonlea over two months earlier, along with a letter and an enchanted box that would instantly deliver letters to the Dark Castle once they were put inside.  He _should_ have reached Belle’s father more than three weeks ago, even if traveling conditions had been terrible, and that meant that Sir Maurice had not wanted to reply.  For his own part, Rumplestiltskin didn’t particularly care if Sir Maurice wanted to wish them both straight to hell, but he knew that her father was important to Belle, so he kept such thoughts to himself, awkwardly taking her hands when she sighed:

“I just wish Papa would have sent _something_.  I told him I love you, and that I just wanted his blessing.  Is that so hard?”

“Most people only see the monster in me, sweetheart,” he answered her honestly, reaching up to touch her cheek as Belle leaned into his chest with a sigh.  “Your father probably thinks I’ve bewitched you.”

She snorted.  “You wouldn’t know how to seduce a woman if your life depended on it, Rumple.”

“I do have a _little_ more experience than that,” Rumplestiltskin objected before he could think the better of it. 

“That’s why _I_ had to kiss you,” Belle retorted, tipping her head back to look at him with the blue eyes that always threatened to make Rumplestiltskin forget all the reasons for holding onto his curse.  “And that’s why _I_ had to tell _you_ that I wanted to marry you.  Because left to your own devices, you would never have asked.”

“I would have—” he started, only to have her cut him off with a giggle.

“Eventually,” she agreed.  “Probably, anyway.”

“Belle!”  Dark Ones did not whine, so if his voice got a little high-pitched on that objection, well, there was no particular reason.

Her smile could have provided enough light for a thousand suns.  “It’s all right,” she said softly, moving a hand to place it on his heart.  “I love you the way you are, but _I’m_ not waiting any longer.  It’s Papa’s loss if he doesn’t want to come.  So take me away, Rumplestiltskin, to this magical place in which you say we can get married.”

He did not need to be told twice.

* * *

 

Head spinning, Rumplestiltskin picked himself up off of the floor, making it into a sitting position before he had to stop to catch his breath.  She’d _maced_ him.  Little Princess Ella had scraped up the spine to attack him and steal that contract, the one that the curse had so adeptly written for Mr. Gold.  He had warned the girl back in the Enchanted Forest, had told her that one way or another he _would_ make sure their deal was fulfilled.  He didn’t want the child, of course—never had—but Rumplestiltskin wanted what the deal would get him here in the Land Without Magic.  And he was so damn close that it hurt.

So did his head.  Raising a shaking hand to touch his head, Rumplestiltskin realized that he was bleeding.  Had that silly girl—?  No.  The memory was becoming clearer.  He’d done this to himself, hitting his head on the counter as he fell.  The rapid stinging in his eyes, however, was all Ella’s doing.  Or Ashley Boyd’s.  The meek, frightened little maid was definitely starting to show more characteristics of her true self, and that was good.  Time was moving, and things were changing.  _People_ were changing, little by little, returning to who they were meant to be.  Under other circumstances, Rumplestiltskin would be pleased by that development, but right now he was more than a little annoyed by Ella’s boldness.

Well.  At least things were moving along.  Ashley would run, and the Savior would track her down.  He hadn’t had the chance to meet Miss Swan yet, but Ashley having stolen the contract would give Gold the perfect opportunity to call upon their new deputy sheriff.  Then Emma would prove that she was indeed the Charmings’ daughter, and he would have the favor he needed, the one he had set this entire deal up to get. 

_“It’s not about the child,” he explained to a fuming Belle, hands up and trying to placate his very put out True Love.  “She’ll_ never _give me the child, and_ that’s _what I want.”_

_“Then why the trickery?” Belle asked, her anger a little mollified.  At least she wasn’t looking at him like he was a stranger, anymore, not the way she had been a few moments earlier.  “Why not just ask for what you want?”_

_“Because it’s not Princess Ella or her feckless prince who are going to give me what I want.”_

_Belle cocked her head.  “I don’t understand.”_

_Rumplestiltskin smiled.  “She won’t have the child until after we’re in the Land Without Magic,” he explained.  “And it’s the Savior, the Charmings’ little girl, who will make deal to save her.  I don’t know the details yet, but that much I know.”_

_“I think you’re making this more complicated that it has to be,” she laughed at him teasingly._

_“You have no idea, sweetheart,” he replied, laughing with her.  “Just wait until I let them lock me up.”_

_“You_ what _?”_

Shaking himself free of the memory—an effort that only made his aching head hurt more—Rumplestiltskin levered himself to his feet, finding his cane along the way and swaying only slightly.  He would make his next move in the morning, would go visit Miss Swan and Miss Blancard’s loft and then enlist the Savior to find their runaway princess.  It would be his first real move since waking up, Rumplestiltskin’s reemergence on the board as a player in the game.  Cora would not detect the importance of this tiny favor because it was in keeping with Gold’s character, but it would be the first step to defeating her.

And then his phone rang, effectively taking Rumplestiltskin out of play for the rest of the evening and the following morning.

* * *

 

_4 Years Before the Curse_

The horseless carriage left them outside the gates to the small town, and a quartet of people rushed out to meet them, all smiles and breezy greetings.  Belle peered curiously out of the carriage window, looking around Rumplestiltskin with eyes wide in wonder.  “Where _are_ we?”

“Amorveria,” he replied, hopping out of the carriage and relishing his ability to move so freely.  It would only last another few moments, so Rumplestiltskin reminded himself to enjoy that were it lasted.  “The one town in the Enchanted Forest where no magic works…except for True Love.”

The quartet of footmen were dressed in identical livery, and as Rumplestiltskin handed Belle down from the carriage, they absconded with the luggage off the back of the coach, carrying it through the gates and off towards the cottage Rumplestiltskin had rented.  Belle watched them with barely concealed excitement, her eyes wide and her hand tight on Rumplestiltskin’s arm.  Just watching her so happy made his heart flutter in his chest, his worn black heart that was so open and vulnerable to this amazing woman. 

“It really exists?” she asked breathlessly.  “I thought you were just pulling my leg.”

“Oh, no,” he answered, grinning back. “I did promise you someplace magical, did I not?”

“Anywhere with you is magical.”

His smile was so huge that it hurt his face, but Rumplestiltskin offered Belle his arm, summoning a gentleman’s walking stick to his right hand as he did so.  He had been to Amorveria before, and Rumplestiltskin knew what the town’s peculiar lack of magic would do to him once he stepped through its gates.  He had come here once, over a century previously, in search of rare ingredients to make a binding potion for some noblewoman or another with a wandering husband.  Then, he hadn’t believed the rumors about Amorveria, but once Rumplestiltskin had stepped inside the town—and almost fallen flat on his face—he had been forced to accept the fact that the stories were true.  All of them.

“So, where to?” Belle asked, pressing her hip against his as they stepped through the stone archway over the open gates.  “I mean, where to first, since you said we are— _oh_.”

He had been prepared for the transition this time, with the walking stick firmly in his right hand and there to steady himself.  Still, the feeling of magic seeping out of his bones was anything but pleasant, particularly because it lacked the beautiful surge of power that had accompanied Belle’s kiss.  At least the process was quick; he could feel the curse retreating further and further inside him until only the barest whisper remained.  It wasn’t broken, nor even truly cowed, but the curse of the Dark One _was_ muted here.  Quickly, scales vanished beneath pale skin, blackened teeth were replaced by human ones, and his claws turned to normal nails.  The transition left him breathless and leaning more heavily on Belle than he wanted to, but his fiancée was staring at him with huge blue eyes.

“Rumple?” she asked softly.

He turned to face her, favoring his right leg a little as he reacquainted himself with how to use this sort of cane.  “Still here, sweetheart.  I told you that the only magic that works here is True Love.  Even my curse is…quiet.”

“Is this what you looked like before?” Belle breathed, her eyes searching his face.

“Yes.” Rumplestiltskin swallowed, starting to wonder if this was a good idea.  While he’d wanted to give Belle something he could not do under normal circumstances, and he’d planned out this grand romantic gesture—he had never once thought about how she might react to _him._   To the spinner he’d been.  To the coward, the human, the man who Milah had said made her so miserable.  He tried a self-deprecating smile.  “I know it’s not much—”

“I think you’re very handsome,” Belle cut him off, and Rumplestiltskin blinked in surprise.  Even Milah had never said that, at least not that he could remember.

“You do?” he managed to stutter.

Her smile was soft.  “Of course I do.”

Rumplestiltskin didn’t know what to say.  He could only stand and stare at Belle, with now his eyes wide and uncomprehending.  Soft fingers reached out, tracing his cheek gently, and Rumplestiltskin leaned into her touch, feeling peace steal through his very tattered soul.  Before he knew it, his eyes slid shut, and for a moment, all he felt was _love._

“I love you,” he whispered, opening his eyes.

Belle’s smile was brilliant, if a little shy.  “And I you,” she replied.  “Human or Dark One, Rumplestiltskin, I love _you._ ”

He had never thought he’d have this, never once thought _anyone_ could love him so completely or so purely.  But here Belle was, with her heart shining through in her eyes, glowing with love for him.  He was a monster and a villain, someone who had been abandoned time and again—but not this time.  Not this woman.  Perhaps it was because his curse was quieter here; he could barely hear its whispers in his mind, and only then if he concentrated.  Or perhaps his love for Belle was strong enough to give him strength he’d never had before. 

“Then come marry me,” Rumplestiltskin said softly, his heart pounding against his ribs.

“I’d like nothing better.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely feedback! It inspired me to write a truly huge amount over the weekend (over 17,000 words!), and I can’t thank you enough.
> 
> Next up is Chapter Ten: “The Deals We Make,” where Emma tries to help Ashley Boyd and winds up meeting Mr. Gold, which leads to a miserable encounter between Lacey and Gold. Henry tries to help, and Regina gets in an argument with her old mentor. Meanwhile in the past, Rumplestiltskin and Belle finally get married.


	10. The Deals We Make

In hindsight, Emma supposed this was a really bad idea.  She’d _meant_ well, back when she’d met Ashley Boyd at Granny’s the day before.  All she’d asked was why a girl who was obviously so far along in her pregnancy was still working, and next she’d known, Emma had been listening to a sob story about how Ashley didn’t have a choice, because no one was there to help her, and besides, she was giving up the child anyway, so what did it matter?  She certainly hadn’t meant for Ashely to try running away from town after their conversation, but the young mother-to-be had done just that.  She was only lucky that Emma had found her while she’d been out on some pointless patrol Keith had foisted off on her when he didn’t want to do it, following up on an anonymous call about a car crash near the town line.  Whoever had called had been too much of a jerk to help out himself, but there Ashley had been, having crashed Ruby’s car and desperate to get out of Storybrooke.

But there hadn’t been time.  There’d barely been time to get Ashley to the hospital before she’d given birth, and then Doctor Whale had yelled at _Emma_ for making things take so long.  She only managed to refrain from strangling him because he seemed to be a good doctor when he wasn’t leering, or at least he talked like one.  Emma really hoped he was as Whale kicked her out of the delivery room, sighing and heading out into the waiting room.  One birth had been enough for her; Emma didn’t see any reason to stick around for someone else’s, even if Ashley’s deadbeat ex-boyfriend couldn’t be bothered to be there for her.

Slumping into a chair—it had been a long day already and was only getting longer—Emma glanced down at the contract she’d found tucked into Ashley’s purse.  It explained everything: why Ashley had run, what was supposed to happen to her child, and what the financial consequences for breaking the contract were.  There was no way a poor maid working at the local bed and breakfast had fifty thousand dollars stashed away to _buy_ her baby back from those who had planned on adopting her.  Emma found the entire episode distasteful, but the contract seemed pretty watertight now that she read it.

Legally, on the other hand, she wasn’t sure it was going to—

“Ah, so I see that you found my missing contract, Miss Swan,” a cultured voice intruded on her thoughts, and Emma’s head snapped up.

The infamous Mr. Gold wasn’t nearly as intimidating at first glance as gossip in town implied he was.  Emma hadn’t met the man yet, but she’d heard plenty about Mary Margaret’s landlord and chief creditor, and she had expected him to be much taller.  Instead, he was a slender man dressed impeccably in a dark suit, complete with a gold-handled cane and a maroon tie.  But he walked like a man who ‘owned half the town’ as Mary Margaret had said, someone who was sure of his own power and influence. 

“Your contract?” Emma echoed, getting to her feet as she flipped to the back page.  Sure enough, down at the bottom of the page, right underneath Ashley’s messy signature was a scrawled ‘R. Gold’. 

“Indeed.  I assume that Miss Boyd has safely made it into delivery?” he asked smoothly, but there was something about his demeanor that set Emma’s teeth on edge.  _No wonder Mary Margaret doesn’t like him. She’s too_ nice _to deal with someone like this._

“She doesn’t want to give up her child,” Emma replied bluntly, meeting his eyes squarely.

“Well, that’s too bad.  She was more than eager to sign the contract, I assure you.”  Gold smiled enigmatically, gesturing at the papers Emma still held.  “As you can see.”

“I don’t care.  You’re not getting that kid.”  There.  She’d put it on the line.  Now it was time to see how scary the big bad Mr. Gold really was.

“Actually, we have an agreement,” Gold countered easily.  His expression was still hard to read, but the man exuded confidence.  “And my agreements are always honored.  If not, I'm going to have to file charges, and that baby is going to end up in the system.  And that would be a pity. You didn't enjoy your time in the system, did you Emma?”

Oh.  He hadn’t just gone there, had he?  And how did he _know_ about that?  Emma had only told Henry and Regina about her past, and there was no way this loan shark should know about it.  Her eyes narrowed.  “That’s not gonna happen.”

Gold just chuckled.  “I like your confidence.  Charming, but all I have to do is press charges.  She did, after all, break into my shop.”

“She what?”  Damn, now there was something Emma had to care about as a deputy sheriff.  Why had she taken that job, anyway?

“Indeed.”  Gold pushed hair away from his forehead, revealing a newly-made gash. 

“Why didn’t you report that?” Emma asked suspiciously.

“Because it only happened last night, and I spent most of the night lying unconscious on the floor,” he replied, and didn’t the man just have an answer for everything?

“Let me guess,” she snarled.  “She did it to steal a contract?”

“Who knows what she was after?”

The bastard was smart; Emma had to give him that.  But Emma wasn’t in the mood to back down today, so she met his innocent shrug with a glare.

“You know, no jury in the world will put a woman in jail whose only reason for breaking and entering was to keep her child,” she pointed out.  “I'm willing to roll the dice that contract doesn't stand up.  Are you?  Not to mention what might come out about you in the process.  Somehow I suspect there is more to you than a simple pawnbroker.  You really want to start that fight?”

She didn’t expect him to chuckle as he paced, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.  “I like you, Ms. Swan,” Gold said.  “You're not afraid of me, and that's either cocky or presumptuous.  Either way I'd rather have you on my side.”

“So she can keep the baby?”

“Not just yet.  There's still the matter of my agreement with Ms. Boyd.”

Emma shrugged.  “Tear it up.”

He spread his hands, the picture of dangerous innocence.  “That's not what I do. You see, contracts, deals, well they're the very foundation of all civilized existence, so I put it to you now. If you want Ashley to have that baby, are you willing to make a deal with me?”

A sinking feeling started to form in the pit of her stomach, the one that always told Emma she was heading towards rocky waters.  But then again, it was also the feeling she had always ignored.  Life was for living, and risks existed to be taken.  After all, she’d had that feeling in her stomach when she’d tried to leave Storybrooke after Regina dared her to, and even though it hadn’t worked, Emma was always willing to try.  So, she met Gold’s gaze squarely, refusing to give an inch.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

Another smile; another shrug. “Oh I don't know just yet,” he replied casually.  “Let’s say…you'll owe me a favor.”

Emma studied him for a moment, but really, how bad could things be?  Though she did make a mental note to ask Regina for details—and dirt, hopefully—on Gold.  Her instincts said that the man was being both truthful and that he was every bit as dangerous as everyone said, and that meant Emma wanted as much ammunition as she could get.  He didn’t _look_ frightening, not at first glance, but there was something steely in his eyes that gave her the shivers.  He was certainly cagey, and seemed to be smarter than half the town put together.  _No wonder they all owe him money, if he can run circles around them so easily_.  She squared her shoulders.

“Deal.”

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Swan.”  Gold inclined his head to her, rather politely for a man who had just wished fifty thousand bucks away for a favor.

Maybe he wanted more than one.  If so, Emma would gladly grant another to free Mary Margaret of some of her debt to this hard-edged man.  Owing him wasn’t going to be fun, Emma knew, but she’d done far dumber things in her twenty-eight years.  She’d survive.  Besides, _someone_ in this miserable little town had to show some basic human decency, because that seemed to be in very short supply here in Storybrooke.

“Is Ashley all right?” a new voice asked before Emma could tell Gold that the pleasure definitely wasn’t hers, and Emma turned to look at the town librarian.

She’d only met Lacey French once before, and she’d seemed like a nice enough woman then.  Quiet and a little heavy on the wide-eyed innocence, perhaps, but nice enough.   Henry seemed to think that Lacey was the smartest person in the entire town, though Emma wasn’t sure she’d go that far.  Still, Lacey was a lot more pleasant to talk to than Gold, so Emma turned to face her and ignored the pawnbroker.  He could go hang himself for all she cared. 

“Yeah, she’s in delivery now,” she answered.

“Good.”  Lacey smiled in relief.  “I heard she was in an accident, and I didn’t want her to be alone.”

Okay, make that _one_ person in the entire town who apparently had a heart.  Aside from Henry, and maybe Regina on a good day.  Emma liked Lacey French more by the moment.

“She should be out soon,” she reassured the librarian.  “I didn’t know you two were friends.”

“Sort of,” Lacey admitted.  “More lately than before.  “But I know what it’s like to face this by yourself, and it’s never easy.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Emma breathed in agreement just as Henry ran in.

“Emma!  Has she given birth yet?”

“Not yet, kiddo.  This stuff doesn’t happen fast, you know.”  Her son scowled, and Emma tried not to laugh.

“I know,” he informed her like she was an idiot.  “I’m not _that_ young.”

Man, how did parents do this all the time?  She was always treating Henry like he was too old or two young.  There was a sweet spot somewhere, but Emma had yet to find it.  She’d told Ashley earlier than parenthood was _hard_ , and Emma was discovering that for herself every day she stayed in Storybrooke.  But she was also slowly becoming very happy with her decision to stick around. Maybe she would have made a terrible mom if she’d tried to do what Ashley was now doing, but Henry showing up on her doorstep had been a second chance, and Emma wasn’t going to throw away the opportunity to be a part of her son’s life.

Even if being a part of that life only meant sitting next to him as Henry popped a comic book open, clearly content to wait for Ashely to finish giving birth.  He wasn’t reading the fairy tale book here, at least, but Emma had a feeling that was only because of his grandmother’s attempt to take it away from him.  Henry had said that the mayor had gone so far as to threaten Lacey over it, but Henry had snuck the book back out of the library.  Thinking of that made Emma turn to look at Lacey again, only to find that—much to Emma’s surprise—Lacey had approached Gold.

“What happened to your face?” Lacey asked quietly, gesturing at the cut.

Gold shrugged coolly.  “Nothing that need concern you.”

That response seemed to surprise the librarian; she looked at him with concern and confusion both, blue eyes wide.  “You’re hurt,” she objected.  “Was it…?”

“No,” Gold cut her off sharply, brown eyes flashing.  Had Emma been Lacey, the look on his face might have been enough to make her step back, but Lacey only reached out, obviously moving to touch his forehead near the cut.

Gold caught her wrist, and Lacey yelped in surprise.

“I am not your concern, dear,” he said softly, venom dripping from each word.  “How many times do I need to tell you that?”

The librarian was brave; she yanked away.  “At least one more,” she shot back, but Emma could see tears filling her eyes.

“Then consider it said.”

Most women would have run; Lacey French stepped in close to Gold, fury plain on her pretty face.

“You’re a coward,” she whispered, and Emma had to strain to hear her.  “You could have something _wonderful_ if only you’d let yourself.  But instead you hide behind that mask of indifference and wonder why everyone thinks you’re a monster.  And you’re going to regret this for the rest of your life.”

Gold looked too shocked to say a word, and Lacey spun and stalked out—heading deeper into the hospital—before he had the chance to, anyway.  By then, Henry was staring, too, but he sat as silently as Emma did while Gold shrugged slightly and then turned to limp out of the waiting room as well.  His air was that of a man who didn’t give a damn about the words flung in his face, but Emma had seen enough hard-edged people to know the difference.  There was something going on there, and she was going to find out what.

* * *

 

_4 Years Before the Curse_

“Do you, Rumplestiltskin, promise to take this woman as your wife, and love her for all eternity?”

His heart hammered so hard against his ribcage that Rumplestiltskin thought it might burst.  Here he stood, as human as before he took on the curse that would change his life, holding hands with his True Love as she smiled at him.  “I do,” he whispered.

“And do you, Belle, promise to take this man as your husband, and to love him for all eternity?” the mayor of Amorveria asked.

“I do,” Belle answered, her voice clear and strong.

“Then you may kiss the bride,” the mayor said, and Rumplestiltskin felt his face split into a wild grin.  _This_ was why he had brought Belle here; Amorveria was the one place in any magical realm where he could kiss his True Love without risk of losing his power.  Here he could give her, just for a little while, the love she truly deserved, without strings attached or a monster burying the man she was marrying.  While Rumplestiltskin was not entirely sure of himself, of the man he would be without the curse—and he never would be, because even now he could feel the darkness coiled up within his soul, patiently waiting to return—he could give Belle at least this much.  And he could kiss her.

Magic rolled off the pair as their lips touched, first tentatively and then more hungrily.  This was not like their first uncertain kiss, when both had been groping towards their feelings for one another and both had been afraid.  No, this was four months later, four months of trials and arguments, of learning and loving and getting to know one another without the fiction of employer and maid standing in the way.  This was True Love, a golden _whoosh_ of power arching off of them and filling the air around them, almost overloading Rumplestiltskin’s senses with power and light.  Belle’s arms slipped around his neck as his hands tangled gently in her hair, and together they took advantage of the one place they could indulge in this otherwise forbidden expression of love.

Rumplestiltskin lost track of how many times they kissed, smiling and holding one another and grinning like idiots.  He would have given Belle a grand wedding, would have invited half of the Enchanted Forest, had she asked, but all she had wanted was _him_.  So he had brought her to Amorveria, the town were only the magic of True Love worked, the one place where he could kiss her and be human for her, just for a little while.  In this sheltered little town, whose inhabitants rarely left and which received very few visitors, no one looked at them twice.  They were only a _married_ couple who shared True Love.  These people did not know him as the Dark One, and they did not care that Belle was a brave woman who had given up her freedom to serve a monster.  The people here only took that kiss at face value, recognizing it for what it was and giving them space to seal their union. 

“This is the best wedding present you could have given me,” Belle whispered when they finally drew far enough away from one another for speech. 

Rumplestiltskin smiled and kissed her again, lightly this time, with the kiss full of promise.  “I’m only getting started, sweetheart.”

“Oh?”

Her enthusiasm was infectious.  “Oh,” he confirmed.  “I’ve rented a cottage on the edge of town, one overlooking the ocean.  Just for us.”

“I’ve never seen the ocean,” Belle admitted.

“I know.”  She’d wanted adventure; Belle had gotten a monster in exchange.  The least he could do was give her this.  Rumplestiltskin offered her his arm again.  “Shall we?”

“How long can we stay?” she all but bounced in excitement as they began to walk, their hips brushing against one another and shoulders touching.  Even with his limp, Rumplestiltskin reveled in being so close to her, in not having to weather the incessant whispers of his curse screaming _danger_ every time Belle’s face came near his.  He would never tell her how the demon within him hated her, wanted her, burned to devour her as much as it demanded to kill her.  Belle didn’t need to know that; she was burdened enough by loving him.  Here, however, it was so much easier.

“How long do you want to?” he asked lightly.  His plans could weather a month or two’s absence, Rumplestiltskin knew.

“Forever,” she breathed, blue eyes shining.

Part of him wanted to say yes.  Part of Rumplestiltskin knew that he could live with her, live in peace and grow used to the almost-silent whispers in the back of his mind.  He _could_ stay here forever, and perhaps he might even learn to be happy.  He was terrible at it, but maybe Belle could teach him, and Rumplestiltskin could actually accept a life that was… _empty._ Empty because it would be without his son.  That realization hit him hard, with guilt rocking him back on his heels and making him stumble to a stop in mid-stride.

Belle must have seen the look on his face, though, because she squeezed his arm.  “I know we can’t stay that long,” she said gently, moving up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.  “You still have to find your son.”

“Yes.  Yes, I do,” he replied, his throat thick with memories.

“And I’ll help you.  Every step of the way.  You’re not alone, anymore, Rumple.  Never again,” Belle said, and her smile was enough to lift his spirits.

“Never again,” he agreed.

“A few weeks, then? she asked, tugging him forward.  They resumed walking, smiling at one another and heading towards the cottage by the water he had rented. 

“A month, if you like,” he replied.  “Or two, even.”

“Oh, Rumple.”  She stopped and kissed him again.  “I love you.”

* * *

 

“What was that?” Emma asked Henry as Gold made his way towards the door.  But her kid only shrugged.

“Dunno.”

She narrowed her eyes.  “I thought you knew everything about this town.”

“Well, _almost_ everything,” Henry replied, and then suddenly jumped to his feet, abandoning his comic book.  “I have an idea.”

“Henry—” But Emma didn’t grab for him fast enough, and before she knew it, Henry was chasing after Lacey.  Meanwhile, Regina walked in, almost colliding with Gold while she was at it, and the two glared at one another for a moment before Regina said:

“We need to talk, Gold.”

“Well, I’m ever at your service, dear,” he replied in that same cool tone, the one that said he wasn’t saying a thousand things and immediately got under Emma’s skin.  But Regina seemed unaffected, only arching an eyebrow and waiting.  Gold gestured, and the pair left the room together.

Sighing, Emma rose from the uncomfortable plastic chair and figured that she ought to follow Henry. They undoubtedly had some time yet before Ashley was able to receive visitors, and poor Lacey French really didn’t need a ten year old trying to comfort her with whatever _idea_ he’d gotten.  So, Emma grabbed Henry’s forgotten comic book and headed down the hall.  Tracking the pair down wasn’t hard—they were in the next waiting room over, the one for pediatrics—just in time to hear Henry saying:

“It’s not his fault, you know.  Not if he’s the Beast.  You two aren’t _supposed_ to get a happy ending here.”

Lacey looked like she’d been crying, only a little, but she smiled a little crookedly.  “Because of the curse?”

“Yeah.  That’s how it works,” Henry told her, and Emma just wanted to shake her kid.  Stories about his curse weren’t going to help the girl get over an obvious case of rejection.

“Henry, that’s nice of you to say, but no curse is going to decide my fate,” Lacey replied, standing up from where she’d been sitting next to him.  “And neither is anyone else.”

Henry beamed.  “That’s good!  That’s Belle coming through, and not your cursed self.  Belle even said something like that in my book.”

Much to Emma’s surprise, Lacey laughed, reaching out to squeeze Henry’s shoulder.  There was still a lot of sadness in her expression, but damn that girl was strong.  “Well, I knew I liked her,” she said, and gave Emma a bit of a strained smile over Henry’s head.  “Now I need to go.  Ruby’s watching Renee, and you know what kind of a disaster could happen if I leave them alone in the library for too long.  Give Ashely my best, okay?”

“I will,” Henry promised.  “Will you think about what I said?”

“I always will, Henry,” Lacey promised.

* * *

 

Regina was giving him one of those looks, one of the ones that said her teeth were on edge and her patience was at an end.  Rumplestiltskin knew her too well, knew that she was getting sick of waiting and even sicker of her mother.  But his thoughts were elsewhere; the words he had said to Belle— _Lacey!_ —kept running through his head.  He’d been cruel.  Needlessly so, and he’d hurt her terribly.  He had deserved every word she spat at him in response, when she’d called him a coward and stormed away.  Rumplestiltskin had promised to love Belle for all eternity, and now look what he had done.  He had hurt her, and she would be well within her rights to never forgive that.

“Are you even _listening_ to me, Gold?” Regina demanded as the pair stopped in a deserted hallway.

“Frankly, no.  You’re going to have to repeat whatever your current complaint is,” he replied with a shrug, hauling himself back on balance with an effort. 

Regina glared. 

“Is this _really_ necessary?” she asked, obviously not for the first time.  “You and your favors.  Did you really have to go through all that rigmarole, antagonizing Emma and pulling her attention away from breaking the curse?”

Her voice dropped to a whisper on that last part; Regina was angry, not stupid.  For his part, however, Rumplestiltskin was still thinking on what he had said to the woman he loved, of her reaction and of his own pain.  Damn the favor he’d known he needed; it didn’t seem to matter now.  His actions might have kept Belle safe, but at what cost?

Yet Regina was waiting impatiently for an answer, so Rumplestiltskin dredge up a grim smile.  “I’m sorry, were you under the impression that breaking this curse would be easy?” he asked, folding his hands on his cane and peering at her.  “I seem to recall telling you the exact opposite when you decided that you wanted to help.”

“If I’d left you to shepherd things through on your own, Emma would destroy the town rather than save it,” his former student snapped.

Rumplestiltskin laughed softly.  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”  She was stubborn, their savior, but he could see a dozen ways to manipulate her—if only he’d been free to act.

“You haven’t seen her temper,” Regina shot back.  “And _I_ get to deal with it, now, thanks to you.  So what the hell did you need a favor for so damn much, anyway?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Don’t start with me, Rumple. I’m not in the mood for riddles!”

“Neither am I, dear,” he snapped, his own patience wearing thin.  Regina shouldn’t have needed to hear this, but apparently it needed saying.  “Not everything we do can be focused on breaking the curse.  Some of it must be in keeping with the situations your mother set up.  _I_ am not going to break a deal just because your darling niece asked me nicely—which she did not, I might add.  Your mother knows that.”

“My mother—”

“Is in control,” Rumplestiltskin cut her off.  “Never forget that.  The curse may have weakened slightly with Emma’s arrival, but it is _still_ Cora’s curse.  Do not allow yourself to become complacent.”

“Complacent? I’m the one doing all the work,” she hissed, rolling her eyes.

Ah.  There was the rub, there was what was annoying Regina so much.

“This is your family you’re trying to save,” he pointed out, evading the real reasons why he’d dumped the hard parts of this crusade on Regina.  But she was too smart, this protégée of his, and knew him too well.

“You expected this,” she realized with wide eyes.  “You _knew_ she’d have some sort of hold on you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he scoffed.

“You’re still sleeping with her,” Regina accused him.

Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help himself; he looked away. 

“What hold _does_ she have on you?” Regina asked quietly, sounding more worried than hostile. 

But he didn’t want her compassion.  “Not your business,” Rumplestiltskin snapped, turning to walk away and adding before she could follow: “Go see to Miss Swan.  Make sure she doesn’t _actually_ manage to destroy the town while we’re busy trying to save it.”

* * *

 

_11 Years Before the Curse_

“Why do you live alone?” Regina wondered aloud.  She’d stayed away from such asking personal questions of the fascinating sorcerer who had become her mentor, but she was comfortable enough with him now that Regina didn’t stop herself.

Rumplestiltskin giggled, but the laugh was a little off.  “Why would I not?” he countered.  Regina shot him a look.

Could her mother _really_ have been lovers with this…creature?  Cora certainly had implied as much just two days earlier.

_“Did you learn that from Rumplestiltskin?  You’re quite good at it,” Cora asked during one of their magic lessons, and Regina froze.  She’d been so careful these past two years, never letting her mother know that the imp was also teaching her magic, filling in the gaps Cora intentionally left.  But now she’d slipped up, and Cora pounced like the predator she was._

_Regina hesitated a moment too long before replying, struggling to find some sort of excuse and failing._

_“Don’t bother denying it, darling.  I’ve known for months that you’re going to him, and I’m pleased.  He did teach me, after all.”_

_“He said,” Regina ground out from between gritted teeth._

_Cora smiled mysteriously.  “Did he mention that he was almost your father?”_

“You didn’t always,” she replied, pulling her mind back to the present.  “You and my mother—”

“Are done,” he snapped.

“Mother’s always been rough on men,” Regina agreed, thinking of her beaten down father, of all the hearts her mother had collected and of poor, enchanted Leopold.  But Rumplestiltskin scowled.

“Told you about us, did she?” It was interesting how his voice went less high pitched when he wasn’t grandstanding.  Regina thought he actually sounded human, now.

“Not much,” she admitted.  “But she did kill Daddy to marry Leopold.  I know what she’s like.”

The Dark One only snorted, so Regina pressed on:

“That doesn’t explain why you’re so lonely, though,” she said to the man who would never replace her beloved father but at least offered her someone to turn to.  Somehow, knowing that Rumplestiltskin had almost been her father put their relationship into focus, and although Regina knew her mother had been trying to unsettle her, the knowledge actually made her more comfortable, not less.  “Couldn’t there, uh, be someone else?”

Not that there was for her after Daniel, but she was quite certain _no one_ could feel that way for her mother.  Daniel was her True Love.  Cora was a poison, and Rumplestiltskin clearly knew that, judging from his reaction.  But the question seemed to spook him, and Rumplestiltskin shook himself, his eyes wide before they skittered off to study some tapestry on the wall.

“I do better alone,” he answered quietly.

“That’s hardly…” _Fair.  Living?_   What did he live for, other than magic?  Regina felt an unexpected surge of pity for her teacher.

“Let’s get back to your lesson,” he said instead of going anywhere near the subject, and Regina let him distract her with magic.  She was _so_ close to figuring out how to free Leopold from her mother’s spells, and she would not let Snow down now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Eleven: “Dreams and Destruction,” in which Emma and Graham get to know one another, Mary Margaret faces off with Jefferson, and Rumplestiltskin does what he knows he should not. In the past, Belle and Rumplestiltskin have a talk about the nature of their child, and Cora manipulates the Hatter into doing her bidding.


	11. Dreams and Destruction

“Bye, Emma!” Henry dashed out of the diner to catch the school bus, and she watched him go with a tired smile.

Two days after Ashley gave birth—and her deadbeat ex-boyfriend had miraculously grown some moral courage—Emma had just finished the second of three back to back night shifts.  She was already feeling the burn, the grit behind her eyeballs and the feeling of being out of synch with everyone else.  Eating breakfast with Henry was odd when she had been up for over sixteen hours, and she’d have been in bed already if today wasn’t the day she always ate breakfast with him.  This arrangement gave both David and Regina the ability to get to work a little earlier, and let Emma have some time with her son.  It usually worked out very well, and Emma was happy with the schedule she’d worked out with her son’s adopted parents…except  when she was in the middle of three consecutive late shifts.

Being the new guy at the sheriff’s office really sucked in a lot of ways.  She got all the odd jobs neither Graham nor Keith wanted to do, was assigned patrols out in the middle of nowhere that had to be done but they were both too busy for, and pretty much got to fetch coffee most other days.  It was even less fun when Keith managed to dump his late shifts on her, particularly when Mr. Herbert Wall managed to somehow collapse the outer wall of his detached garage on himself in the middle of the night.  His paranoid neighbor, Aesop Wolfe, had called the sheriff’s station because he was convinced robbers were digging through Wall’s garage to get to _his_ house, so it had been a long night.

At least something had happened.  Emma hadn’t believed the stories about Mr. Wolfe until she’d gotten that panicked call, but now she was starting to get it.

“Cocoa with cinnamon and whipped cream?” a familiar voice asked, and Emma blinked as a full mug replaced the empty one she’d been staring at.

“Oh.  Hi.”

Graham slipped into the seat across from her in the booth she had continued to blankly occupy after Henry’s departure.  “I hear Mr. Wolfe lived up to his name again,” he said with a smile.  “Long night?”

“Yeah.  I had to get Forrester and his boys out to dig Wall out from under his garage, too.  He said that’s the _third_ time a wall has fallen on him.  How _does_ that happen?”

“I don’t know,” Graham laughed.  “Things like that happen in Storybrooke, I guess.”

“Tell me about it,” Emma groused, and then had to ask: “Why the hell did you let Keith dump _both_ of his late shifts on me, anyway?”

Graham was a good boss, but sometimes he was a bit oblivious, and this seemed to be one of them.  Her question made him blink.  “I, uh—he did?  _Both_ of them?”

“Yeah.  Two days ago and tonight.  Makes my night shift from last night extra special,” she replied a little testily.

“I’ll talk to him,” her boss replied, obviously a little embarrassed.  “He’ll take tonight.  That was supposed to be _my_ shift, and Keith said he could cover me, not that he’d give it to you.”

Emma shrugged.  “He whined and said something about having a hot date with the librarian.”

Graham snorted.  “Lacey wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole.  He’s dreaming.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I’ll fix this,” Graham promised.  “You go home and get some sleep.  You look beat.”

“Thanks,” Emma replied gratefully, making a mental note to ask Henry who Graham was supposed to be.  Not that she actually believed any of this fairy tale stuff, but at least someone in this crazy town was actually _nice._   It did poke holes in Henry’s theory of no happy endings, though, and that made her curious.

* * *

 

He shouldn’t have come here.

Rumplestiltskin had known that even when he’d gotten in his black Cadillac and driven down to the Storybrooke park, but he’d been unable to stop himself.  He’d spent the last two days berating himself for hurting Lacey, thinking of the promises he had made Belle and knowing that he could not expect her to understand what he had done, even once the curse was broken.  He wanted to keep her safe, would do _anything_ to make certain of that, but keeping Cora from realizing what his family meant to him when he could do nothing to protect them was halfway to impossible.  Trying to do so meant he’d acted in an unforgivable fashion…and would continue to do so.

He was such a coward.  Always had been, and Rumplestiltskin would be one for the rest of his life.  All he could do to quiet his conscience—what little of one he had—was to get out of the car, take the long walk across the park, and find a spot from which he could watch over them from a distance.  Odds were that no one would notice him over by the baseball diamond; the park was fairly busy, anyway, with parents and kids all over the place.  Still, he could see Lacey pushing Renee on the swings, could distantly hear as the three year old laughed with joy.  She was wearing yellow again; it was Renee’s favorite color and always made his heart clench, even when he hadn’t known why.  Her stuffed purple crocodile—oh, what an ironic toy to be her favorite—stuck out of Lacey’s purse, and it wouldn’t be too long before Renee needed a replacement because she took that toy _everywhere._

He missed them so much that it hurt, missed being clueless, oblivious Gold and not knowing he was supposed to stay away from them.  Every day only got harder, not easier, but he could _not_ slip up.  Not now.  He had less than a year to go.

“Higher, Mommy!” Renee demanded, and Lacey complied, pushing the giggling child harder as her little legs pumped for still more speed.

Rumplestiltskin swallowed, watched them for a moment longer, and then forced himself to turn and limp away.  He had work to do, a curse to break, and maybe, if he was very lucky, a son to find.

* * *

 

_6 Months Before the Curse_

“Papa!” The brown-haired blur launched herself into his arms almost as soon as he appeared.  Somehow, she always knew when and where Rumplestiltskin was about to show up, and he caught her with a laugh, spinning her around as she giggled.

“Faster!”

So he did, tossing his two and a half year old up and catching her again as she squealed happily.  He tossed her twice more, grateful for his curse-enhanced muscles and reflexes.  They allowed Rumplestiltskin to do things with Gabrielle that he had never been able to do with Baelfire, just like the curse gave him the means to provide for this child like he had not done as the cowardly spinner.  He loved this miracle child as much as he did the one he had lost, and Rumplestiltskin melted as he felt tiny arms wrap around his neck when he started walking deeper into the castle.

Belle met them in the great hall, smiling.  “How _does_ she always know?” his wife asked.

“Magic,” Rumplestiltskin replied with a smile, feeling his daughter perk up.  She was just old enough to start being interested in magic, which always made her mother just a little bit nervous.

“Isn’t she too young for that?”

He shrugged, bouncing Gabrielle.  “She’s a child of True Love, sweetheart, and that exponentially increased the odds that she would have magic of her own, even if she were not my child.”

“I thought that you didn’t have magic before the curse?” Belle asked.  Trust her to dive right to the heart of the matter.

“I didn’t—”

“Down, Papa!” their little princess commanded, and Rumplestiltskin obediently lowered her to the floor so that she could run off to play with the vast setup of dolls she had in the far corner of the hall.  That corner was shielded so that only he, Belle, and Gabrielle could see it; visitors saw a bookshelf, not a dozen dolls and their various dresses.   Her parents watched together as she toddled over and settled in happily, pulling out a doll whose yellow dress was a copy of the one Belle had worn that first day, so many years ago.

Belle slipped her hand into his and gave him a smile.  “So…magic?”

“Right.  Magic doesn’t just pass through blood or curses,” Rumplestiltskin explained.  “Contiguity can also breed magic.  Exposure, if you will.  A lifetime spent around it, or even a handful of years if the power in question is strong enough, can awaken an innate magical talent in someone.”

“So, you’re saying that Gabrielle having magic is unavoidable.”

“More or less, particularly since she’s already demonstrating an affinity for it,” he confirmed, squeezing Belle’s hand.  His voice dropped quietly.  “She need not be like me.  Magic is magic.  It’s _how_ you choose to use it that will matter to her.  Gabi isn’t predestined to darkness.”

“Rumple…” Belle trailed off guiltily. 

“I worry about it, too,” he admitted with a slight shake of his head.  “I know what I am, and I wouldn’t wish… _this_ on our child.”

“I love you the way you are,” his wife replied, coming up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek.  “We both do.”

Rumplestiltskin just wrapped an arm around Belle and held on tight.  He’d never deserve this amazing woman who had married him, and he lived every day with the fear that somehow he would manage to drive her away.  Why she stayed—with his faults, his temper, his darkness, and his fears—he would never know, but Belle was slowly teaching him to fight for what he believed in.  There wasn’t much in this world that Rumplestiltskin really cared about, and before Belle and Gabi there hadn’t been a damn thing he’d really believed in, but between the pair of them, they gave him something to live for.  Something more than a curse and a vague promise from a seer that he would find Baelfire again.

It wasn’t that finding his son was any less important to him; Rumplestiltskin still lived and breathed for the opportunity to apologize to his beloved son, to try to make up for his own cowardice and his mistakes.  He had done unthinkable and abandoned his child, had done the one thing he had spent a lifetime promising himself he would never do.  Gabrielle was a second chance of sorts—because he would _not_ abandon her, not for anything—but that didn’t make his having let go of Baelfire any better, and it certainly didn’t lessen the urgency of his quest to find his son.  Rumplestiltskin only hoped that Bae would accept the younger sister who was already so excited to meet him, that maybe he could draw his son into this new family he had somehow been fortunate enough to build.

_I’m coming, Bae,_ he promised silently.  _Six months to the curse and then twenty-eight years, but we’re close, son.  We’re so close._

* * *

 

True to his word, Graham forced Keith to take the night shift that evening, which freed up Emma’s entire night.  She’d planned on sleeping much of the day, catching up on some emails from the old job in Boston, and then grabbing dinner to go before heading on duty.  Now, however, she found herself a bit at loose ends.  Mary Margaret had plans of her own, a “date” with a stack of tests to grade that she had scheduled for tonight so that they could go out the following day, and Emma told her to stick with the original plan.  They didn’t have much food in the loft, so Emma headed out to Granny’s on her own, figuring that she’d try the special Ruby had been complaining about that morning.

Ruby, unfortunately, had been right.  Granny’s meatloaf and lasagna might have been great, but her chicken pot pie was watery, the crust was undercooked, and the entire thing was dry.  It didn’t _taste_ too bad, but the overall presentation of the meal was rather so-so.  That left Emma picking at the pot pie itself after she devoured her side of fries, wondering if she should order an ice cream sundae and just forget eating the rest of her actual meal.  At least Henry wasn’t there to see her eating like a teenager—Emma had learned the hard way that ten year olds really did watch what adults ate, and one little slip meant the kid in question thought that he could eat like crap, too.

“Eating alone?”

Emma’s head snapped up, and she found herself looking at Graham’s smiling face.  “Uh, yeah.  Mary Margaret had plans, Henry’s at dinner at his grandmother’s…you know.  The life of a single gal.”

“Well, then, can this single guy join you?” he asked lightly.

“Sure.”  Emma shrugged.  “Why not?”

“Thanks.  Eating alone gets old, and I stink at cooking.”

“I know how you feel.  I’m okay with a stove, but my repertoire is a little limited.  Mary Margaret’s better, but two single women living together aren’t much healthier than guys when it comes to cooking.”

That made Graham laugh, and Emma notice how handsome he was.  Oh, he was the rugged good looks type, not conventionally attractive, and really not the ‘wrong kind of guy’ that Emma had formed a habit of getting involved with over the years.  Contrary to the weird nature of this town that seemed to make everyone miserable, Graham was a genuinely good guy, and although he sometimes seemed very sad, he appeared to be less affected by the generalized melancholy than most people.  He smiled easily, treated Emma like a human being and a valued employee, and she really did enjoy his company.

“So, I take it you’re discovering that today’s special isn’t all that special?” Graham quipped as Ruby wandered towards them.

“It leaves a bit to be desired, yeah,” she answered.

“Burger, beer, and fries, Graham?” Ruby asked, popping her gum noisily.

“Yep,” he said with a grin.  “Did you expect something else?”

“Nope,” she smiled back.  “Comin’ right up.”

Ruby sauntered off, and Emma peered at Graham.  “You’re that predictable, huh?”

“I always order that on Wednesdays,” he replied with a shrug.  “Been doing that for…oh, as long as I can remember.  I’ve never liked the pot pie.”

“How long is that?” Emma asked curiously.  There was a little voice in the back of her head that sounded suspiciously like Henry, and it had told her to ask that question.  After all, if Henry was right—and Regina, too, who either believed Henry or was humoring him—no one here really remembered how long they had lived in Storybrooke, did they?

“Hell if I know.”  Graham shrugged like that was unimportant, but Henry would have told her that was just the curse warping his mind.  “Pretty much ever since I was a kid, I guess.  At least ever since I started coming to Granny’s.”

“And since this is pretty much the only place to eat in town…you’re always here.”

“Well, that’s not true.  There’s the Rabbit Hole—though anything other than peanuts sucks there—Storybrooke Coffee, Dave’s Fish and Chips, and La Tandoor.”

“So…a dive, a diner, a coffee shop, a cheap seafood place, and a fancy place.  That’s the sum of Storybrooke, huh?”

“Yup,” Graham agreed as Ruby delivered his beer, burger, and fries.  “That’s pretty much it.”

Laughing with Graham was so easy that Emma almost forgot that she was in the weirdest town on the planet, sitting with a guy who Henry claimed was the Huntsman out of _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves._   She hadn’t felt this connected with a guy since she’d met the man she’d _thought_ was the love of her life in a stolen car, but at least she could be pretty sure that Storybrooke’s Sheriff wouldn’t turn out to be a criminal who would ditch her with stolen goods and let her go to jail for him.  Even if he _was_ the Huntsman—which Emma didn’t believe for a moment—at least then he was a good guy who’d gotten his heart stolen by an evil queen and couldn’t be held accountable for his actions.  _Better than a guy who couldn’t resist stealing twenty k in watches.  Neal did that to himself._

“So,” she asked casually.  “If you’re here for dinner, why did you ask Keith to take your shift?  I thought you had plans.”

“Oh, I do,” Graham replied around a mouth full of burger.  “Jus’ later tonight.”

“Like a date?” Emma asked curiously.

“No!  Definitely not like a date,” he replied quickly, although Emma thought he went a little red.  Or pale?  It was hard to tell.  Either way, he didn’t look terribly excited for whatever he had planned for evening, and Emma found herself more than a little pleased to see that.  She’d spent years not getting attached to anyone, telling herself that she had learned her lesson.  Maybe it was just something about this place, something about Storybrooke, that made her tired of being alone.  Living with Mary Margaret, getting to know her son—and even her son’s adopted parents—made Emma feel like she was part of something for the first time in a very long time.  And that was…nice.

So she smiled at Graham and banished her worries, telling herself that you only lived once, and she could do a lot worse than flirt with the cutest guy in this crazy small town.

* * *

 

Two beers later, Emma and Graham split ways, and she headed back to the loft.  By then, she figured that Mary Margaret would be done with the tests she needed to grade, and maybe they’d watch a movie or something.  Storybrooke seemed to have a very limited number of movies—most of which seemed to have been new in the nineties—so Emma’s DVD collection was definitely something Mary Margaret had been excited to see.  The next movie on their list was _Iron Man 2_ , which Mary Margaret had never seen but was excited for.  _Robert Downey Junior really_ is _good motivation to go home,_ Emma thought, grinning to herself as she came up the stairs.

Only to have her grin vanish as she came around the corner to find that the loft’s front door was already open, and Mary Margaret was facing down with a handsome, dark haired man who was several inches taller than she was.  He was leaning on the doorframe casually, but something in his body language screamed _predator_ to Emma, despite the designer clothes he wore.  Mary Margaret was facing him shakily, tense and unhappy, and her eyes immediately fell on her roommate.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret called with relief.  “You’re home!”

“Yup,” she replied, walking up and waiting for the guy to move.  He didn’t.  “Hey, uh, in case you didn’t notice, I live here, and you’re standing in my way.”

“Right.  Of course.”  He turned a charming smile on Emma and stuck out a hand.  “I’m Jefferson.”

Emma took his hand automatically, but not without asking: “Like Jefferson the stalker?  The guy who won’t take no for an answer?”

 “I wouldn’t go that far,” he replied, turning an admittedly pretty frown on her.  “I’m just persistent, particularly when it’s someone worth fighting for.”

He tried the charming smile on Mary Margaret, but Emma’s roommate flinched.  The motion was almost imperceptible, but Emma had always been good at noticing things about people.  _Yeah, what Mary Margaret told me before was just the tip of the iceberg.  She’s scared of this guy._   Squaring her shoulders, Emma shoved past Jefferson and into the flat, moving to stand next to Mary Margaret.  The other woman seemed to take comfort from her presence, and Emma shot her a grin.

“You want this guy fighting for you?” she asked bluntly.

Mary Margaret shook her head. “No,” she said softly.  “I’d rather…not.  Definitely not.”

Her voice grew stronger with every word, and Emma was damned proud of her.  Mary Margaret didn’t lack courage; she just seemed unable to call upon it sometimes.  Emma had yet to figure out _why_ an otherwise strong woman sometimes turned into an absolute mouse, but she wasn’t going to let anything happen to her while she was around.  So, she grinned nastily at Jefferson, crossing her arms and putting on her best ‘I’m a Sheriff’s Deputy’ face and said:

“Looks like you’d better get lost, then.  And don’t come back unless you want me to arrest you.”

“Arrest me?” Jefferson scoffed.  “You can’t do that.”

“Of course I can.  In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a cop.  And stalking’s against the law, even here in Storybrooke.”

“That’s really cute,” he replied, and his arrogance was enough to make Emma roll her eyes.  “But you can’t do that.  I know every lawyer in this town.  Charges would never stick.”

Emma snorted, shifting to place her right hand on her gun.  Having one was still new to her, but she wasn’t exactly a stranger to how even _touching_ a weapon could intimidate even the biggest asshole.  It worked here, too; Jefferson flinched ever so slightly and Emma smirked.  “You want to see how cute I can be?  Keep pressing and I’ll arrest you now.”

Angry eyes met hers; Emma just waited.

“I was just…leaving,” the arrogant jerk said.  “See you later, Mary Margaret.”

“No you won’t,” Emma’s roommate said, and Emma could have hugged her.  In fact, she did once Jefferson was gone, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and grinning.

“See, _that’s_ how you get rid of creeps.  Next we’ll buy you a gun and you can just shoot the bastard if he comes back.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that!”

Emma laughed.  “I bet you’re a great shot.”

* * *

 

_5 Years Before the Curse_

“Well done, Hatter,” Cora purred, watching the portal jumper and her stepdaughter emerge from the hat in an empty field a few miles away from the capital city.  She greeted both with a smile, noting the angry expression Snow’s face and enjoying every moment of the girl’s agony.

Eva’s daughter was miserable, and Cora knew why.  After all, she had Snow’s heart in her keeping, which was how she had forced her _dear_ stepdaughter to go on this mission to Oz.  Cora didn’t need to physically _hold_ a heart to command the person from whence it came; no, she only needed to do that if she wanted to force the person to say or do specific things.  In Snow’s case, threatening her father had been motivation enough to keep Snow from saying anything regrettable; not that the Hatter would have cared much.  He cared for the gold Cora would give him and the guarantees she could provide of a good life for his daughter.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” the Hatter replied with a bow.

“Here is your payment,” she said, holding out a bag of gold, which the Hatter promptly took, pressing a few folded sheets of paper into her hands in exchange.  He bowed again, and then retreated as Cora teleported herself and Snow away in a swirl of purple smoke.  They landed in Cora’s private boudoir, and Snow wheeled on Cora, her eyes wide and betrayed.

“Are you happy now?” the twenty year old princess demanded.  “I fetched your poppies for you, and the Hatter got you that information on that Wicked Witch that you wanted.  _Now_ what?”

“Now I keep your heart,” Cora purred, and watched all the color leave Eva’s daughter’s face.  She laughed softly.  “Did you think I would give it back?”

“You promised!”

“Oh, I will keep my promise.  Provided you behave yourself,” she smiled.

“And my father?” Snow demanded, her eyes wide and frightened.  Her fear was delicious, absolutely intoxicating.  Cora had played the loving stepmother for too long, had swallowed her fury while she watched Eva’s ‘pure’ daughter prance about as Leopold’s heir apparent.  She had gritted her teeth and pretended to be pleased as Snow was honored, slowly encouraging Leopold to elevate Regina into Snow’s equal.  The spells on him helped, of course, but Leopold loved his daughter, and that kind of love was some of the hardest to break.  She’d countered that with a sickness which had made the king into an invalid for the past year—and Cora his regent—but even that was less useful.

“Perfectly safe, of course,” Cora lied.  She knew the spells were weakening.  She even knew that Regina was playing a major part in that, because her daughter was far too attached to her younger stepsister.  Regina’s foolishness would have to be overcome; one of these days, Cora would probably have to remove her own daughter’s heart to teach Regina how to be properly dispassionate.  But there was time yet.  The spells were still plenty strong, and Cora’s power in the kingdom was absolute.

“He doesn’t love you,” the foolish girl spat, and Cora laughed.  “Your magic can’t hold him forever!”

“You foolish little princess.”  Cora almost felt sorry for her.  _Almost._   But never for Eva’s daughter.  She remembered her promise to the dead queen.  She would turn Snow’s heart as black as coal, turn her into everything her mother would have hated.  _Then_ Cora would have revenge for the way Eva had taken the crown that should have been hers from the beginning.  “Love doesn’t matter.  Only power matters.”

“Love will always matter,” the idealist declared, and Cora laughed.

“Go back to your rooms, Snow.  And tell no one I have your heart—including your _dear_ stepsister—if you want to live.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left a comment or kudos! I can't begin to describe what that means to me. What do you think is going to happen to poor Snow now that Cora has her heart in the past?
> 
> Next up: Chapter Twelve: “Meant to Be”, in which Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan start talking, Emma drops by to have a chat with Lacey, and Emma confronts Graham over something suspicious. Back in the past, Rumplestiltskin and Belle are still in Amorveria and getting used to being married.


	12. Meant to Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Strong references to Rape/Non-Con in this chapter. Not graphic.

Emma and Henry had been upstairs playing video games and had somehow lost track of time.  Henry, of course, had wanted to talk about Operation Cobra (when didn't he?), but Emma had done a little pre-planning of her own.  Before Regina dropped Henry off that Saturday morning, Emma had talked Mary Margaret into telling Henry that she wanted to read the Book, which gave Emma a little time with her kid without a giant evil curse getting between them.  They'd had a fun afternoon and had gotten engrossed in King's Quest VII: The Princeless Bride, which meant that when Emma looked at the clock, it was already after five PM.  She frowned.

"Your mom should have been here an hour ago," she told Henry.  "Grab your bag and we'll go see what's up."

"Sure," Henry replied, hopping up.  Emma had wisely caught him between chapters, so it wasn't like she was interrupting, which never worked well with a ten year old.  Henry, however, looked thoughtful.  "I wonder what's going on.  Mom's  _never_ late.  Grandma hates that."

The mention of Cora Mills made Emma grimace as they headed down the stairs.  Storybrooke's mayor really was a piece of work.  Regina and David were great parents, even if David was a little spacey sometimes.  Emma would never have worried for Henry at all if not for the toxic presence of his adopted grandmother in his life.  There were also moments—although never around Henry—when Emma could see the shadow of Cora in Regina, in the temper that sometimes crept out or the sharp edges that the mayor’s daughter carefully hid. Without Cora, Emma had a feeling that Regina would have always been a much nicer person.

Laughter drifted up the stairs to them, and Emma almost ran into Henry when he stopped cold at the bottom.  But she didn’t have to ask Henry why he was so shocked—there Mary Margaret and David stood, leaning over the kitchen island together and reading the Book.

“I could never do that!” Mary Margaret was saying with a shy smile.

“I bet you could,” David grinned back, and Emma watched in surprise as their eyes met.  The chemistry between the pair was unmistakable; it was almost like sparks were flying in the air around them.

“I would  _not_ bash someone in the head with a rock,” Mary Margaret objected. 

David shrugged.  “Sometimes it’s necessary.  Someone did it to me once, and I bet it was because I deserved it.  Though I don’t really remember.”

“No!”

“See?  Look, check out the scar.”

He pointed, and Mary Margaret gaped.  “That’s so weird.  It looks just like the one in the Book…”

Staring, Emma had to swallow hard before she could look at Henry.  She knew that the kid thought David and Mary Margaret were her parents, but this was beyond odd.  Sure, whoever had actually written the book could have been smart enough to incorporate David Nolan’s real scar, but…  _Being a skeptic is getting harder by the day,_ she thought without meaning to _._   This was all so weird, but it _wasn’t_ possible, was it?  Henry, of course, bounced into the conversation, looking both excited and vindicated.

“Hi, Dad!”

“Hey, you.”  David seemed to have a hard time looking away from Mary Margaret, but they both managed, and Mary Margaret smiled as David ruffled Henry’s hair.

“Your book is amazing, Henry,” she said.

“Are you remembering, yet?  You two are True Love and—”

“Kid, don’t you think that’s a bit much?”  Emma cut him off, and watched Henry sigh.

“No,” he grumbled.  “They deserve to know the truth.  It’s not like Mom wants to be married to her brother-in-law, anyway.”

“Henry!” Emma and Mary Margaret gasped together, but David looked almost…thoughtful.  Emma just suppressed a groan.

“It’s time to go home, right, Dad?” the indefatigable ten year old said to avoid the rebuke. 

“Yeah, it’s my turn to cook dinner, so we’d better get moving,” David replied reluctantly.  “Where _did_ the time go?”

“Have you two been talking for an hour?” Emma had to ask.

Mary Margaret blushed.  “Longer, I think.  David showed up early, and we didn’t want to disturb you two.”

Henry was never going to shut up about this.  Sure enough, the kid was glowing as he shoved the damn fairy tale book in his bag and turned to David.

“Let’s go,” he said to his adopted father.  “We can talk on the way!”

Emma tried to throw a commiserating look Mary Margaret’s way, but her roommate’s shining eyes were still fastened on David.  She looked absolutely smitten, almost like the pictures of Snow White when she looked at Prince Charming in the Book.  _You’re crazy if you believe that_ , Emma thought, but she couldn’t quite convince herself all the way.  Looking at the two of them together made thinking that they belonged together way too easy…but even if Henry’s curse was real, they were all in for trouble.

* * *

 

Gold had always hated weekends, and Rumplestiltskin quite agreed.  He generally did not open the shop on Sundays, which meant many of his Saturday nights were spent in a bed not his own, one he didn’t at all care to be in.  This, of course, was one of those nights.  As he stared up at the ceiling and tried to ignore the breathing of the woman next to him, Rumplestiltskin supposed that he should be grateful that Cora hadn’t left him somewhere less comfortable than in her bed, but the idea of feeling any gratitude towards the woman who so frequently raped and hurt him only whipped his curse into a fury.

Land Without Magic or not, he could still hear the whispers.  _Kill her!_ it demanded.

_I will_ , he promised firmly.  There was no doubt about that in his mind, none whatsoever.  Cora could live until the curse was broken—providing the Savior with an enemy to oppose and then the mob with a villain to chase down—but then she was done for. 

Slowly, he shifted out from under Cora’s arm and pulled away from her sleeping grip.  She made a soft noise of annoyance, but did not wake, and he was pathetically glad to see that.  Hesitantly, Rumplestiltskin moved shaking fingers to touch the raised welts on his stomach, hissing in pain as he did.  Cora had ended the evening playful but had started angry, which never turned out well.  Although her frustration had not been with him, Cora was far too accustomed to taking her fury out on Gold.  Twenty-eight years of having a convenient punching bag was a hard habit to break, particularly when she had no reason to do so.  And particularly when she could so easily stop him from fighting back.

Those welts were going to hurt for weeks if his experience was anything to go by, and Gold’s memories indicated that Rumplestiltskin’s instincts were right.  Shaking, Rumplestiltskin dropped his hand back to the mattress and refocused his gaze on the ceiling.  He didn’t want to look at the rest of the damage.  Playing along with this travesty was getting old, but he would do so as long as Cora didn’t suspect what he was doing.  Everything would be worth it in the end.  It would have to be.

“Wishing you were someplace else?” Cora purred sleepily.  Even half-awake, she reveled in her power, turning on her side so that she could gaze at him complacently.

“It’s hard not to,” he growled.

Cora laughed softly, reaching her left hand to his stomach and making Rumplestiltskin yelp in pain as she pressed down.  Instinctively, his hands came up to shove hers away, until she said: “Hands down.  Now.”

The curse pushed them back to the mattress, and magic held them there.  Rumplestiltskin hated his own clever ideas more than ever, and didn’t try to keep the snarl back as her fingers played over the welts and then drifted downwards.  He turned his head away.

“Don’t make me tie you back down,” she murmured. 

“Cora…”

A finger landed on his lips.  “Shh.”

It wasn’t yet dawn, and it was going to be a long night.

* * *

 

_4 Years Before the Curse_

Sunlight streamed through the open windows, and if Rumplestiltskin listened carefully, he could hear waves hitting the beach.  The cottage he had rented in Amorveria was right on the water—he expected that Belle would later want to walk on the beach that was right outside the front door—but for now, he found that just listening to the soft sound of water lapping against the sand was rather peaceful.  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t remember a time when he had just laid in bed and drowsed.  Inactivity did not sit well with his curse; it was almost as driven has he was, though the curse was driven to darkness and great deeds while Rumplestiltskin was driven only to find his son.  Yet here the curse was quieter, only a bare whisper, and even Rumplestiltskin’s own quest was able to wait a little while.  Here…he was at peace.

That was a strange feeling, but not stranger than the feeling of having a warm body pressed up against his own, of breathing in the sweet smell of a woman’s hair.  Belle’s head was nestled on his chest, and she was snoring softly, her blue eyes closed and the very image of contentment.  Gently, he kissed the top of her head, part of him still utterly amazed that this beautiful, perfect woman could possibly want _him_.  Yet she had married him the afternoon before, had sworn to love him for eternity whilst Rumplestiltskin did the same.  Belle had been uncertain in his arms, but in no way unwilling, and they had demonstrated the depth of their love together the night before.  Rumplestiltskin might have thought it was a dream if not for the fact that Belle still lay beside him, beautiful and real and _his._

He had no idea how long he lay there just listening to her breathe, just marveling in her presence.  Finally, however, Belle stirred, blinking sleepily and turning her head to look up at him.  A small, secretive smile crossed her face.

“Hello,” Belle said hesitantly.

Rumplestiltskin chuckled.  “Good morning.”

“Morning.”  Belle snuggled into him sleepily as Rumplestiltskin glanced out the open doors.

“Or afternoon, rather,” he said lightly.  “For I do believe it is past noon.”

“Is it?” Coming up on one elbow, Belle peered out the doors, seeing the sun indeed high in the sky.  Seeing that made her blush.   Or perhaps the sudden flush on her face came from the frankly appreciative glance Rumplestiltskin stole at her now-uncovered breasts.

“I don’t think I have slept so late since I was a girl, and then my governess thrashed me soundly,” she admitted, sneaking back under the covers.

“Did she?  Then tell me her name and I shall curse her just as soundly.”

“Rumple!”

“A quip, sweetheart, nothing more,” he laughed, bending his head to kiss her forehead, only for Belle to twist and find his lips with her own.  Being able to kiss was still so wonderful, so new, and although they had thoroughly acquainted themselves with the practice last night, Rumplestiltskin thought he would never tire of being able to kiss the woman he loved.  Every time he did, he could feel the echo of power surging through his veins, could feel the purest and oldest magic filling him.  His sense of magic was dulled here, quieted like his curse was, but Rumplestiltskin could still feel True Love running through his soul.

“Good,” Belle smiled, placing a quick kiss on his nose before snuggling back into his chest.  “I don’t care what time it is.  I want to stay here with you.”

“That’s why they call it a honeymoon.  We can do whatever we like.”

Not that he’d ever known such freedom before, not even before he’d become the town coward and been hated by his own wife.  Now, however, Rumplestiltskin truly was free to lie idly, free to luxuriate in the newness of his bride’s embrace.  The people of Amorveria did not know who he was; they thought he was some visiting lord who simply looked odd (which he supposed technically he was, given that the Dark Castle commanded the loyalty of many miles of lands and the town at the bottom of the mountain) and cared only for the money he brought to the town.  They did not think of him as some dark creature, just a man who had come to wed his True Love in the town where True Love itself was the highest law.

“I never dreamed it could be like this.”  Belle’s fingers started tracing patterns on his chest, and Rumplestiltskin shivered delightfully.  “I always thought I would have to marry a brute like Gaston, never that I would find someone like you.”

“Never imagined that you would get the Dark One, did you?” he tried to ask the question lightly, but even Rumplestiltskin heard the catch in his voice.

Belle did, too, and immediately turned over, her chest against his and her face mere inches from his own.  Suddenly serious, her blue eyes met his, and Belle kissed him hard.  “I love you, Rumplestiltskin,” she said fiercely.  “I love all of you, even the darkest parts, and I would not trade you for _anyone._   Do you understand that?”

“No,” he whispered honestly.  “I will never understand what you see in me.”

“Love,” Belle whispered.  “True Love.”

He could deny her nothing, could not even find a way to tell her that she had married a monster and that he was so unworthy of her.  Perhaps Rumplestiltskin was too much of a coward to say the words, too much of a coward to drive her away.  He loved her too much, wanted to keep her so badly, even if Rumplestiltskin knew that someday, somehow, he would do something wrong and she would leave him because he deserved to be left.  He would not say it, would not ruin this honeymoon for her, but his fears must have shone on his face, because Belle touched his cheek gently.

“Do you love me, Rumple?” she whispered.

“Of course I do.”  If he was sure of nothing else, he was certain of that.

“Then believe in our love as I do,” she begged him, and Rumplestiltskin felt his heart break a little.

“I do,” he promised.  “I only—I only think I am unworthy of you.”

“You silly man—”

“I’m not a man.”

“You are right now,” Belle countered, looking at him pointedly.

“I…”

Belle cut him off with a kiss, and Rumplestiltskin could not help wrapping his arms around her as she moved against him.  How was it that she could restore his self-worth with a smile?  Milah had made him feel lower than dirt, Cora had made the darkness inside him rage, but _Belle_ gave him peace.  She made him feel like he truly was a man again, like he was not a monster who did not deserve to find his lost child.  “You make me stronger,” he whispered without meaning to say the words aloud.  “You make me want to be better than I am.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” his wife—his _wife!_ —told him gently, her hands cupping his face.

“I don’t know how to be what you need me to be, Belle,” Rumplestiltskin admitted.  “There is too much darkness in me.”

“Then let me be your light,” she replied, kissing him again, and Rumplestiltskin lost himself in her embrace.

* * *

 

_November 14, 2011_

Monday morning’s first visitor to the library was a deputy sheriff, but not the one that Lacey hated to see.  She’d spent another weekend at home alone with Renee, avoiding calls from Tony and refusing to try to call Gold again.  It was one thing for him to try to avoid her to keep her safe; she might not agree with his assessment of the situation, but at least that showed he cared.  Treating her like unwanted trash in public was another matter entirely.  If he missed her that much, _he_ could call _her._   Lacey had enough pride to ignore him until he did, no matter how much she missed him.

That meant Emma Swan’s presence was a very welcome distraction, and Lacey smiled in greeting as she rose from behind the circulation desk.  “Deputy Swan.  Welcome to the Storybrooke Library.”

“Thanks.  But call me, Emma, please.  Titles are…weird.”

“Lacey.”  Emma seemed like a breath of fresh air in Storybrooke, and reminded Lacey of something she couldn’t quite remember.  “Is there something I can help you with?  Are you looking for a book?”

“Information on one, actually,” the blonde woman replied, looking a little uneasy.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place.”

“Yeah, I figured.”  Emma smiled slightly, glancing around as if to make sure the library was still empty.  “I wanted to know where you got the fairy tale book you, uh, _didn’t_ give back to Henry.”

Lacey had to take a deep breath to steady herself.   Exactly one week later, she still remembered the mayor’s threats, and although she hadn’t stopped Henry from taking the book out again, Lacey really hoped that the boy was as good at keeping it from his grandmother as he seemed to think he’d be.  Still, Emma had already faced down the mayor once, and Lacey knew she wouldn’t go running to Cora about it.  So she answered honestly:

“I don’t know exactly.  It just kind of showed up one day, so I read it.  Henry had been here a lot, looking for answers on why Storybrooke is so different, and he’s always been such a lonely boy.  I thought he could use something a little, well, _magical_ , so I gave it to him.”

In hindsight, Lacey wasn’t sure why giving the book to Henry had felt so right, but it had, and she’d not regretted it.

“What do you mean ‘showed up’?  Didn’t you order it?”

“Oh, no.  I would have remembered that,” she answered.  “That book isn’t in any publisher’s catalogue.  Trust me, I’ve tried to find another copy.”

“Huh,” Emma replied.  “Isn’t that weird?”

“Very,” Lacey assured her, and watched a peculiar look cross Emma Swan’s face.

* * *

 

_4 Years Before the Curse_

“Can I ask you something, Rumple?” Belle asked as they continued to lie in bed together.  A servant from the rented cottage had brought them food while they continued shamelessly abed.  Her new husband was passionate and uncertain in turns, seemingly unable to accept that she could possibly love him the way he loved her.  Belle did her best to reassure him, and thought she had for now, but she knew that Rumplestiltskin’s past—what little of it he had shared with her—would always haunt him.  So Belle would do her best to distract him.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Every time he called her that, an excited chill ran down Belle’s spine.  The love in his voice was unmistakable, and she knew in her soul that Rumplestiltskin had never looked at another woman with such love in his eyes.  When she had returned to the Dark Castle three months earlier, Belle had no idea what was going to happen.  She had known she loved him then, but had not been certain Rumplestiltskin could love.  But in those months, Rumplestiltskin had so utterly proved her wrong.  He was shy, hesitant, and often difficult, but Belle knew that he loved her from the very bottom of his heart.  And he was worth fighting for.

“When we return home, will we be able to…” Her courage failing her, Belle sucked in a deep breath, trying to find words to ask her question and going bright red instead.

“Make love?” Rumplestiltskin asked, and although Belle could hear the amusement in his voice, she was so glad that he did not laugh at her.

“Yes,” she admitted.  “Will we?  I mean, with your curse…?”

“Of course we will,” her husband replied.  “It’s True Love’s kiss, my dear, not anything else.  So long as we do not kiss, we will be fine.”

“Good.”  The next words came in a rush; Belle felt herself blushing madly.  “I always wanted to know if you had those scales all over.”

Now he did laugh, but it was a joyous sound, full of love and enough to make Belle’s stomach flutter.  So she kissed him again, promising herself she would get her fill of doing so now.  Her relationship with Rumplestiltskin might be unorthodox once they left Amorveria, but Belle loved him no less for that, and she would make their marriage work in whatever form it took.

{**********}

“Why did I see you leaving the mayor’s house late last night?” Emma asked him, and although her tone was obviously meant to be casual, Graham heard the edge in it. 

It was not the question he had expected upon walking into work that morning, though, so he missed a step and asked: “What?”

“Last night.  I was driving by and saw you leaving the mayor’s house at…eight-ish?  Something like that, anyway.  Why were you there so late?  You two playing late-night chess or something?”

“No, um, I…”  He wanted to tell her, he really did.  But the words would not come.  Graham had no idea _why_ he continued to do Cora’s bidding the way he did, or what it was that made him keep going to her when she called.  Something inside Graham always made him do as he was told, made him obey Cora even when he knew that to do so was wrong.

“Tell me you aren’t sleeping with her,” Emma said next, and Graham wheeled around to face her, horrified.

“No!  Definitely not,” he snapped.

Or at least he hadn’t the night before.  Graham _had_ slept with the mayor a few times—again, not for reasons he could understand—but it hadn’t happened lately, and he had promised himself that he would never do it again.  He wasn’t entirely sure what it was he felt for Emma, but Graham knew that he liked her a hell of a lot more than he liked Cora.  Emma was bold, brave, and engaging; she said what she thought and wasn’t afraid to face the consequences.  She was turning out to be a good cop, too, not corruptible or lazy like Keith.  He liked spending time with her, too, and wanted to keep doing that, which meant it was really important to him that she didn’t think there was anything going on between him and Cora.

“Well, that’s good to know, at least,” she said dryly.  “What is she, like twice your age?”

“I’ve never asked,” Graham retorted, which at least earned him a lopsided smile from Emma.  Then he couldn’t resist getting a dig in.  “What, are you jealous?”

Asking a question like that served as a good distraction and would keep Emma from hounding him about what Cora actually _did_ have him doing.  Besides, Graham wanted to know.

“You wish,” Emma shot back, but he thought he saw something in her eyes that indicated otherwise.

“What are you, twelve?” he teased her, and earned himself a smack on the shoulder as he laughed.

“I’m not sure you deserve a more mature answer.”

“Oooh.  _That’s_ definitely a response that befits a Sheriff’s Deputy.”

“You’re one to talk!”

Graham dodged the next playful swing she took at him, and shot her a pleading look.  “Does that mean I can’t buy you dinner tonight?”

“Not if it’s at Granny’s, no,” Emma retorted.  “I’m so sick of her lasagna that I could scream, and that’s tonight’s special.”

“You know you’re starting to fit in here in town when you can recite the nightly specials,” Graham agreed, and then took the plunge.  “Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to go to La Tandoor.”

“You mean the nice place?  Like actually going to dinner, like a date kind of dinner?” Emma asked after a moment of staring at him.

Graham shrugged awkwardly.  “It could be a dinner between coworkers if you like.”

Emma looked a little uncomfortable, which was actually kind of nice, given that he felt the same.  She returned the shrug, though, and gave him a little smile.  “Or…it could be something else.  Maybe sort of like a date.”

“Sort of?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Shut up.”

He cocked his head at her.  Reading Emma Swan was more complicated than any book he’d ever encountered.  “Is that a yes?”

“Probably.  Show up around seven and find out,” she dared him.

“Oh, you’re on.”

Graham had never been able to resist a challenge, and if Emma wasn’t one, well, he didn’t know who in the town was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter Thirteen: “Good vs. Evil”, where Graham starts to remember, Emma meets Hook, and Cora lashes out. In the past, Regina and Snow try to save King Leopold from Cora’s spells.
> 
> While you’re waiting, please do let me know what you think of the story now that the pieces are moving into place!


	13. Good vs. Evil

“I think I screwed up,” Emma told Regina the next afternoon.  Henry was supposedly upstairs doing his homework, and Emma had accepted Regina’s invitation to come in instead of leaving after walking him home from the bus like she usually did.

“How so?” Regina asked, bracing herself for bad news.  Immediately, all the things that the Savior could have messed up started rolling through her mind, from somehow strengthening the curse to telling Cora who she was.  Emma was brash, and there was no telling what she’d done if _she_ felt that she’d managed to screw something up.  The world might be about to end for all Regina knew, and judging from the look on Emma’s face, Regina wouldn’t put that past her.

“Graham,” the Savior replied, and Regina blinked.

“What about him?”

“He, uh…he and I went on a date last night, and we, uh, kissed.  And then he started acting kind of strange.”

“What do you mean ‘strange’?” she asked warily.

“He’s been going on about not feeling anything, about not having his _heart_?  It’s insane, Regina.  No one can live without a heart, but Graham’s convinced that his is missing.  He keeps saying he’s got to find it, that someone’s got it—”

“My mother does,” Regina cut her off, figuring that she’d just drop the bomb now.

“ _What?_ ” her niece gaped.  “That’s not possible.  You’re joking.  You’ve _got_ to be joking.”

“It isn’t impossible in our world.  Using magic—dark magic—you can rip someone’s heart out without killing them.  The heart then becomes enchanted, allowing you to control the person whose heart it is.”  Emma, of course, was looking like she’d just been hit in the face with a two-by-four, with that look of utter disbelief and skepticism that Regina had grown far too used to seeing.  That look made her want to smack Emma upside the head or outright shake some sense into her, but Regina managed to strangle back the urge and speak levelly: “My mother ripped Graham’s heart out because she wanted an incorruptible captain for her own private guard, one that wouldn’t answer to the King, only to her.  In doing so, she made him her slave, and he was _never_ free of her.”

“Look, Regina, I know that Henry believes this stuff, but you’re an adult.  There’s no way that this is real.  It _can’t_ be,” Emma replied.  “A human being can’t live without his heart!”

“Yes, you’re right,” Regina snapped, finally pushed beyond playing ‘nicely’.  “I am an adult.  And do you know what else I am?  I’m a _sorceress_.  Magic is what I know.  And believe me, I’m not making this up.  Neither Henry nor I are making this up.  Face it.  _You_ are not a normal person.  You’re the Savior, so you’d better get with the damn program!”

Emma’s eyes went wide, and she leaned forward to look Regina in the face.  “I didn’t ask to be any Savior!” she replied hotly.  “I didn’t even ask to come to this crazy place until _your_ kid dragged me here!”

“He’s your kid, too!  You don’t get a pass on this one, unless you’re just going to march your way right out of Henry’s life.”

“I didn’t ask to be brought here!”

“Well, that’s too damn bad.  Now, are you going to run away like you’ve been doing for most of your life, or are you going to stick around and do something that matters?” Regina challenged her.  “Do you like Graham?”

“Of course I do.  That’s not the point.”

“Yes it is.  Now, do you want to help him or not?” she demanded.

“Yes, but—”

“No buts.  Either you think he’s crazy, or you believe him.  Are you going to take a chance, or are you going to do the safe thing and run away?”

Emma never got the chance to answer; her cell phone rang instead.

* * *

 

_5 Years Before the Curse_

Regina had never expected the Huntsman to be willing help them.  He had been the captain of the Queen’s Guard for over a year now, although no one called him anything but the Huntsman, and few knew that the former man of nature had been roped into the job when Queen Cora took his heart.  Most assumed that the quiet captain had come to serve a queen he adored, and Cora allowed the rumor to spread that the Huntsman had once been in the employ of her late husband, Prince Henry.  Regina, however, knew that had not been the case.  She knew that her mother had sought out the man whom a Seer had once foretold would embrace her undoing, taking his heart to prevent the Huntsman from ever being a threat.  Being Cora, she did not kill him; no she turned the poor man into her slave, instead.

But the Huntsman still had his moments of rebellion, and this seemed to be one of them.  He’d taken a liking to Snow, had always been extremely kind to her, and so when Regina had asked him to relieve the guards on Leopold’s chambers, he had agreed.  Leopold had been ill for almost a year now, growing increasingly reclusive and seeing no one without Cora present.  Even Snow had to go through her stepmother to see her father, and Regina knew that was because Snow’s love for Leopold had almost broken him free of the magic holding him to Cora.  She’d researched quite a lot of spells since that had almost happened by accident, and Regina was certain that she knew how to break her stepfather free.

“Are you sure this can work?” Snow asked quietly as the Huntsman opened the door for them.

The sisters stepped into the outer chamber together, with Regina gathering magic to herself as she went.  She would only have one chance to break Leopold free, but if she succeeded, they could get the entire kingdom out from under Cora’s toxic control.  Regina didn’t know what it would do for her own status if Leopold annulled his marriage to Cora—or worse—but she no longer cared.  She trusted Snow to look out for her if worst came to worst, and Snow deserved to have her father back.

_They’ve been married for ten years,_ Regina thought with a mental sigh.  _Snow deserves to have her father again.  There’s nothing in the world that can bring_ my _daddy back, but if I can give hers back, that has got to count for something._

“It’ll work,” she reassured her little sister, wrapping an arm around Snow’s shoulders as they walked.  “I promise.”

Rumplestiltskin had told her that it was impossible to free her stepfather without accepting that the permanent damage had already been done, but Regina was prepared for that.  Even if she couldn’t _fix_ him, she could at least free Leopold, and if he was too far gone to rule competently, then _Snow_ could act as his regent, as she should have been doing already.  Snow was nearly twenty, was more than old enough to rule on her own if it came to that.  She wasn’t married—uncommon in a princess of her age, particularly one that stood to inherit such a powerful kingdom—but that was only because Cora had sabotaged every marriage offer that came Snow’s way, outright refusing most of them.  All in Leopold’s name, of course. 

The last one had been King George’s son, Prince James—again—and he and Snow had hit it right off this time around.   It would have been a grand marriage, too, one that would unite both kingdoms and which George was very keen on, but Cora was determined that _Regina_ marry James instead.  Regina had liked him well enough, but Snow had liked him more, and when Regina refused to take that away from her sister.  Snow had lost enough, and Regina knew what it was like to fall in love.  She _still_ loved Daniel, even though her mother had not let her see him in over a year.  _Maybe if we free Leopold, it isn’t too late for Snow and her ‘Charming’._ Regina smiled reassuringly at her younger sister, and then let Snow go.

“Now let me get to work,” she said softly.

Snow nodded and stepped forward, kneeling to take her father’s hand.  Leopold sat in a high backed chair, staring blankly at the pair of young women, as he had ever since the pair had walked in.  He hadn’t even greeted them; these days, Cora had to prompt Leopold to talk to anyone.   Regina wasn’t sure how much of that was her mother using magic to prompt the king into coherency, or if the spells only allowed him to respond to Cora, but the result was the same.

“Father?” Snow asked quietly, and Leopold barely even blinked.  “Papa?”

“Give it a moment,” Regina advised her, letting out a careful breath.  Her hands came up, slowly but surely, and Regina forced herself to visualize the threads of magic surrounding her stepfather.

Rumplestiltskin was always after her to learn to unravel spells, to learn finesse instead of the brute power approach that Regina favored.  Her mother walked a fine line between the two, and Regina had forced herself to learn to do the same.  She would never make a master manipulator of the sort her mentor was, but she’d been paying special attention to how to do this for some time.  Regina had even been practicing, and _this_ was the moment she had learned magic for.  She had learned magic to protect those she loved, and she’d damn well do it today.

Carefully, she grasped the last of the threads wrapped around Leopold.  _It’s now or never!_ Regina thought, and pulled the threads apart.  Light flared brilliantly and briefly, bathing the entire room in a soft purple glow for several seconds.  Distantly, Regina heard someone gasp—she wasn’t sure if it was Leopold or Snow—but as the purple light faded, she saw Leopold blink.

“Snow?” the king asked raggedly, and Regina almost cheered. 

“Father!” Snow threw her arms around her father, and Leopold hugged her back.  His movements were slow and jerky, as if he wasn’t quite used to having his limbs always obey his commands, but his eyes were much clearer than Regina ever remembered them being.  “Can you understand me?”

“Yes.  Yes, I think I can,” Leopold replied groggily, looking like someone who had just wakened from a long slumber.  “What…where is Cora?”

“Not here,” Regina replied, her voice hard.  “And her magic can no longer hold you.”

“Good,” her stepfather replied with undisguised relief, and Regina let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.  She had been certain that she’d gotten Cora’s magic off of him, but there had been no way to know for sure until he agreed that Cora’s absence was a good thing.  “I am…I have not been myself, have I?”

“Not for a long time,” Snow replied, and the pain in her voice broke Regina’s heart.

“She had spells on you,” Regina explained.  “Dozens of them.  Love spells, enthrallment enchantments, and several binding spells to make you loyal to her.  They’re gone now.”

Leopold looked around, clearly expecting to see someone else.  “Who broke the spells?”

“Regina did,” Snow replied with a huge smile, and Leopold turned to look at his stepdaughter in surprise.

“You?”

“Yes,” Regina admitted, shrugging a little self-consciously.  How _did_ Leopold feel about magic?  She had no way to know; what if he hated magic after what Cora had done to him?  Would he throw her out of the only home she had once he was done punishing Cora for her crimes.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully, and Regina felt herself go a little bit red. 

“I just wanted to help,” she said softly, and Snow shot her a grin.

“Regina unraveled the spells on you, Father,” the princess added.  “You’re free now, thanks to her.”

“And I will be forever grateful,” Leopold replied, struggling to his feet.  Snow reached up to help him as he stumbled, supporting her father while he swayed tiredly.  How long had it been since he’d stood up without magic to direct his actions?  Moving quickly to his other side, Regina reached out hands to steady him.  After a moment, the king was able to stand on his own, but he was already breathing hard.

“Now what?” Regina asked.

“Now we take back the kingdom,” Snow said immediately, looking up at her father adoringly.  “Right, Father?”

Leopold smiled back at her.  “Definitely.  In fact—”

“Oh, what a touching family reunion,” a new voice interrupted, making Regina, Snow, and Leopold twist to face a suddenly smiling Cora.  She cocked her head, smiling victoriously.  “Of course, it won’t do any good.”

“Cora, this has gone far enough,” Leopold said strongly, and Regina watched him square his shoulders painfully.  “I understand your grievances against me, but—”

A wave of Cora’s hand silenced the king; his mouth was suddenly glued shut, and he struggled to speak, but to no avail.  “That’s quite enough out of you.”

“Mother!” Regina objected, only to have her mother turn a glare on her. 

“This is not your concern, darling,” she said coldly.  “Stay out of it.”

“What do you want, Cora?” Snow demanded, stepping between her father and her stepmother. 

“I want you to kill your father.”

_“What?_ ” Snow and Regina gasped together, but it was Snow who froze when Cora’s left hand slipped into her cloak and emerged with a glowing heart held tightly.

“Give him the poison,” Cora clarified, swirling the fingers of her free hand.  Immediately, a goblet appeared on the table to Snow’s right.  Regina didn’t need magic to know that the wine in the goblet was poisoned. Cora would not lie about such a thing and she would not make a mistake.

“No!” Snow cried, but her hand was already moving for the goblet.

Cora ignored her protests, instead turning to Leopold.  A gesture from her freed his jaw, but nothing could erase the horror on his face.

“You will drink the poison that your darling daughter retrieved from Oz,” the Queen decreed.  “Or I will crush Snow’s heart.”

“You can’t—” the king started to say, only for Cora to cut him off with a laugh.

“I can, and I will.  And before you get any ideas of heroic self-sacrifice, Snow dear, know that I _will_ kill your father after I kill you.  Either way, he dies.”

“I won’t,” Snow swore, but the goblet was already in her shaking hand. 

“Mother, _please_ ,” Regina pleaded, taking a hesitant step forward.  “Don’t do this.  You don’t have to kill him.  You’ve controlled him this long without anyone knowing.  Why kill him now?”

Cora shrugged.  “I have a desire to rule unencumbered,” she replied nonchalantly, as if killing a husband was something she did every day.  _It’s not like she hasn’t done it before,_ Regina thought acidly, gathering her magic.  She’d never thought that she could take on her mother, but if she was ever going to be brave, now was the time.  Cora’s next words, however, brought her up short.  “Don’t think about resisting me, darling, unless you want Daniel to die as well your sister.”

“Mother…”  Her magic died on her fingertips, and Regina stood staring.  The odds of stopping her mother were so slim to begin with, and what if Cora killed Snow before she could strike?  She held Snow’s heart, and Regina couldn’t watch her sister die.  She _couldn’t_.

“Kill him,” Cora commanded Snow once more, and Snow’s turned, oh so slowly, to face her father, the goblet of poisoned wine in hand.  She was obviously fighting the command, but without any affect. 

“It’s all right, Snow,” Leopold said bravely, and then looked at Cora.  “Give me your word that she will live.”

“I have no reason to promise you anything,” Cora replied with a sarcastically sweet smile.  “But I have no desire to kill your daughter today.  After all, _someone_ has to take the blame for your death.”

“Papa…” Snow whispered brokenly.

“I love you, Snow,” the king whispered, taking the goblet out of his daughter’s hand and sitting down in the same chair he’d occupied before.  He squeezed her now-empty hand briefly, and then downed the goblet without another word.

“ _No!_ ” Snow howled, but she stood frozen, held in place by Cora’s hand on her heart.  Regina found herself unable to move as well, magic wrapping around her as she watched her sister dissolve into tears.  She wanted to go to Snow, wanted to comfort her, but her feet would not budge.  Regina wanted to kill her mother, too, burned to stop Cora, but it was too late.

Leopold died quickly, and when the guards came in, Cora ordered them to arrest Snow.  Much to Regina’s everlasting shame, she stood silently whilst her mother told the guards that their precious princess had poisoned her father, that Cora and Regina had arrived too late to stop Snow.  The Huntsman looked absolutely devastated as he led a weeping Snow away, but by then Cora had hidden Snow’s heart once more and there was no evidence that anyone other than Snow had done the deed.  Regina could only stare at her mother, wide-eyed and horrified, finally understanding the lengths to which Cora would go to serve her own ambition.

“Smile, my sweet,” Cora told her serenely.  “Today I have made sure you will someday be queen.”

* * *

 

He had started to remember.  That was the only possible explanation.  Rumplestiltskin—or Gold, at least as far as the rest of Storybrooke was concerned—was not terribly tied into events in town, but even he knew that the sheriff had started acting strangely.  He had run into Graham in the woods after burying the dagger that could control his soul, and Graham had seemed rather _off_ even then.  The later rant, the one that took place in Granny’s over breakfast, Rumplestiltskin had only heard about, but anything that revolved around a missing heart was certain to get his attention.  Unfortunately, it had obviously gotten Cora’s attention, too.

It was rent collection day for the half of his properties that paid mid-monthly rent, which meant he was out and about when the accident happened.  Somehow, the sheriff’s squad car went off the road on main street, spinning out of control and bouncing off a fire hydrant on its way to crashing into the front of Dave’s Fish and Chips.  Coincidentally enough, the owner of that restaurant had been heard rather recently to criticize the mayor’s policies.  And now a car crashed into his restaurant, destroying the entire storefront and almost everything inside. 

_Killing two birds with one stone, are we, dearie?_ Rumplestiltskin thought behind an outwardly expressionless face, watching people rush towards the crushed car and listening to sirens approach from the distance.  Cora was clever; he had to give her that.  She punished an errant citizen and her rebellious Huntsman at the same time, all under the guise of it being a tragic accident.  After all, Rumplestiltskin was certain that there would be no evidence of foul play, no person responsible other than Graham for his car spinning out of control.  Cora had the Huntsman’s heart, and that would certainly be enough.  She’d always done her work well, and he was not surprised. 

A crowd was gathering, and he stayed on its outskirts, watching emotionlessly.  It was a pity about Graham, of course; Belle would have told him that the Huntsman deserved better.  But this was good news.  It meant the Savior’s presence was beginning to affect things, beginning to make _change._ Emma Swan had spent a great deal of time with the sheriff lately, and she’d clearly broken through to him somehow.  But how?  He would have to talk to Regina about this.

“I heard that he was drunk,” a nearby voice said.  Was that Little Miss Muffet?  In either world, she was an idiot.

“Nah, not Graham.  Not driving, anyway,” the little red wolf countered, popping her gum noisily.

“Sara said that he was ranting and raving about missing his heart this morning.  Sounds like he was on a bender to me,” the other girl countered, and Ruby shrugged. 

Rumplestiltskin tuned out the rest of their pointless exchange, watching as the ambulance arrived.  The crew ran inside Dave’s immediately, and a few moments later, they emerged with a blood-covered Graham on a stretcher, a brace already around his neck and oxygen mask on his face.  _Interesting._ That meant Graham was alive, and _that_ Rumplestiltskin had not expected.  Was Cora slipping, or did she have another game in mind?  Or had Graham just been lucky?

There was only one way to find out, and he suspected he would know soon enough.

* * *

 

Emma stepped up next to the mayor as Cora asked Doctor Whale: “When will he be up and around again?”

Whale blinked, staring at the mayor as if she was absolutely mad.  They were outside Graham’s hospital room, away from the crowd of well-wishers that had started forming after the accident took place an hour earlier.  Emma had had to pull her badge out to get through the group, and she’d caught up with Cora just in time to find the mayor interrogating the hospital’s senior doctor.

“Look, Madam Mayor,” he said shortly.  “I just got done with emergency surgery.  At this point, I can tell you that we saved the sheriff’s life, but that’s _all_ I can say.  I’m not even sure if he’s going to walk again.”

“You can’t be serious,” Cora replied, but to Emma’s ears, she didn’t sound terribly disbelieving.  In fact, she sounded a little…satisfied?  No, Emma had to be hearing things, letting her dislike for Henry’s grandmother color her reactions.

“I don’t joke about things like this,” Whale retorted, looking tired.  “He’s going to be out of it for quite a while.”

“Do you know what caused this?” Emma asked before Cora could say something else, and Whale shrugged.

“Tox screening is negative.  His BAC is nonexistent.  He wasn’t drunk and he wasn’t taking anything.  I don’t know what happened.  Was there anything in the road?”

“No.”  Emma shook her head.  “I just got back from the scene.”

“Then you’ve obviously missed something,” Cora interjected.  “Perhaps Deputy Law would be better suited to investigate.”

“He _is_ investigating, Madam Mayor,” she snapped back, her worry for Graham pushing her temper to its limits.  “We’re working this case together and—”

“You’re fired.”

“Excuse me?” Emma gaped.

“You were Graham’s folly, not mine, and I am through tolerating your incompetence.  You are not qualified for this job, and not welcome in my town.  You are fired, Miss Swan.  Feel free to depart Storybrooke whenever you wish.”

Emma could only stare incredulously.  “You really know how to make people feel welcome, don’t you?”

Cora smiled sweetly, and Whale wisely stayed out of the argument.  “Goodbye, Miss Swan.”

* * *

 

Emma stalked out of the hospital ten minutes later, sick of arguing with Storybrooke’s bitchy mayor and worried sick over Graham.  Her bug was waiting for her, and apparently her job _wasn’t_ , so she could do whatever the hell she wanted.  But that prospect had become utterly unappealing.  Emma had lost a lot of jobs in her time, usually because she felt the need to move on to a new place, but she’d never been fired in under two weeks.  This had to be a new record for her, and it wasn’t one that felt good at all.

“Bad day, love?” an unfamiliar voice said as the double doors slammed shut behind her, making Emma stop in her tracks.

“Do I know you?” Emma demanded, spinning to look at the dark haired man who was had been leaning against the outer wall of the hospital.  He was handsome in a rakish sort of way, with devilish blue eyes, and was dressed in tight fitting jeans and a dark leather jacket.   She couldn’t remember ever having seen him before, but he looked at her as if he knew her.

“Not yet,” he replied with what he probably thought was a charming smile.  “My name is Cyril O’Malley.  I own the Magical Marina.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. O’Malley,” she said as courteously as she could manage, which, at the moment, probably wasn’t terribly nicely.  But Emma wasn’t in the mood for _nice._   Her friend—Graham was at least a friend, and one she was attracted to at that—was in the hospital and possibly paralyzed.  Compared to that, losing her job was utterly minor, and now this pretty boy was bothering her.

“Killian,” he corrected her.

“Come again?”

“Call me Killian,” O’Malley said.  “It’s my middle name, and I’ve always rather fancied it.”

“Right…” She shook herself.  “Then what can I do for you, Killian?  I’m afraid that if you’re looking for a sheriff’s deputy, you’re going to have to go find Keith Law.  The mayor just fired me.”

“Whatever did she do that for?”

She shrugged.  “Hell if I know.”

“Well, what say you that I buy you a drink, then?  We’ll raise a glass to the sheriff, and—”

“He’s not dead,” Emma cut him off, probably more hotly than O’Malley deserved, but she refused to give up hope and didn’t want to listen to anyone else who had, either.

“Of course he isn’t,” O’Malley seemed taken aback by her vehemence.  “I only meant to say that we can wish him well.”

“Right.  I’m sorry,” Emma apologized.  “Now just isn’t a good time, okay? I think I just want to head home.”

“Of course.  Although I do believe I may hit you up for a rain check.”

“Sure.  Just not today.”

Was it messed up that the place she really wanted to go was home to the woman who Henry claimed was supposed to be her mother?  Emma had gone her entire life without parents; why was it that she wanted to go home to the comforting presence of Mary Margaret?  She was a loner.  She didn’t _need_ anyone else.  But now she just wanted to go back to that loft that had somehow become home and tell her roommate about how horrible her day had been, and hope Mary Margaret could somehow make everything better.  It defied logic, defied twenty-eight years of surviving on her own, but that was how Emma felt.

* * *

 

“Well, that didn’t go quite as well as I expected,” Hook told the queen a few hours later, walking into her office.

“Do tell,” Cora replied drily. 

“I met Miss Swan.  Our _former_ deputy, I take it?” he said as he took a seat in the chair across from her desk, glancing briefly in the mirror to admire his own reflection. 

“Indeed.”

“Well, she wasn’t terribly forthcoming.  It probably has something to do with the _tragic_ accident our good sheriff was in this afternoon,” he shrugged.  “And I imagine that was absolutely not your doing, of course.”

Cora smiled innocently.  “How could I possibly have been responsible for Sheriff Graham’s car accident?”

“You’re a resourceful woman, Madam Mayor.  I’m sure you could find a way.”

The compliment, however, did not seem to please her.  Cora’s eyes only narrowed.  “Miss Swan.  What did you find out about her?”

“Absolutely nothing, unless you count how angry she is.  Or worried.  With such an abrasive woman, it’s rather hard to tell,” he said flippantly.

“You don’t like her?  I would have thought she was your type,” Cora responded.

“Oh, she certainly is.  I’ll work on her,” Hook promised.

“See that you do.”

There was not much else to say, so Hook headed out after that order.  He’d tried to cross Cora once, back in the early days of the curse when he’d thought that he could easily kill Rumplestiltskin in his newly human form.  Defying her so had nearly cost him his own life, and Cora had Graham deliver a vicious beating to the rebellious pirate captain in payment for that little indiscretion.  That interaction had taught him several valuable lessons.  One, that Cora had the good sheriff’s heart, and Graham had no choice but to do what she wanted him to.  Two, that Cora was _very_ aware of what was happening in Storybrooke.  Three, and most importantly, that it did not pay to cross the queen-turned-mayor.  Being her ally was much safer, and it allowed him to maintain his own memories and sense of self.

Revenge, after all, only mattered to Killian Jones, not to Cyril O’Malley, the personality and name Cora had given him.  So, Killian kept his head on his shoulders and worked with Cora, enjoying watching the Dark One stumble through life as Cora’s mistreated pet.  That wasn’t quite the agonizing death Hook had in mind for him, but it was something, at least, and Killian had gotten good at waiting over the last few centuries.  Neverland had taught him that, if nothing else.

He had time.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Fourteen: “Secrets Revealed”, in which Cora threatens Henry and Rumplestiltskin plots to make Emma sheriff. In the past, Regina schemes to free Snow from certain death and Cora makes one last visit to Rumplestiltskin as the curse is cast.
> 
> In the meantime, please let me know what you thought of this chapter!


	14. Secrets Revealed

Regina went to visit Graham as soon as she got off of work.  Her mother would have had her head if she left early, of course—Cora was about as compassionate as a dead tree and demanded perfection from everyone in the mayor’s office—but Cora couldn’t stop her from going to the hospital in her off time.  The curse had made Graham her friend here in Storybrooke, and even though Regina  _now_ remembered him as the Huntsman, she couldn’t forget the very real times that Graham had been a good friend to her here, either.   _And he always tried to help us back home, even if Mother usually stopped him,_ she thought sadly, standing in the doorway. 

Graham looked dead.  He wasn’t, and Regina knew that—Whale had assured her of it, and although she had no idea who the doctor had been in a past life, at least the curse seemed to have given him the required knowledge to do his job well—but he was so damn pale and lifeless that it broke her heart.  Half a day after the accident, Whale had regretfully announced that Graham would probably never walk again…a fact that was depressingly easy to believe when you looked at the sheriff’s broken body lying in the bed.  He had yet to wake at all, and no one was sure if he would _ever_ do so.  Just thinking of that made Regina’s blood boil with fury, because _she_ knew this had been no accident.  Everyone else in Storybrooke might think that Graham had been unlucky or careless, but she knew exactly who was responsible.

“It’s such a waste, isn’t it, darling?” her mother suddenly purred from her side, making Regina jump.

“Mother,” she replied through gritted teeth.  “I thought you had already visited.”

“Can I not visit again? Graham is an old friend of the family.”

_One whom you force into your bed occasionally, thanks to having his heart,_ Regina didn’t say, much though she wanted to snarl that in response.  At least that was at an end; if Graham really was paralyzed, he’d be spared Cora’s attentions.  Still, she could not afford to say any of that; she had to be sweet and obedient Regina Nolan, and say: “Of course he is.”

“Still, I suppose that there is a silver lining in every cloud,” Cora mused.  “I did avail myself of the opportunity to fire Miss Swan now that Graham is unable to voice his opinion on the matter, and that will at least get Henry’s birth mother out of his life for you.”

“You what?” Regina twisted to stare at her mother.

“You heard me, and you’re quite welcome.”

“I don’t have any problems with Miss Swan,” Regina shot back before she could stop herself.

“Well, you should, dear.  She threatens everything you and David have so carefully built with Henry, and I will not stand for it.  She’ll have to leave Storybrooke now that she has no means to support herself.”  Cora might have thought that her dutiful daughter missed the slight smile that tugged at her lips, but Regina did not.  “After all, it’s not like Mary Margaret Blanchard can support a second person with _her_ debts.”

“And whose fault are those?” The words were out before she thought of them, and Regina bit her tongue too late.

Cora blinked innocently.  “I believe you’d have to ask Mr. Gold about that.  He’s her principle creditor.”

“Of course he is,” Regina muttered.

“What’s gotten into you, darling?”

_Your curse!_ she wanted to shout, but managed to snap instead: “My friend is lying there and might not wake up ever again.  Isn’t that enough?”

“Of course it is.”  A hand landed on Regina’s arm and squeezed, but it took all of her self control not to jerk away.  She had rarely hated her mother as much as she did now; Regina could only think of three times when she had felt this boiling rage so strongly, and she devoutly wished that there was magic in Storybrooke.  Had there been, she might have tried to kill her mother then and there.

Not that trying _that_ had gotten her very far in the past, but Regina was almost beyond caring.

“I’m going to stay awhile, Mother,” she said, clinging to the shredded remnants of her self control.  “I’m sure you have better things to do than waste your time here.”

“Regina, I’m hurt.  Why would I not want to come look after Graham?”

“Probably because he’s of no use to you now,” she said bitterly.

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” Cora pouted, but Regina was anything but fooled.  She was not expecting it, however, when her mother took her by the arm and tugged her inside Graham’s empty hospital room (empty except for the still-unconscious sheriff, anyway) and closed the door behind them.  “What _has_ gotten into you?”

It was the second time Cora had asked that exact question, and Regina’s instincts screamed a warning.  Slowly, she turned to look at her mother.

“What do you mean, Mother?” she asked cautiously, being careful to temper her tone into a more subservient one than she’d used thus far.  But doing so was really hard; she was still seething with anger.

“I mean that you have been acting strangely, and something is clearly going on.  What is it?”

“Nothing,” Regina replied quickly.  “I’m just…worried for Graham.”

That had to be enough.  Cora had to believe her, right?  But her mother’s sharp eyes were studying Regina intently, and she had a bad feeling that Cora saw right through her excuses.  She _should_ have minded her tongue more carefully.  This was not the first time Regina had watched helplessly while her mother destroyed someone she cared for; however, now Regina really had had enough.

“Of course you are,” Cora repeated, her voice dropping dangerously.  “But you should blame our visitor for this tragedy, not Graham.”

“ _What?_ ”

An artful shrug.  “Well, none of this would have happened if Miss Swan had not begun interfering.”

“How is this her fault?” Regina demanded, completely unable to follow her mother’s logic.

“Now _that_ , my darling girl, is what I want you to tell me,” Cora replied, her voice turning icy and her eyes hard.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said nervously.

“Don’t lie to me, Regina.  I know you remember everything.”  Her mother smiled dangerously.  “You are not as good of an actress as you seem to think you are.  What I want to know is _why_ you remember.”

“I—”

“I said not to lie to me.  I can destroy this lovely little life of yours with the wave of one hand, beginning with Henry.”

“He’s your grandson!”

A poisonous snake might have smiled much like this.  “He’s adopted, dear.  Henry isn’t your blood, or mine.”

“He’s still my son!” Regina objected, feeling the color drain out of her face as the walls of her mother’s trap closed in.  The mask had dropped, and Cora clearly felt no need to play the mild-mannered mayor now.  This was the Evil Queen facing Regina, a woman who had killed two husbands and tried for years to kill her stepdaughter, all because Snow was the daughter of a woman she hated.  This was the Queen of Hearts, who had undoubtedly smiled with satisfaction as she held Graham’s heart in her hand, forcing him to crash his squad car into a restaurant owned by a man who had dared speak against her.  Once.

Cora just shrugged again, arching one silent eyebrow.  She didn’t need to say anything more.  Regina got the hint.

“It’s been twenty-eight years,” she hedged, not daring to lie but struggling to hide the more vital information.  “I woke up.”

“Why now?”  The tone was mild, but Regina was not fooled.  Cora mused:  “It seems such a coincidence that you would do so just when Miss Swan arrived.”

“She’s an outsider.”  Regina tried to shrug casually.  “She made things change—”

“Then I suppose I should kill her,” was the airy response.  “And then you will return to your usual well-behaved self.  I don’t mind a little change—it keeps things interesting—but this _is_ a bit much.”

“You can’t!”

Were Regina as cold blooded as Rumplestiltskin, she would just let her mother do it.  But killing Emma would break Henry’s heart in addition to the curse, and Emma was Snow’s daughter.  She was _family_ , Regina’s niece and David’s daughter, too.  In an odd way, Emma was actually Regina’s stepdaughter, too, and although the Savior drove Regina crazy sometimes, and odd sort of friendship had grown between them.

“Of course I can,” Cora said serenely.  “Accidents happen.”

“No, you _can’t_. _”_   She hated herself already, but it would keep Emma safe.  _And Henry_.  “Not if you want your curse to remain intact.”

Cora blinked.  “Oh, so Rumple _did_ put in a safety valve.  He hinted as much.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

But that was a lie her mother saw right through.  A small smile flickered across Cora’s face, secretive and all-knowing.

“Snow’s ‘dead’ child,” the Evil Queen realized slowly.  “Born on the eve of the curse, and snuck through to this world.  Clever, but you _lied_ to me, Regina.”

“I protected my family,” she snarled, looking her mother right in the eye.

Cora only laughed.  “Yes, you always have been _so_ good at protecting those you love, haven’t you?”

Those words cut in like a knife to the heart, and faces slashed through Regina’s mind, the faces of those she had loved and failed to protect.  Cora, however, just patted her on the shoulder.

“Love is weakness, dear.  I thought you would have learned that by now.”

* * *

 

_5 Years Before the Curse_

Snow had been held under guard in her own rooms after Leopold’s death, right up until the farce of a trial that Cora did not bother to attend.  A quartet of noble lords questioned the princess while the ‘grieving queen’ sequestered herself in her chambers with Regina by her side.  Horrified, Regina watched as her mother held Snow’s heart, forcing her to say that her ambition had driven the princess to murder her father, that Snow was tired of waiting for the king to die of natural causes and admitted to giving him the poison.  Snow did not weep—Cora’s hold on her heart prevented that—and she came off as cold, callous, and murderous.  Needless to say, the trial did not last long, and the guards moved Snow to a dungeon the moment the guilty verdict came down.

Regina snuck down to see her that very night.  She was very practiced at visiting the dungeons given how long Daniel had spent in there—nearly ten years, now—but at least Snow was not housed in the lower levels where there was no light at all.  Snow’s cell even had a window, small and barred though it was, and the moonlight bathed Snow’s pale face in an eerie light.  Snow was curled up against one wall, her knees pulled up close to her chest and her arms wrapped around them.  Her head was tipped back to lean against the wall and her eyes closed; she looked almost like a corpse, and Regina might have been worried were Snow’s shoulders not shaking so hard.

She was crying when Regina arrived, and didn’t even seem to notice when Regina’s glare forced the guards back several paces.  Regina no longer cared what the guards saw, though.  What were they going to do, tell Cora that Regina had visited her sister?

“Snow?” she whispered.

“Regina!” her sister’s head snapped forward and her eyes flew open.  She jumped to her feet immediately and came to the front of the cell, which gave Regina a good look at her tear-streaked face.  “What are you doing here?”

The unspoken question of _Why weren’t you at my trial?_ hung between them, so Regina answered that instead:

“Mother wouldn’t let me go to the trial,” she whispered, ashamed.  “I wanted to defend you, but…”

“But she wants me dead,” Snow finished for her, sounding utterly defeated.  “Just like my father.”

“I’m so sorry.  I couldn’t stop her.  I _tried_ , but she’s too powerful.”

Snow shook her head and managed a small smile.  “It’s not your fault.  I know who to blame.”

“I’m still sorry,” Regina said around the heavy lump in her throat.

“Me, too,” Snow replied, reaching through the bars.  The sisters gripped one another’s hands tightly, holding on for dear life.  “When she executes me, you’ll be all alone.”

“Don’t say that!  She can’t think—”

“The date is already set,” her sister cut her off bitterly. “Four days from now.  Cora even says she’ll give me back my heart tomorrow so that I can feel every moment leading up to it.”

Regina squeezed her hand hard, anger and determination giving her strength.  “I’m not letting that happen.”

“Regina…”

“Say nothing.  I’ll talk to Mother.”

That last bit was said solely for the guards’ benefit, but what Regina meant—and what Snow understood—was that she had work to do.  Four days wasn’t much, but she was a sorceress.  She could do this.  She _could_ save her sister from Cora, could save Snow when she hadn’t been able to save Daniel.  Regina had learned a thing or two since then, and she’d start by distracting her mother with a heartfelt plea for Snow’s life.  Then she’d act, after Cora had given Snow her heart back and had no way to control her if she escaped.

“I’ll be back,” she promised, releasing Snow’s hands and stepping away from the cell.  Her mind was already whirling, thinking on what kingdom would accept an exiled princess, and Regina strode out of the dungeons with her head held high.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin supposed he would have done this even had Cora not unilaterally named the noxious Sheriff of Nottingham to that same position in Storybrooke, but the fact that the miserable lowlife had once tried to bargain for Belle only made the situation sweeter.  Keith Law was a real piece of work, too, a lecherous drunk who tried to stalk Lacey French and frightened her more than once.  Rumplestiltskin was more than happy to ruin his life, just as Gold would have been, and the way Cora would be irked by his actions only added icing to the cake.  He would take any victory he could get at this point, and this one would be sweet, if subtle.

So he knocked on Mary Margaret Blanchard’s loft door with an easy smile on his face, and if the expression made poor, cursed Snow White uneasy, well, that was too bad.  “I’m here to see Miss Swan,” he said before Mary Margaret could speak.  “Your rent isn’t due for another week.”

“Oh.  Right,” Mary Margaret stuttered.  “Of course.”  She turned away, shouting quickly: “Emma!  You have a visitor!”

“Coming!”

Mary Margaret looked at him nervously, eying the large three ring binder Rumplestiltskin held in his hand.  “Won’t you come in?”

“Thank you,” Rumplestiltskin replied courteously.  Cora had done enough damage to her stepdaughter; he saw no reason to do more.  Making her into a shaking mess would not further his purposes in any way.  Fortunately, Emma came down the stairs quickly, looking suspiciously at Rumplestiltskin.  _Good for her._

“What are you doing here, Gold? Come to call in that favor already?” she demanded.

He laughed softly.  “Oh, no.  I’m actually here to offer you some assistance.”

Emma blinked.  “Excuse me?”

“May I?” Rumplestiltskin walked over to the table and put the binder down, gesturing meaningfully.

“Sure.”  The Savior continued to watch him warily, but sat down across from him without hesitation.  Rumplestiltskin usually preferred to conduct business while standing, but having a cane was a major nuisance when he needed two hands for something.

“I think I’ll go take a bath,” Mary Margaret announced into the silence as Rumplestiltskin flipped to the appropriate page.  Neither he nor Emma bothered to watch her flee.

“I understand that our dear mayor fired you,” he said as an opening.

“And named Keith as Sheriff,” she confirmed bitterly, and Rumplestiltskin barely managed not to smile.  Emma Swan was invested in Storybrooke, now, and in more than just young Henry Nolan.  That was excellent.  _Better than I’d dared imagine, truth be told._

“Ah, but if you take the time to examine the Storybrooke charter, you’ll find that she can’t exactly do that,” he countered. “It’s amazing how few people bother to _read_ the document.”

“So what does it say?” Emma asked impatiently.

Now Rumplestiltskin allowed himself to smile.  “That the office of sheriff is decided by a city-wide election, not by the mayor’s whim.  She can’t simply choose a sheriff, not if someone runs against him.”

The Savior was no fool; she caught on immediately.  “You want _me_ to run.  I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Not without a benefactor, no.”

“And you’re volunteering.”

“Indeed I am.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed skeptically.  “Why?”

“Call me a concerned citizen,” he shrugged.  “And I believe you have…potential to make a difference here in Storybrooke.”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked suspiciously, leaning back and crossing her arms.  “Nothing is free with you.”

“Oh, this one will be its own reward,” he replied, already imagining Cora’s reaction.  “Just put your name out there, and let me do the rest.”

* * *

 

_As the Curse is Cast_

“Back already, _Your Majesty_? I thought you’d be too busy celebrating your victory to visit little ol’ me,” he giggled, watching as the swirl of purple smoke resolved into his onetime lover and student.

It was about time she showed up.  He was sick to death of this rat-invested cell, thoroughly tired of solitary confinement and just ready to get _on_ with it.  Three months locked in this hellhole was starting to do damage to his sanity, and his curse had been positively howling for release ever since he’d let them lock him in this place.  Oh, he could have escaped, but he’d been waiting for this moment, waiting for Cora to come to him for one final deal.  And now it was time.

“Oh, I am,” Cora purred, her eyes glittering darkly.  “I simply wanted to say goodbye to an old friend, first.”

“And you wanted something.”

The Evil Queen shrugged.  “I wanted to offer you an opportunity, a better life than the one I promised you.”

“Oh, did you, now?”  Here it came, his opportunity to twist the curse to his own ends.  Rumplestiltskin had known Cora would come.  Truth be told, he’d looked forward to this day, out of boredom if nothing else.  Possibilities whirled in his mind; Rumplestiltskin had already set his own second safety valve into the curse to protect his family, but he would take whatever else Cora offered if he could.  Carefully.

“I’ve missed you, Rumple.”  Boldly, Cora stepped forward, reaching through the bars to touch his face.  “Rule by my side in this new world, and I will give you everything you desire, and more.”

Scowling, he drew back.  Now he wasn’t laughing at all, not even sarcastically.  “You burned me once, dear, and I’ve a _long_ memory.”

“Don’t test me,” Cora snapped more angrily than he would have expected.  She _did_ want him, then.  Pity it was too late.  “I am offering you the world.  You would do better to bend your foolish pride and accept.”

Rumplestiltskin scoffed.  “Your curse isn’t as infallible as you think.”

“Of course it isn’t.  You’re never that simple.”  She shrugged regally.  “What did you do?”

Ah, there was his opening.  Her offer had been unexpected, but this was not.  Rumplestiltskin might have had to manipulate the conversation around to this point, but he had her now. 

“Give me the power to determine two individuals’ fate under your curse, and I will tell you everything,” he offered.

“Two people? Why?”

He shrugged and offered her a nasty smile, all blackened teeth and rotten soul.  “There are small revenges I would enact.”

It was not an answer to her question, not quite, but Cora need not know that.  He dared not tell her the full truth, not if he wanted Belle and Gabrielle to be safe.

Cora studied him for a long moment, and Rumplestiltskin met her eyes.  She was smart and tricky, this woman he had once loved, but he had been playing this game far longer than she.  Still, she watched him carefully, her intelligent eyes calculating and then narrowing ominously.

“No,” she finally said.  “I don’t think I will.”

“And here I thought you were enjoying your vengeance,” Rumplestiltskin replied lightly, cocking his head.  “Would you deny me the same?”

“Yes.  Yes, I believe I will,” Cora replied.  “Goodbye, Rumplestiltskin.  I will see you soon.”

Missing the threat in her voice was impossible, but Rumplestiltskin giggled anyway, as if he was a mad creature who did not care for her power.  Cora started to disappear, but he called after her:

“Sooner than you think, dearie!”

Then Cora was gone, leaving Rumplestiltskin alone in his dark cell without the guarantee that he had sought.  Still, he had planned for this eventuality, had known he might not get what he wanted despite his best efforts.  Cora did not know he had a wife and child; she didn’t know Belle even _existed_.  Thus, she should pay them little attention in their new world, and his family would be treated like any of the other thousands of innocents who got caught up in the curse, receiving generalized misery but no special cruelties.  But the hunger in Cora’s eyes worried Rumplestiltskin, and he was still wondering why that made a cold chill run down his spine when the curse cloud arrived.

* * *

 

Emma announced her candidacy the next day, and Henry volunteered to help her and Mary Margaret put flyers up all over town.  Regina was strangely quiet on the matter, but David tagged along, laughing and joking with Mary Margaret like they had known one each other their entire lives, despite what Henry seemed to think.  Hell, maybe they had known one another forever.  Storybrooke was a small town—although not as small as its residents seemed to think, a fact Emma discovered every time she did rounds as a deputy—and they probably had gone to school together.  After all, Storybrooke only had one high school, and Emma didn’t think Mary Margaret and David’s ages were very far apart at all.

Even if the fact that neither of them could really remember school in more than vague terms was pretty disturbing.  _Just another thing that’s weird in this town,_ Emma told herself, and tried not to think about it.

Regardless, they finished posting the flyers that same afternoon, freeing Emma to pay Graham another visit the following morning.  He was awake, if groggy, and Emma was so glad to see him alive that she almost got a little choked up. 

“Whale says that I might regain feeling in my legs,” Graham was telling her with a tired smile.  “Apparently—and there was a lot of medical mumbo jumbo that I missed in there—he’s a brilliant surgeon and might be able to fix me.”

Emma couldn’t help snorting.  “And he’s _so_ modest, too.”

Graham laughed, but it turned into a strained cough.  At least he was off oxygen now, and his pallor had stopped matching the bed sheets quite so exactly, but he still looked like hell.  “Always has been.”

“It’s good to see you awake,” she replied, reaching out tentatively to squeeze his hand.

“It’s good to be awake, yeah,” he agreed, but then Emma saw Graham’s gaze shift off of her face and to her left, which made Emma glance over her shoulder, hoping the new visitor was someone she at least got along with.

Unfortunately, it was Cora.  The mayor gave her a patronizing smile before looking at the man lying in bed.  “Graham, dear, it’s so good to see you awake.”

Was it only Emma’s imagination, or did the former sheriff go even more pale?

“Cora,” he said levelly, looking very wary.

“We need to have a chat when you are feeling better,” Cora purred.  “But for now, I’ve talked to your doctor about adding some anti-psychotic medications to your daily regimen.  After all, we can’t have you repeating that episode from the other morning, babbling about fairy tales and missing hearts.”

“Of course not,” Graham replied through gritted teeth, and Emma felt her gaze snapping back and forth between the two of them.  Something was wrong, but what?

Nothing made sense in this damn town.

“I’m glad we understand one another,” the mayor continued, and then turned to Emma.  “A word, if you please, Miss Swan?”

“You gonna be okay?” She looked at Graham instead of at Cora, and got a tired nod out of him. 

“Go on,” he said, looking as if he didn’t want to talk to anyone, anymore.

So, Emma rose and followed Cora into the hallway, which was strangely deserted except for a red-haired nurse down the other end who didn’t seem to be listening.  The mayor’s smile vanished the moment they left Graham’s private room, and when she turned on Emma, her eyes were hard.  Cora Mills was undoubtedly one of the most dangerous people Emma had ever met, but if she thought a glare could intimidate Emma Swan, well, Cora really did have another thing coming.  Emma only straightened her shoulders and cocked an eyebrow at the woman who seemed to inexplicably hate her, and waited.

“I think you should not visit Graham like this.  It only confuses him,” Cora said archly.

“Confuses him?  Lady, I think you’re on another planet.  Graham’s perfectly fine, and he needs all the friends he can get.”

“Well, you won’t be one of them.  While Graham is disabled, I am his medical proxy, and I filed a temporary restraining order against you this morning,” the mayor replied smugly.  “So, stay away from him.”

“Why?” Emma demanded.

“I think you’re a toxic influence on my town, and I will root you out, no matter what it takes.”  Surprisingly enough, the words were said almost conversationally, but Emma certainly caught the threat.  It wasn’t even subtle.

“Look, Madam Mayor, if anyone here is toxic, it’s _you._   And I bet that restraining order won’t stand up for a minute in court,” she snapped back, bristling.  Graham was her friend, damn it, and Emma wasn’t going to leave him to face this alone.

“Won’t it?” Cora cocked her head.  “You were the one who got him drunk the night before his accident.  If anyone is at fault, it’s you.”

“I didn’t get him drunk!  He was sober when he went home.”  And talking about needing to find his missing heart, but that didn’t count for drunk.  They’d only had two drinks each on that date.

“Graham will testify that you did.”

Emma stared.  “He’ll _what_?”

Cora just smiled.  “Goodbye, Miss Swan.  May I recommend leaving Storybrooke before the scandal breaks?  I can’t imagine that anyone will want to elect a former juvenile delinquent as sheriff, either, so your ambitions are bound to come to nothing.”

“Those records are supposed to be _sealed._ ”

“Oops.”  A shrug, and then Cora turned to walk away. 

Emma had had it.  Reaching out quickly, she grabbed the mayor by the arm and pulled her around so that they were face to face.  “You must not know me very well, _Madam Mayor_ , but I don’t respond really well to threats.  You might think you can scare me into leaving, but that only makes me want to stay more.  You tell your boy Keith to expect a fight, because I’m damn well going to be elected Sheriff.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, dear! What do you think is going to happen now that Cora knows Regina remembers and Rumplestiltskin is pulling Emma’s strings?
> 
> Next up: Chapter Fifteen—“Reap What You Sow”, where Hansel and Gretel are thieves, Emma makes a mistake with Keith, and Sidney Glass volunteers to help Emma. Back in the past, the Sheriff of Nottingham comes to Rumplestiltskin for a deal, a genie falls in love with Princess Regina, and Rumplestiltskin visits Cora after her wedding to Leopold.


	15. Reap What You Sow

“Hey, where’d the chess set go?” Emma asked curiously, plopping down at the table after putting groceries away.  She still had a good chunk of change saved up from her days as a bail bondswoman, so even without a job she was doing better than Mary Margaret, which meant she certainly wasn’t going to let the struggling schoolteacher buy food and other necessities for her.  And if Emma happened to buy more than she needed when she was at the store, well…Mary Margaret was doing most of the cooking, so Emma often argued that at least she could do the shopping.

“What was that?” her roommate (mother?) called from upstairs, and Emma heard the thump-thump-thump of her heading down them.  Taking a quick look around, she tried to see if Mary Margaret had moved the chess board in question, but Emma couldn’t see it anywhere.

She might not have ever noticed it was missing had the two of them not been talking about the chess set the night before; it was one of the few things of value that Mary Margaret had inherited from her father, and she had been a hair’s breadth away from pawning it to Mr. Gold when Emma moved in.  In fact, Mary Margaret actually _had_ intended to take it to the pawn shop that very day if Emma hadn’t talked her out of doing so.  Emma wasn’t a big fan of chess (she’d played a handful of times in group homes and knew she didn’t have the patience for the game; it only made her want to shoot people), but she did know how to judge the value of a set like that.  There was no way that Gold would give Mary Margaret what the antique golden chess set was worth, and besides, Mary Margaret was very attached to the set.  Just the thought of selling it made her start to tear up, and Emma wasn’t going to let her new friend do that to herself.

“The chess set,” Emma repeated.  “Where’d you put it?”

“It should still be on the coffee table,” was the confused response as Mary Margaret reached the bottom of the stairs.  “Isn’t it?”

“No, not at all,” Emma replied, turning to look at the table in question.  The chess set definitely wasn’t there—but a small, folded up piece of paper was.  “What’s this?”

“Oh, no,” Mary Margaret whispered, sitting down rather suddenly on the couch, her face pale and drawn.  “Why did this have to happen _now_?  Just when things were getting better…”

Emma frowned, sitting down next to her after snagging the paper.  “Whoa, slow down.  What are you talking about?”

“Just read it,” her roommate whispered, sounding defeated.

So Emma did.  The note was simple, typed in a standard font on cheap paper, and judging from the ‘Storybrooke Free Public Library’ printed down in the bottom right corner, it had obviously come from one of the free computers at the library.  So, no good clues there.  But the text itself was a bit more helpful:

_Ms. Blanchard,_ it read.  _Your chess set is missing.   If you wish to see it again, leave $400 in the mailbox at 43 Dunfell Road._   The note was sighed:   _The Twins._

“What the hell is this?” Emma demanded.

A moment passed before Mary Margaret replied, her head buried in her hands.  “They’re kids.  Nicholas and Ava Zimmer, the twins.  They live in Fagin’s Group Home.”

“Why do you look so worried, then?  This’ll be easy enough to fix.  I’ll go down there and talk to whoever’s in charge—”

“No, don’t!”

Emma drew back, staring at her friend.  “Why not?”

“Because then they’ll only ask for more money.  And if you talk to Mr. Tollak, he’ll claim to know nothing and be unable to control the wild children,” Mary Margaret whispered.

“Tollak runs the group home, right?  Slimy, sneaky looking bastard?”

Mary Margaret nodded.  “The kids steal for him.  They always give back what they take after you pay them, but if you talk to Mr. Tollak, the price doubles.  Or if you try to go to the police, it triples.”  She sighed helplessly.  “There’s nothing to do but pay them, but where will I get the money?”

“I’ll talk to Keith.  It doesn’t have to be you that goes to the police, Mary Margaret.  Keith might be a lecherous prick, but he’s the acting sheriff.  He _has_ to do something,” Emma told her.

“Yeah, like get a kickback from the money they take,” was the glum response.

“Really?”

Mary Margaret just nodded again, looking close to tears.  Moved, Emma reached out and took her hand. 

“I’ve got the money,” she said softly.  “Let me take care of this, okay?”

* * *

 

“You really suck at this job, don’t you?” Emma said, strolling into the sheriff’s station the next morning.  She’d spent the evening before driving by Number 43, Dunfell Road—which was, as she’d remembered, an abandoned house that had seen better days—and reassuring Mary Margaret that she wouldn’t do anything to make things worse.  But still, she _had_ to talk to Keith about this one—he was the acting sheriff, and besides, Emma had a hard time thinking that he was clever enough to be taking kickbacks from anyone.

“Says the chick who got fired,” Keith countered from behind a stack of paperwork that didn’t seem to be going anywhere fast.  Then he smiled.  “But I could hook you up with a nice job at the Rabbit Hole, if you want.  You’re not exactly as… _soft_ as the boys like ‘em, but you’ll do.  If you keep your mouth shut.”

Emma’s eyes almost bugged out of her head.  “ _What?_ ” she gaped.

“Just offering.”  Keith shrugged. 

“Offering _what_?”  From the tone of his voice, it could have been anything from exotic dancing to prostitution, and Emma wasn’t sure which one insulted her more.

“Come talk to Mr. Morgan and find out,” he replied with a grin that Emma _definitely_ found insulting.

“Screw you,” she retorted conversationally, and then crossed her arms.  “I’m here to report a crime, you know.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” the acting sheriff drawled, sitting back in Graham’s chair as if he owned it.  Watching that made Emma feel a little bit sick, but she forced herself to remain focused.

“Some kids stole something from Mary Margaret Blanchard.  I want you to investigate it.”

“Students causing problems aren’t my business, Swan.  Try taking that to Principal Cole.”

“They stole it from our _apartment_ ,” Emma stressed, rolling her eyes.  “Not a school problem.”

“Sounds like rowdy kids to me.”

“Sounds like the group home in town can’t keep tabs on their kids to me,” she shot back.

Keith shrugged again, sipping his coffee—which, knowing him, probably had a bit of whiskey in it. “Not my problem.”  Then her perked up slightly.  “How much’re they asking?”

Emma stared, unable to believe his gall.  Here Keith was, practically _admitting_ that he knew what was going on, without even blinking an eye.  How messed up _was_ this town?  “That’s not your business,” she scowled, and turned for the door.  But she didn’t walk out without leaving a parting shot behind: “You’re a real waste of oxygen, you know that?  You’re not half the man Graham is.”

She’d known he was an idiot and sometimes a drunk, but Emma hadn’t thought Keith was that corrupt.  Obviously, she would have to fix this problem herself—and be prepared to fork over a lot more cash if the price really did triple like Mary Margaret seemed to think it would.  She hadn’t meant to make things worse by going to Keith, but then, Emma hadn’t expected this to be such a mess.  She’d promised Mary Margaret that she’d fix things, and she was still going to do just that.  No matter what it took.

* * *

 

_4 years, 1 month Before the Curse_

A certain amount of courage—or stupidity—was required to show up in the castle of the man who had once ripped your tongue out, even if you did want to make a deal.  Rumplestiltskin could admire that, provided the trait in play was actually courage, but at the moment, he only found the intrusion annoying.  Particularly when it was the semi-sober Sheriff of Nottingham shouting for him down in the entrance hall.  If he left the idiot alone, who knew what he would fumble his way into breaking?  Normally, Rumplestiltskin would ignore an unwelcome visitor for a few minutes, just to remind them who had the power in his castle, but he didn’t want his belongings harmed in the process.  Still, he scowled.

Belle had been back for less than a month, and they were still trying to figure out exactly what this relationship of theirs meant.  Obviously, he loved her—his heart fluttered just _thinking_ about her, curse or no—and she continued to prove to him that she really did love him as well, despite the fact that she really shouldn’t.  Not being able to kiss put a bit of a damper on their ability to demonstrate their love in a more physical fashion, however, and Belle was no Cora.  Belle was a lady, the daughter of a knight who had come to love a monster, not the miller’s ambitious daughter.  Cora had given her virginity away long before she’d jumped into bed with him, and Rumplestiltskin was determined not to steal Belle’s innocence like that.

Even if resisting said temptation was almost impossible, made worse by Belle herself.  For example, when Nottingham arrived, she had been brazenly sitting on his lap to show him something in some book or another.  Rumplestiltskin had next to no idea what she’d been reading him, only that he’d needed a touch of magic to keep himself from rather visibly reacting to her presence.  She probably had no idea, knowing Belle; sometimes, she was so innocent that it hurt.  But leather pants were such a nuisance at times.

“What do you want?” he barked, waving a hand so that the doors to the great hall opened as Belle jumped off his lap.  Rumplestiltskin stood as she did so, making sure his magic had his body _firmly_ in check at the same time.

The Sheriff of Nottingham stomped through the doors, and then stopped cold upon seeing Belle.  She was in her blue and white dress today—she said she liked it, even though Rumplestiltskin had given her dozens of nicer dresses than that, insisting she not look the part of the servant she no longer was—and Nottingham seemed to notice how low cut that dress was.  His eyes immediately focused on her chest, shining slightly…and then he licked his lips.  And then stared for another long moment.  Rumplestiltskin could feel discomfort radiating off of Belle, as well as his own curse snarling possessively, so he stepped forward, snapping:

“You’re here to see _me_ , dearie.  “Unless I need to remind you of the lesson in manners I taught you lasttime?”

_That_ made Nottingham’s eyes snap up.  “No.  I’m here to make a deal.”

“Yes, yes, yes.  Most people are.  Tell me what you want,” Rumplestiltskin gestured, and a full goblet of wine appeared on the table.  That drew Nottingham’s gaze, too, though not as hungrily as Belle had, and Rumplestiltskin gave him a nasty smile as he sat back down in his high-backed chair, lifting the goblet to take a sip.

_Do I want to get him drunk and make him more careless, or get rid of the oaf as soon as possible?_ he wondered to himself, sneaking a glance at Belle.  She looked annoyed, now, and still a little tense; although she trusted Rumplestiltskin not to hand her over to the sheriff these days, she obviously didn’t like the man any more than he did.  Giving her a slight wink, Rumplestiltskin gestured, and magic pulled a second chair out for Belle.  Nottingham took a step forward as she seated herself gracefully, clearly interpreting that as an invitation, but a second flick of the Dark One’s fingers made the other two chairs vanish in a swirl of maroon smoke.

Belle giggled softly, and the sound was music to his ears.

Nottingham stumbled slightly, and then shot Rumplestiltskin a confused look.  But the sheriff seemed to gather himself, saying bluntly: “I want you to take care of an outlaw for me.  And I want his woman.”

“Can’t make her love you, dear.  Magic doesn’t work like that,” Rumplestiltskin replied, turning the rest over in his mind.  Oh, he could guess what outlaw Nottingham wanted, and judging from the glare Belle was shooting him, she disliked the idea of handing Robin Hood over to this oaf.  Truth be told, Rumplestiltskin rather sympathized more with the outlaw than the sheriff; even if Hood hadn’t managed to make it out of his castle, he was at least skilled in his trade.  The same could not be said for his enemy.

“I don’t care if she loves me,” Nottingham shrugged.  “I just want her.”

“Isn’t there…a child?” Rumplestiltskin asked curiously, just to see what Nottingham would say.  But this was the man who’d bargained for twenty minutes with his ‘wench’; Rumplestiltskin supposed he should not be surprised with the answer he got.

“So?”

Images whirled through his mind, threads of possible futures mixing in with the present, and Rumplestiltskin quickly picked the one out that mattered the most.  The woman…Marian, he thought her name was—not that it mattered—was going to die.  Not today, and not even in the very near future, but it would happen eventually.  Cora would probably be at fault, not that that came as a surprise, and that would clear the way for something far more important.  The child would be important, too, important in the grand scheme of things, too, and not just because he was an innocent child.  An infant barely born, too, if Rumplestiltskin’s math was correct.

And there was nothing that made him angrier than the thought of someone abusing or abandoning a child. Nothing at all.

“Isn’t this…woman a prisoner right now?  A prisoner of some minion of the Evil Queen?” he asked.

“They say that even Queen Cora is afraid of you, and that you can work any deal,” Nottingham confirmed.  “I want her.  And I want the outlaw _dead_.”

“You’re asking quite a lot,” he replied airily, aware of Belle’s unhappy look but ignoring it for now.  “What are you offering in return?”

“The silver arrow of Herne the Hunter.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “Is that all?”

“It’s one of the most magical objects in Sherwood Forest!” Nottingham looked supremely put out that Rumplestiltskin hadn’t immediately started drooling.

“It _was_ one of the most magical objects.  It’s old, dearie, and just about drained.  Not terribly important,” he laughed.  “Certainly not enough to cross an Evil Queen for.”  _Nor enough to derail the future for._

“Fine, then.  Just the outlaw dead.”

“What about the child?” Belle asked exactly the question that Rumplestiltskin was wondering about, but Nottingham looked at her like she’d grown a second head.  Was the man unaware of the fact that women could _talk_?  What a fool.

“What about him?” Nottingham shrugged, and then looked back at Rumplestiltskin.  “Do we have a deal?  The arrow for the outlaw’s death?  I thought you didn’t like him, anyway.”

Rumplestiltskin let out a giggle, the high-pitched and nasty one that gave so many people the chills.  “I don’t want your arrow.  It’s useless.”

“But you have to.  They say you’ll make any deal, that you can make anything happen.” 

The Sheriff didn’t seem able to comprehend why Rumplestiltskin was saying no, but in fairness to him, it wasn’t only about the arrow.  Under other circumstances, Rumplestiltskin would have been happy to add Herne’s legendary silver arrow to his collection, but these were not normal circumstances.  Firstly, Belle was against him killing Robin Hood—or even arranging that death—and Rumplestiltskin didn’t want the arrow enough to risk upsetting her.  Particularly not when she’d just come back a month earlier and might leave again if he acted so foolishly.  Secondly, however, and far more importantly, he now knew that his earlier failure to kill Hood had unlocked an interesting series of future events, one where the outlaw would _matter_.  His wife, apparently captured already, needed to die, but it was imperative that Hood did not.  They’d need him later.

“I certainly can, but only for a price.  And you have nothing I want,” he told Nottingham bluntly, and then waved an airy hand.  “Be gone with you.  I have better things to do than listen to you whine.

“I— _what_?”

“I don’t want to make a deal with you, Sheriff,” Rumplestiltskin spelled it out slowly.  “So leave before I decide to take something in exchange for my time, which you have definitely wasted.”

Nottingham looked absolutely affronted, but then his gaze flicked again to Belle, who was smiling at him primly although her blue eyes were shining with amusement.  The Sheriff, on the other hand, looked furiously hungry and lustful, and his expression made the Dark One’s curse snarl furiously.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t have to be able to see the future to know what Nottingham had in mind; for some reason, the oaf seemed to think he was entitled to a consolation prize because Rumplestiltskin chose not to do a deal with him.  Thinking like that had to require a massive degree of self-entitlement, but Rumplestiltskin had met the type before.  Nottingham had never encountered a woman he wanted and could not have, perhaps with the exception of this Marian who had married the outlaw he hated so much.  He viewed women as objects, or at best, prizes to be won and possessed.

“Don’t even think about it, dearie,” he said softly and dangerously.

Nottingham’s eyes jerked back up to look at him, and his anger over having been denied spilled over.  “I deserve—”

Rumplestiltskin came to his feet, spell in hand, before he even finished framing his thoughts regarding his intention.  His curse was nearly as possessive over Belle as Rumplestiltskin was protective, and it gleefully combined with his knowledge to craft a nasty and appropriate solution.  Purple sparks filled his right palm, and he flicked his fingers towards the Sheriff in a simple and small motion that nonetheless made Nottingham stumble back a step as the sparks struck him square in the groin.

“What you deserve,” Rumplestiltskin said softly, prowling forward on the balls of his feet, “is to never be able to lie with a woman again.  You’ve both wasted my time _and_ insulted my Lady here, and that means I will take something from you in exchange.”

“You can’t!”

He smiled nastily.  “I already have.  But”—he held up a finger as all the color drained out of Nottingham’s face—“I am not unreasonable.  If you find a woman who _truly_ loves you, and one you love in return, you’ll be able to adequately…preform.”

The last work was accompanied by an unkind snicker; his curse both loved and hated the last caveat, for it provided for hope (easily dashed) and temptation (always fun to taunt people with).  But Rumplestiltskin figured that Belle, even given how Nottingham had practically drooled on her, might dislike his elegant solution to the problem, so he decided to bend a little and add the last bit.  But only if the thug-like Sheriff could actually learn how to love and earn love in return.  Otherwise, Nottingham would be more impotent than a eunuch.

“Now go before I decide upon a worse fate for you.”

Nottingham might have been a fool, but even he could take that hint, and he fled.

* * *

 

“She seems to think that she’s going to win,” Nottingham complained, and it took all of Cora’s patience not to roll her eyes.  She had invited the acting sheriff to her home for dinner, just for a chance to have a little chat, but now she was starting to regret that decision.

Oh, not the decision to choose Keith Law to fill the role his original self had in Nottingham.  Cora didn’t regret that in the slightest—he wasn’t the best man for the job, not by a long shot, but he was a man who she could control.  Cora knew Keith’s weaknesses, knew his faults, and knew what drove him.  She knew how to bribe him, who already had, and where he kept the nest egg he had assembled over the years.  The situations that Cora hadn’t set up she could still exploit, even now that time was moving and things were changing.  _People_ didn’t change, after all, even if she cursed them into different aspects of their personalities, and she knew the key people in Storybrooke.  Just like she knew Keith.

Cora still had the meticulous notes she had taken before casting the curse.  She had spent months carefully recording facts about people who she intended to punish or use, months planning her revenge out down to the very last detail.  She had never intended for time to start moving again, but she had always known that _something_ would eventually change—and truth be told, she was rather satisfied with the challenge that faced her.  Cora had always known that Rumple had inserted some loophole or another; had he not done something devious, her old teacher would never have let himself be swept up by the curse at all.  _Of course_ he had programmed a Savior into the curse.  The only surprise was that he had told Regina enough that Regina could wake herself up and help her step-niece.

_He set her up,_ Cora realized with a mental sigh.  _Rumple didn’t have the patience to help Eva’s annoying little granddaughter, so he used_ my daughter _to do his dirty work._ Not snarling out loud was hard.  It was bad enough that Regina had chosen _Snow_ instead of her own mother.  Now she was letting Rumplestiltskin use her by proxy, and the bastard wasn’t even awake to actively do so.

“Are you even listening to me?” Keith whined, and now Cora did roll her eyes.

“Of course I am,” she snapped.  “And Miss Swan is not going to be sheriff.  Not in my town.”

“So, you’re going to rig the election.”  He sounded unsurprised and rather hopeful.  Cora knew that Keith Law was no great paragon of virtue, and she hadn’t even had to create him to be that way.  No, Nottingham had been just as amoral and selfish before the curse.  She hadn’t needed to do any work on that front at all.

“Now, why would I do that?” she asked, cocking her head and smiling slightly. 

“Probably because I’m not very popular.”

Cora laughed.  “You are a known quantity; she is not.  And she’s a former juvenile delinquent who gave birth to my grandson while she was in jail.  I don’t think that Miss Swan will offer you any competition at all.”

Her smear campaign was already in the works, after all, and Cora still had plenty of control over Storybrooke.  Emma Swan would _not_ become Sheriff, not if she had anything to say about this, and Cora most certainly did.

* * *

 

_15 Years Before the Curse_

She had not expected him to show up, not the day after her glamorous and showy second wedding.  Cora had been too busy to think about past lovers, even ones who still tugged on her non-existent heartstrings.  She was an undisputed queen now, queen of one of the most important and rich kingdoms in all of the Enchanted Forest.  Oh, it was her husband’s kingdom, but he quite fancied himself head over heels in love with her—thanks to the dozen and a half spells Cora had wrapped around him—and would let her do whatever she pleased.  Of course, magic could not make someone actually fall in love, but Cora wasn’t looking for real, genuine love.  Leopold _had_ wanted to love her once, however, which merely opened the door for her to influence him, to crush his free will and make him _believe_ he loved her.  Doing so required constant care, frequent contact, and more than a little power, but Cora was certainly up to the task.

Still, she had not anticipated Rumplestiltskin’s arrival, and unexpected events always put her on edge.  Cora spun to face him as he invaded her dressing room, her hands up and magic charged in the air between them.  At this point, she would not have been surprised if he attacked her, and she was _not_ going to give up now, not when she had finally won.  However, Rumplestiltskin made no aggressive moves; instead he leaned against a wall, crossed his ankles, and gave her an appraising look that stillcould send a shiver down her spine, heartless or not.  But Cora was not happy to see him.  She refused to be.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped.

“Admiring the view,” he replied with a giggle and a flourish.  Then the imp offered her a sarcastic bow.  “Queen Cora.  All your dreams have come true.  Is it everything you thought it would be?”

“Everything and more,” Cora replied, raising her chin imperiously.  She had no regrets, even if Rumplestiltskin seemed to think that she should.

Why was it that every other man seemed insignificant compared to him?  It had to be about power; in that respect, no one alive could hold a candle to Rumplestiltskin.  That, and Cora _had_ loved him.  She really had, even if her own ambition had been more important to her.  For several long months, she had been prepared to give up even her most cherished dreams to go with him, and that fact had terrified her.  Cora had scraped her way up from nothing through sheer determination and spirit.  She was not going to let go of her dreams just because her heart had betrayed her and fallen in love.  Power was more important than love; love was only weakness.

“I hope it is, and that you enjoy this _loveless_ marriage you’ve bought yourself.”  Dark reptilian eyes studied her intently.  “And that you’re prepared to pay the price of such magic.”

Cora snorted.  “I already paid the price,” she retorted, thinking on how the horrible life she’d been born into would more than pay for a few love spells.  “This is no more than what I deserve.”

That made him laugh softly.  “Is it now?  Worth killing your _dear_ husband for, then?”

“Of course.” 

She had always suspected that Rumplestiltskin had a hand in the way her first husband’s older brothers turned out to be oddly resistant to any spells or enchantments that might harm them.  Cora had tried everything she could find, and yet Henry’s three older brothers clung annoyingly to life, as did his crafty and ruthless father.  Eventually, Xavier had been succeeded by his eldest son, which hadn’t exactly been what she had planned when she agreed to marry a fourth son.  Had Cora been able to conveniently remove the other brothers from the equation—as she intended—she would have become a queen much sooner, and would have had a very pliable husband at her side.  But those princes refused to die, and she was wise enough to recognize that as Rumplestiltskin’s revenge.  Jilting a man like him did not come without a price, although that was one that Cora was through with paying.

“Well, I can’t say I mourn him,” the imp giggled, and Cora shrugged.

“I suppose you would not.”

Even the monster was human enough to hate the man she’d left him for, apparently, although he’d never done her the favor of removing Henry from the equation.  _That_ would have been much simpler than disposing of her late husband herself; there were already whispers in her new kingdom that Cora had a hand in Henry’s death.  Leopold, enchanted and besotted as he was, quashed such rumors every time they came to his ears, but they persisted anyway.  Truth be told, Cora did not care if her new subjects thought her ruthless and cold.  She was not out to earn their love.  Eva, bitch that she was, had proven that the populace’s love was meaningless.  None of them had seen her for what she was, so Cora did not care what they thought of her.  They were all fools.

When Rumplestiltskin did not reply, Cora floated towards him, extending a hand regally.  “I thank you for the congratulations,” she purred.

He scowled, batting aside the hand she’d meant for him to kiss.  “Oh, I’m not here to congratulate you, dearie,” her former lover’s smile was sharp.  “But I am here to offer you a warning, for old time’s sake.”

“Oh?” She arched an eyebrow.

“Indeed.  Call it…a wedding gift.”  Rumplestiltskin danced around her, but Cora was all ears.  If she had been able to somehow take a Seer’s gifts, she would have, but for now she had to depend upon him.  The Dark One continued: “That little stepdaughter of yours will lead to your downfall.  The more you try to corrupt her, the more pure she will become.”  Another giggle.  “As pure as driven snow!”

“Is that all?” she replied, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.  Couldn’t he have told her something useful?  Cora shrugged dismissively.  “I already have plans for Snow.  By the time I am through with her, her heart will be as black as coal, and _my_ daughter will be raised above her.  Snow White is nothing.”

“If you say so,” he sang cryptically. 

“I do.”

“Then enjoy your life, _Your Majesty_ , and reap what you sow,” Rumplestiltskin retorted, offering her another hard-edged smile before disappearing.

Cora did not miss him.  She did not let her eyes linger on the spot in which he’d last stood, and she did not _feel_ anything for the imp she had once loved.  She was queen now, and that was all that mattered.  She could have the king Eva had stolen from her, ruin Eva’s precious little daughter, and raise Regina up in Snow’s place.  Everything Cora had ever wanted to do was now possible, and she would not let anything stand in her way.  Or anyone.

* * *

 

Walking in the crisp November air was just enough to help clear her head.  Emma had asked Regina if she knew anything about “the Twins” or thievery stemming from Fagin’s Group Home, but Regina had only looked at her blankly.  Henry, however, seemed to wait until they were away from his adopted parents before explaining:

“They’re a little older than me.  Ava and Nicholas Zimmer.  They’re not mean or anything,” he said.  “Just orphans.”

“I’ve been there, kid.  It’s no excuse.”

“You weren’t in a place like Fagin’s, though,” Henry pointed out.  “It’s pretty bad.”

“So are a lot of group homes—”

“No, you don’t get it,” the boy cut her off.  “The kids there don’t have a choice.  I think Mr. Tollak actually _is_ Fagin, too, even if he doesn’t know it.  I mean, I know that _Oliver and Company_ technically isn’t a fairytale, but there are bits of it in my book, like how he takes in orphaned kids and then makes them steal for him.  I think he’s doing the same thing here.”

_Really?  Now we’re bringing classic novels into this town?_ Emma thought to herself.  But maybe it counted because the classic Dickens novel—which she’d been forced to read in high school and hated because it hit far too close to home—had been made into a Disney cartoon.  Either way, it was beyond weird.  Even _if_ Emma had to admit that there was definitely something fishy about Storybrooke, something otherworldly that just didn’t fit in with the modern, normal, world she was used to, she still wasn’t prepared to admit there was a curse that needed breaking.  And she sure as hell wasn’t about to absolve two juvenile thieves because some literary character ‘made’ them do it.

“Everyone has a choice, Henry,” she told her son, feeling oddly parental.  “Some of them are just harder than others.”

“Not in Storybrooke,” he replied solemnly, looking at her with big brown eyes full of faith.  “The curse takes away choices and makes people worse than they are.”

“You can’t blame a curse for people’s failings.  That’s excusing them for—”

“Miss Swan!” a new voice cut her off, cultured and slightly accented.  Emma stopped and swung around to see a darker skinned man jogging towards her, dressed in cheap slacks and an ill-fitting dress shirt.  His tie was askew and his eyes a little wild, but he had zeroed in on her like she was a target to be aimed at. 

“Can I help you?” Emma asked cautiously.  _Who is this, the town crazy?_

“Sidney Glass.”  He slid to a stop, panting, and then held out a hand.  She shook it reluctantly.  “I’m a reporter for the _Daily Mirror._ ”

“Nice to meet you,” she replied slowly, snatching her hand back as soon as she could.  If Glass was a reporter, he obviously wasn’t a very successful one, at least judging by his clothes.

“Likewise.”  His smile seemed sincere, but Emma was still wary.  In her experience, getting attention from reporters was never a good thing.  “I’ve been trying to meet you for days.  You’re a breath of fresh air in this town, and—”

“What do you want?” Emma cut him off, unable to take any spiel where he tried to get in her good graces.  She’d watched enough men do that over the years.

“I want to write an interest piece on you,” Glass replied with refreshing frankness.  “On your quest to become Storybrooke’s Sheriff.”

That made Emma blink.  “Why?”

“Because it’s high time we had someone incorruptible in that office,” he answered earnestly.  “Sheriff Graham was a good man, but everyone knew that Mayor Mills controlled him, even when he didn’t want her to.  She can’t control you, and that’s going to appeal to a lot of people.  I want to be part of that.”

“Really?” Henry butted in, and Glass smiled at the ten year old.

The reporter smiled, and Emma couldn’t detect a lie in his response of: “Really.  I think it’s high time someone jerked Ms. Mills up short.”

“That’s so awesome,” Henry gushed, glancing up at Emma.  “You should let him!  This will help you in your campaign!”

“It won’t win you any points with the mayor,” Emma warned Glass.

“I’m already her least favorite reporter.  I’ve never toed the line she draws, and she’s threatened to have my boss fire me several times,” he said with a shrug.  “Let me do this for you.  I think I can really help.”

Taking a deep breath, Emma decided to take a chance on this reporter.  After all, Henry was right.  This really _could_ help her become sheriff, and she’d already sworn to herself that she was going to take Cora down a peg.  Maybe Sidney could help her do just that.  “Okay,” she said slowly.  “How do you want to do this?”

“Let’s go to my office and start talking,” he replied.  “By the time I’m through with you, there’s no one in Storybrooke who won’t vote for you.”

_That_ bit of hyperbole made Emma snort, but at least Glass meant well.  So, she and Henry went to visit Glass’ little rathole of an office at the _Daily Mirror_ , ignoring the hostile looks from his boss and settling in near his cubicle.  Glass started off with simple questions, asking about her background, her experience in law enforcement, and just generally proving himself to be an honest reporter.  He admitted that he was still looking for his ‘hook’, a tagline that made everything come together, but Emma supposed they had time.  The election wasn’t actually scheduled for another week and a half, and in a town like Storybrooke, that was eternity.

* * *

 

_6 Years Before the Curse_

The genie was the first man who had made her laugh since Daniel had been locked away.  Were circumstances a little different, Regina might have even been able to fall in love with the genie who Leopold had freed from his bottle; he was sweet, funny, charming, and very obviously in love with her.  But with her True Love still languishing in her mother’s private dungeon—kept away from the palace, now, in a location that Cora kept hidden with magic—Regina could not afford love, so she hoped he would settle for friendship.

They were playing chess now, and Regina was laughing at some joke the genie had told.  He really was quite brilliant, and _old_ , too—though not in a stodgy way, just old enough that he’d been almost everywhere in the Enchanted Forest, and other worlds besides.  It was wonderful to talk to someone who was so worldly, someone who didn’t have Snow’s innocence or her mother’s cynicism.  Sidney had been at the palace for over a month, now, and Regina enjoyed his company more every day.  He was a breath of fresh air, someone to talk to with complaints she didn’t want to burden her worried younger sister with.  Poor Snow was growing more and more worried for her father, and as she grew older the princess was coming to understand how much danger she and Leopold were both in.  Regina loved Snow dearly and would do everything she could to protect her, but sometimes it was nice to have someone else to smile with.

“Did she really live in a giant shoe?” Regina asked, smiling as she made her next move. Leopold had been kind enough to lend them his beautiful golden chess set, and the genie was winning.

“Of course she did!” he replied with a grin.  “In fact, you should have seen—”

“Arrest him,” her mother’s flat voice interjected, and suddenly there were guards everywhere, grabbing the genie by his arms and hauling him roughly out of his chair.  The genie yelped in surprise, struggling helplessly against the far larger and stronger men. 

Regina shot to her feet.  “Mother, what’s going on?”

“You don’t have to worry anymore, darling.  You’re safe.”  Cora didn’t even bother to sound convincing as she moved to lay a hand on her daughter’s arm; Regina detected triumph in her mother’s voice, not concern.  In fact, Cora smiled coldly as her guards, led by the heartless Huntsman, seized the genie and started to drag him away.

“I wasn’t worried,” she objected, yanking away from Cora.  “We were just playing chess!”

“You cannot trust creatures such as this one,” her mother replied.  “”His goal has always been to seduce and dishonor you.”

“My intentions are nothing but honorable!” the genie protested, only to have one of the guards hit him in the stomach to silence him.  The poor genie doubled over, gulping painfully, until the guards hauled him upright once more.

“Mother!”

“Hush, Regina.  We both know that you are particularly susceptible to dishonorable rogues who seek to use you,” Cora said sternly, making Regina gape.  The unveiled reference to the fictional story of how Daniel had ‘kidnapped’ her was enough to floor Regina, and she stared helplessly for a long moment before she found her voice.

“We’re only friends!”

The genie looked a little crestfallen, but it was the truth.   Her heart belonged to Daniel, and would as long as they both breathed.  Besides, if such a truth could save the genie, Regina would use it liberally.  Better his heart be broken than his life ruined, which she knew her mother was more than capable of doing.  Cora, however, laughed at her defense.

“He is beneath you,” she declared, and then gestured imperiously at the guards.  “Take him away!”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the Huntsman replied with a strained bow that screamed how unhappy he was with the situation.  Still, he gestured his guards to drag the genie away, which they promptly did, despite the way the genie shouted:

“I am innocent of all wrongdoing!  I am—”

Another blow from a guard warped the words into a wheeze, and Regina winced.  But there was nothing she could do.  Even when she started to step forward, her mother grabbed her arm in a grip of iron and held her still.  Cora’s steely eyes watched her guards haul the genie off, and Regina never saw him again.  She heard later that he had been executed, all for the crime of daring to fall in love with her, of daring to make her _laugh_.  The genie had become a small ray of sunshine in her otherwise dark life, and that, apparently, Cora would not allow.  Leopold, of course, did nothing to defend the friend he had made.  He tried—Snow overheard him trying to convince Regina to let the genie go—but Cora overrode the King and had her way.  As usual.

Years later, Regina found out that the Huntsman had saved the genie, braving Cora’s wrath to release him from the prison that held him.  Heartbroken, the genie attempted to reach Regina, only to be stopped by Cora herself.  Desperate and proud, the genie promptly used the wish Leopold had given him, the wish he had been too proud to use to escape.  So, he wished to always be there for the woman that he loved—but magic came at a price, and Cora was clever.  Furious at having been thwarted, when she found that he had inadvertently wished himself into a nearby mirror, she cursed him to always _see_ Regina without being seen, and eventually turned him into a miserable slave instead of the once-proud magical being he had been.  The genie-turned-magic mirror would continually try to undermine her, but her enchantments held firm, forbidding him from betraying her…and forbidding him from ever contacting Regina.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Sixteen—“The Unexpected”, in which Henry tries to get Beauty and her Beast together, Emma tries to figure out what is going on with the Zimmer twins, and Emma gets a mysterious text pointing her at the asylum. Back in the past, Belle learns about the curse Rumplestiltskin has written.


	16. The Unexpected

Unbeknownst to either Lacey French or Mr. Gold, young Henry Mills had done both of them a favor.  Or, at least he _thought_ he had, although he never would have expected the Beast to take over a week to actually call Beauty and let her know that a box of books ordered for the library had been accidentally delivered to the pawn shop.  By which, of course, actually meant that _Henry_ had taken it upon himself to redirect said box to the shop, making sure it was underneath another delivery so that Mr. Gold (or rather, Dove, who took care of all the packages) brought it inside without reading the address label.  In fact, Henry had gone so far as to tear the label so that it wasn’t immediately evident where the box belonged; only after opening it and seeing the invoice inside would Gold realize that the box was not intended for him, and then he would have to talk to Miss French.

What Henry did _not_ know, of course, was that Gold had watched him execute the entire setup, and that he had let it happen.   Rumplestiltskin could admire a budding young manipulator, after all, and he wanted to do nothing to endanger Henry’s belief in the curse.  He had not anticipated that the Savior would have a child, nor that said child would be so intimately involved in making her _believe_ (though he’d had an inkling or two that the swan princess would prove difficult).  Despite that, Rumplestiltskin was more than happy see young Mr. Nolan trying to get things moving in the right direction.  That was why he hadn’t just sent Dove over to the library with the box once he’d discovered it; the clever lad was watching, and it wouldn’t do to shatter his beliefs right when Emma needed them most.

Unfortunately, that still left him with a box full of books that belonged in the library, which meant he had to call the librarian.  If Henry assumed it was the curse keeping them apart, that was well and good, but Rumplestiltskin knew differently.  He had managed to stay away from Lacey—from Belle—for two weeks, ever since that mess with Princess Ella’s child.  The words she’d said then stung all the more because he deserved them, but he was trying like hell to keep her and Gabrielle ( _Renee!  She is not your daughter here, or at least not that either of them knows.)_ safe.  But it still burned…and now he needed to break his self-imposed drought.

One never knew what it took to keep the Savior on track, and if letting her boy think that he was picking the curse apart bit by bit was what it took, Rumplestiltskin would do that.  So, he picked up the phone and dialed the library number, not allowing himself to call the cell phone number even Gold had known by heart.

“Storybrooke Library, how may I help you?”

Just hearing her voice was almost enough to take his breath away; his heart hammered against his rib cage, and for a moment, even the dark voice of his curse was silent, drowned out by a power even it could not withstand.  Several seconds passed before Rumplestiltskin could find his voice, could remind himself that this was Lacey on the other hand and he had to do the right thing.

“Hello?” she asked when he did not speak, and Rumplestiltskin coughed to make his voice work.

“It seems that a box for the library was delivered to my shop,” he said without bothering with any sort of greeting.  “Will it trouble you too much to pick it up?”

“Hello to you, too,” Lacey retorted with all of Belle’s old fire.  Hearing her so feisty—where Lacey was usually quiet and sometimes downright shy—made Rumplestiltskin swallow.  Time really was moving, and people were trying to become their old selves again, whether they knew it or not.

“I…” he started, but then chickened out, not knowing what to say.

“Never mind.  I’ll pick the box up,” she cut in.  “Will you be there for the next while?”

“Yes,” Rumplestiltskin said quietly.  “Yes, I will.”

“Good.  And don’t decide to be a jerk and just leave.”  _Click_.

He deserved this.  He really did.  Rumplestiltskin had done this to himself, and now he was paying the price—but _any_ price was worth paying if it kept Belle and Gabrielle away from Cora.  Until he could kill her.  Once the curse was broken, once her caveats no longer applied, Rumplestiltskin would be free to remove that threat to his family, and free to beg Belle to forgive him.  He hoped she would understand—they had discussed the separation, had decided it was for the best while they were cursed—but there was no guarantee that she would.  Belle wouldn’t be happy that he had delayed in waking her up (or didn’t plan to, not now, because then he wouldn’t be able to stay away from her), but Rumplestiltskin hoped she could forgive him.

He wasn’t sure what he’d do if she didn’t.

* * *

 

Number 43, Dunfell Road.

Emma stood in front of the rundown house, staring at its peeling paint, damaged roof, and unkempt lawn with a frown on her face.  Yes, this certainly was the place that Mary Margaret had been told to deliver the money—cash only, and now $1,200 because of Emma’s foolishness in going to talk to Keith about the theft.  She felt horrible for that one, particularly because Mary Margaret had warned her, so Emma had pulled the cash out of her own bank account and refused to let her roommate pay for her mistake.   She also hadn’t told Mary Margaret what she planned on doing, because, well, she was pretty sure that Mary Margaret wouldn’t approve.  Mary Margaret was a good person, but she picked odd moments to be timid, and right now she was frightened.  So, Emma would do this on her own.

It had been a chance comment of Henry’s that brought Emma to an interesting conclusion, and she really did think she was crazy for deciding upon this course of action.  But Henry insisted that Nicholas and Ava Zimmer were the Woodcutter’s kids, and that the Woodcutter _wasn’t_ dead.  The Book claimed that their father had been imprisoned by the Evil Queen for having given Snow White shelter while she was on the run, after which she had turned the twins—Hansel and Gretel, naturally—over to the Blind Witch for a snack.  The pair had escaped, but their father had not, and when the curse had been cast, he had still been the Evil Queen’s prisoner.  Emma didn’t exactly believe that the Zimmer kids were Hansel and Gretel, but she _had_ been starting to wonder if Henry’s Book was at least partially factual.  Maybe it just used fairytales to tell the actual stories of people in Storybrooke.  That was the most logical conclusion she had come to, and even it made a certain amount of twisted sense.

Stepping forward, she placed the cash-filled envelop in the mailbox and closed it once more.  Then, Emma made a show of walking away and getting in her car. She even drove the bug a short distance, hanging a left down the next road before stopping and turning the car off.  Getting out and closing the door quietly enough so that the sound didn’t carry, Emma sprinted between two houses on Dunavon Place, dashing across three lawns, and ducking behind a tree.  From there, she could see the mailbox, and Emma didn’t have to wait long at all.  Within five minutes, a pair of children came out of the abandoned house and casually checked the mail box as if it was something they did every day.  The girl—Ava, Emma recalled—reached in and removed the envelope, and then the pair wandered back into the house.

Emma followed them.

Soon enough, she’d discovered that the top floors of the house really were empty, but there was a faint light shining up from the basement.  Quietly, Emma crept down the stairs—the kids hadn’t bothered to close the door—and found the twins seated near a battery-powered light amidst a collection of battered furniture that had obviously been scrounged up from several somewheres.  They were already busy counting the money, but they didn’t look happy.  Instead, the twins looked very nervous.

“Count it again,” Ava told her brother.  If we give Mr. Tollak the wrong amount, he’ll take it out on us.”

“He does that, anyway,” Nicholas pointed out glumly, staring longingly at the stack of cash.  “I just want to buy some candy.  Can’t we take a little?”

“Well, we can’t.  You know that.”

“How about I buy some for you, instead?” Emma said to enter the conversation.  Both children jumped, turning to stare at her with wide and frightened eyes.

“You can’t be here!” Nicholas yelped as Ava hurriedly swept the cash into a bag. 

“If you can, I can,” Emma replied casually.  “No one owns this place, right?”

“Mr. Toll—”

“Quiet!” Ava cut her twin off, and he glared.  She looked at Emma, hostility and mistrust plain in her expression.  “What do you want?”

“To help you,” she answered honestly, sitting down on the second stair from the bottom.  Emma wasn’t sure what she could do for these kids, but she knew what it was like to be in their position, hopeless and alone and out of choices.  Despite what Henry thought, Emma had been in more than a few shady group homes.  Oh, she’d never lived in one that used her as a thief—she’d learned that skill on her own, and from Neal—but she’d been on the bad end of just about everything else.  At least the Zimmers were still together, but Emma knew that wasn’t enough.

“Why would you want to do that?” the young girl asked suspiciously.

“Because I’ve been in your shoes,” she said bluntly.  “I bounced around between fifteen or so foster homes and group homes until I ran away when I was sixteen.  So, I know how it is.”

“No one goes to foster homes here,” Nicholas said glumly.

“No one?” Emma echoed in surprise.  Storybrooke was a small town, but it wasn’t _that_ small, and it also wasn’t that far from other towns.  There had to be homes willing to take kids in, didn’t there?

“No one ever leaves Fagin’s,” Ava confirmed.  “Once you’re in, you’re stuck.”

“That doesn’t sound nice.”

Ava’s expression darkened.  “It isn’t.”

* * *

 

Lacey arrived just as Rumplestiltskin was slipping his spare cell phone—the one with the untraceable number—out of the safe at the back of the shop.  He’d half hoped that she wouldn’t show up, because then he could just send Dove over to the library with the box with a clear conscience…but he also burned to see her.  Too long had passed since the debacle with Ashley’s baby, and he missed her so much.  _But I got the favor I needed, the one that will help me find Bae,_ he told himself.  _And I kept Belle and Gabi safe.  That’s what matters._ That was his mantra.  So long as he could keep his family safe, Rumplestiltskin viewed _any_ price as worth paying. 

Closing the door behind herself as the little bell jingled, Lacey took several steps into the shop and then stopped.  She just stood there, staring at him as Rumplestiltskin stared at her.  Her eyes were wide and uncertain, hopeful and cautious all at the same time, but seeing her was like coming home.  His breath felt short, and his chest was suddenly tight.  Belle was so beautiful.

Finally, however, he could take the awkward and painful silence no longer.  “The box is right here,” he managed, stuttering a little.  “I didn’t know until I opened it—the label was damaged, and, uh…”

“You could apologize,” Lacey said when he trailed off.  Rumplestiltskin blinked.

He’d told himself he wouldn’t.  Told himself that he had to stay away from her, and yet here he was, wanting to grovel at her feet and make everything right.  He _loved_ her, even when she was Lacey, because Gold had loved Lacey, too, and there was still a bit of Gold inside him and probably always would be.  This woman, no matter what form she took, was his True Love.  His _wife_.  And he missed her and their daughter more than he had ever thought possible.  _I have to keep them safe,_ he told himself yet again, digging into the darkest parts of his soul to find enough strength to do what he had to.

“For what?” he asked, hating it when his voice broke.

“Don’t jerk me around, Gold,” she snapped.  “You know what I mean.”

“I do.”  Rumplestiltskin had to look away.  There was dust on the counter; he’d have to see to fixing that.  _Dust.  How ironic._ The curse had given Gold and Lacey a backstory similar to their actual lives; Lacey had come to work for Gold when she hadn’t been able to make ends meet, desperate to earn extra money to pay Renee’s medical bills.  And then they had fallen for one another, despite Gold’s toxic and unwanted relationship with Cora.  They’d kept their relationship secret to keep Lacey safe, but Gold and Lacey had still been in love.

“Well?”  Somehow, there was no blame in her voice.  Only hope. 

Hope that he could not bear to crush.

“I am sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.  “I should not have said what I did.  I was just…I was just _trying_ to scare you away.  I need you to be safe, and I’m not safe to be around.  Particularly now.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Lacey replied, all too quickly.  “I shouldn’t have called you a coward.”

“I am one.  Always have been,” Rumplestiltskin replied automatically, and only then realized he was moving, limping around the counter and meeting her halfway.  Somehow, despite his best intentions, Lacey wound up in his arms, and that was one of the best feelings in the world.

“Don’t say that.”  Brilliant blue eyes looked up at him, and their lips started moving together without either voicing the desire to kiss.  Rumplestiltskin barely stopped himself in time, shaking his head and watching heartbreak flash across Lacey’s face.

“Sweetheart, if I kiss you now, I will never let you leave,” he said honestly, reaching up to brush his fingers gently across her cheek.  Lacey leaned into his touch, and just having her here, having her so close, made him want Belle so terribly that the next words almost stuck in his throat.  “It’s not safe for us to be together.  Not right now.  But soon, I promise things will change.”

“Just leave her,” Lacey begged.  “Please.  She’s terrible to you, and I _know_ she hurts you.  Please, Gold.”

“I wish I could.”

“You can!  It’s not that hard—unless she has something on you?  Something you can’t resist?” She had Belle’s smarts, and although Lacey was probably thinking that Cora was blackmailing Gold, she wasn’t far from the truth at all. 

“Something like that,” Rumplestiltskin replied as neutrally as he could.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered in response, and now it was her turn to reach up and brush hair out of his face.  “Tell me it won’t be for long, even if you have to lie to me.  Renee misses you, too.”

“It won’t be,” he promised.  _I’ll make sure it isn’t.  And when the curse breaks, I’ll rip Cora apart with my bare hands if I must, and then we’ll both be free._   The vindictive voice of his curse fully agreed with that last thought, quieter though it always was around Belle. 

“I have to leave, don’t I?” Lacey asked, and Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes, struggling to keep control of himself.

“Yes,” he managed to say tightly.  “Or I won’t be able to let you.”

Her laugh was watery.  “That wouldn’t be so bad.  I could do with being your prisoner.”

Rumplestiltskin only managed a snort at that one.  _You have no idea that you already have been,_ he wanted to tell her, but didn’t.  Instead, he kissed the top of her head—burning to kiss more—and forced himself to release Lacey and step back.  “Go on,” he whispered.

Lacey nodded jerkily, grabbed the box off of the counter, and left the shop, but not before casting one last glance over her shoulder.  He tried to force a smile for her, the words ‘I love you’ struggling to make it past his self-control.  But Gold had never said that to Lacey, and Rumplestiltskin could not risk doing so now.  He had no idea if the mere words would be powerful enough to make use of his second safety valve, only that he couldn’t risk waking Belle up.  Not yet.  Not until he knew he could keep her and Gabi safe.  Instead, he watched her leave, wondering all the while how he had managed to deserve the love of such an amazing woman. 

* * *

 

_4 years, 1 month Before the Curse_

“I’m sorry.”

The beautiful voice startled him; Rumplestiltskin had been hunched over his workbench, completely focused on creating a useless but complicated little elixir designed to combat a plague that rarely broke out in the Enchanted Forest.  His entire attention had been absorbed by stirring the potion _just so_ —it required forty-six stirs, not a single stir more or less, lest the elixir be completely ruined—but the moment Belle spoke, he abandoned the potion entirely and jerked upright.  Wide eyed, he stared at her, blinking rapidly to reassure himself that she really _was_ there.  After all, he hadn’t expected her to come back.  Not this time.

Belle had only been back at the Dark Castle for a little over a month.  The Sheriff of Nottingham had departed only a week earlier, and Rumplestiltskin had foolishly allowed himself to start _trusting_ this clever woman he was in love with.  Because of that, he had foolishly told her the truth about his plans.  But he’d been feeling so damn _satisfied_ with himself, with the way he’d been bringing things back on track.  Cora’s actions were far harder to predict than Regina’s would have been—she was far more calculating and embraced the Evil Queen role much more willingly—so it took a lot of extra work to make sure that people connected the way they should.  Rumplestiltskin had just finished ensuring that a certain runaway princess would meet a certain werewolf.  Had things worked out differently, they would have spent at least a year on the run together, but things did not.  Yet it was imperative that they become friends, so he manufactured a reason for Snow and her Prince Charming to visit a certain village, and then cleverly separated them just before the full moon, leaving Snow to meet Red.

That success had now soured, however, because it had led him to tell Belle about the curse. 

Of course, she had asked why he wanted to build a friendship between a runaway princess and a peasant girl, and a vague explanation about how that might eventually matter was hardly enough to fool her.  So, he’d stupidly explained that Red would later help save Snow’s prince from the Evil Queen, and that the werewolf would be integral in the rebellion those two would later lead.  But Belle had asked too many clever questions, and soon enough, Rumplestiltskin had found himself admitting that his ultimate goal was to facilitate a curse that would rip them all out of the Enchanted Forest and deposit them, sans memories and personalities, in the Land Without Magic.

Belle had asked him to stop.  Told him that he could not possibly allow such a horrible thing to happen, that he was a better man than that and she couldn’t believe he’d be a part of this—and then Rumplestiltskin had, rather stupidly, admitted that he’d written said curse, and that it was almost finished.  Horrified, she had stormed out, and Rumplestiltskin had never expected to see her again.  He had tried to tell her that it was the only way to find his son, the one he’d told her about a month earlier, when he’d finally shared the story he had promised her if she came back.  But that hadn’t seemed to matter.  Belle had still left, stalking out before he had a chance to finish his first sentence.

Blinking did not make this apparition vanish, however, so he rose woodenly from his work bench to face her.   

“I’m sorry,” Belle repeated.  “I shouldn’t have walked out like that when you were trying to explain.”

Rumplestiltskin swallowed. “I didn’t think you wanted to see me again,” he admitted quietly.

“I didn’t,” she replied.  “I was angry.  And…horrified.  But you said that you were trying to find your son, and I didn’t give you much of a chance, so I thought I should listen before judging.”

“I thought you’d left.”

Belle shook her head.  “I just went for a walk.”

“Oh.”  Pain welled up inside him.  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure how to deal with this; he was certain that she _would_ leave if he finished telling her the truth, but he’d told her too much to manage a clever lie, now.  He’d always known that Belle would leave him eventually, though.  Everyone he’d ever loved had left in one way or another; he was good at being abandoned.  Besides, he knew that his curse made him more difficult than not, and that being what he was now, he _deserved_ to be left.  He almost would have rathered that she not come back at all, not if she was just going to turn around and leave again.

Tentatively, Belle stepped forward, putting a hand on his left arm.  Rumplestiltskin jumped, but she gave him an apologetic smile.  “Why do you need this curse?”

He looked away.  He didn’t want to talk about this, not if it was going to get his heart broken.  “Because it’s the only way to cross realms, the only path to the Land Without Magic,” Rumplestiltskin admitted in a whisper, wishing he could make her understand but knowing he couldn’t.  His head snapped around to look at Belle, his voice turning fierce.  “I can’t leave him there.  _I won’t._ ”

“Isn’t there some other way? Anything?”

“Don’t you think I’ve spent the last _three_ _centuries_ trying every other way?  Even the Blue Fairy says that only a curse will do it,” he spat.  “If there was another way, I would have done it by now, and Bae wouldn’t be stuck there.”

_Kill her!_ his curse demanded.  _She endangers your plans, endangers_ you! _Get rid of her now before she can ruin everything._   Fighting back that urge sent a vicious tremor through Rumplestiltskin; his rage was only building and building, because it had been _so long_ since he’d lost his son and he was _so close._   He couldn’t let Belle ruin that.  He couldn’t.  Even if he loved her.

“Must it be so terrible, though?” she questioned quietly, her hand still on his arm and her presence somehow soothing out the dark whispers of magic in his mind.  “Must everyone suffer so much?”

“All magic comes at a price,” he responded automatically, shrugging.  “There’s not...they won’t _have_ to be miserable, but they can’t remember who they are.  All of our memories are part of the price, and if they were not taken, the curse might not ever be broken.  And the curse _will_ be broken.”

“It will?” Belle echoed, sounding hopeful.

“Oh, yes.  I’ll make certain of that.”

Belle looked thoughtful.  “You said time will freeze, too?  That no one will lose actual years with their family, even if they are separated by the curse?  No one will age, and no one will change? They’ll just walk around in a daze, not knowing the truth.”

“It’s the most mercy I can offer,” Rumplestiltskin answered honestly enough.  He didn’t have much of a conscience left, but he knew Cora.  Cora would make everyone miserable because _she_ had once been miserable, and she felt she was entitled to take her rage and her pain out on the world.  But he could have a little revenge on her by making her vengeance not as sweet as she expected, by boring the Evil Queen while he gave her the very gift she thought she wanted.  In the end, that would mean Cora became almost eager for the changes the savior would bring with her, and Rumplestiltskin wanted that.  He wanted Cora to relish the challenge of defeating Eva’s granddaughter, not trying to eliminate her right off the bat.  _And then the little Savior will defeat her, and I will find Bae._

Come to think of it, that was something he should add to the curse.  Killing the Savior would break the Dark Curse immediately.  That should keep Cora in line a little.

“Then how can I help?” Belle asked, and he almost didn’t register the words.  Rumplestiltskin could only stare.

“What?”

“How can I help?” she repeated.  “If this is the only way for you to find your son, I want to help you find him.”  When he continued to stare at her stupidly, she squeezed his arm and smiled.  “I love you, Rumplestiltskin.  Why did you think I wouldn’t want to help?”

“No one ever does,” he admitted in a whisper, and suddenly Belle’s arms were around him.

“Well, I will,” she declared, and for a long, blissful moment, the voice of his curse was silent in his mind.  All he could feel was love for this amazing woman who had given her beautiful heart to such an ugly man.

“You should go,” Rumplestiltskin managed to tell her, not wanting to but loving her too much to chain her to him.

“ _What?_ ”

“You _should_ leave,” he said with the last of his courage.  “Despite what you hope…I am still a monster.”

Belle drew back to smile at him.  “Don’t you see?  That’s exactly the reason I have to stay.”

* * *

 

Somehow, Emma managed to convince the twins to meet her in person to return the chess set.  Usually, they dropped ‘acquired’ items off in a third location and then left another note saying where they were, but she talked them into meeting at Granny’s instead.  The promise of a nice meal—and dessert—seemed enough to win them over, particularly once she invited Henry along.  That, and Emma made no move to take the $1,200 back from the twins, which she knew would send them running.  They were scared of Tollak, and the last thing she wanted to do was endanger them. Emma hadn’t met the man who ran Fagin’s, but judging from what the twins _didn’t_ say, he wasn’t the type who she wanted to make the kids cross.  Instead, the four of them sat down in a corner booth, with the chess set stuffed into a cardboard box that Emma stuck between her and Henry on the vinyl bench seat.

Burgers and fries seemed to be the way to the Zimmer twins hearts, and Emma watched in amazement as Henry slowly drew the pair out of their shells.  They were a little older than him, which meant Henry didn’t know either all that well, but they seemed clever enough once they started talking.  The most interesting story, however, came out when Henry asked what had happened to their parents.

“You’re lucky you got adopted,” Ava told him bluntly.  “We were already too old for anyone to want us when our dad got taken away.”

“Taken?”  Leave it to Henry to jump on that right away, and Emma tried to throw him a look, but he ignored her.

“Taken, arrested, whatever.  They said he stole from the mayor,” Ava clarified with a bitter shrug.

Nicholas, however, looked up from his burger with a fierce look on his face.  “He didn’t!  Dad told us everything.  We would have known.”

“Parents don’t always tell their kids about things they aren’t proud of,” Emma said quietly, feeling for the twins.  It was one thing to have been abandoned at birth.  It was another to have your beloved parent taken away because they’d done something stupid.  _And that’s why I gave Henry up.  Because I couldn’t be sure I’d be able to keep him and give him the life he deserves,_ she thought a little sadly.  But Emma refused to think about what might have been.  Henry had a good life, and at least he wasn’t stuck in a group home like the twins, or like she’d been so often.

“But he was at home with us when they said he stole something,” Nicholas protested.

Henry frowned.  “Didn’t he say that in the trial?”

“What trial?” Ava scowled harder.  “There wasn’t one.  They just took us off to Fagin’s and told us we’d never see him again.”

“Who took you?” Emma asked curiously.  The story rang true, as did the twins’ obvious pain.  But if they weren’t lying, what _was_ going on?

“The guy who’s going to be sheriff,” Nicholas grumbled.

“Believe me, kid, that’s not happening if I can help it,” Emma promised, making a mental note to look into Michael Tillman’s disappearance.  The lack of a trial sent up all kinds of red flags, and Emma couldn’t quite believe that his kids would know nothing about what had happened. 

Still, she had no choice but to send the twins back to Fagin’s Group Home in the meantime.  As much as Emma wanted to give them something better, she was in no position to do so.  They were orphans, technically, and Storybrooke’s law said they belonged in the group home unless someone adopted them.  She did not, however, have to put up with it when the mayor—who happened to be walking by as Henry bid farewell to the twins—cooed:

“Slumming again, Miss Swan?  Somehow, I doubt that buying rebellious orphans lunch will get you any votes.”  Cora smiled, but there were daggers in her eyes.

Emma, however, had been pushed far enough that day.  “I suppose being a decent person never really occurred to you, did it, Madam Mayor?” she shot back.

“ _Decent_ people should not have to associate with lowborn trash,” was the immediate answer, and Emma gaped.

“Is that what you think children are?  If so, I feel damn sorry for Regina.”

Somehow, that blow seemed to land, and Cora’s smile vanished.  “My daughter is _my_ concern, Miss Swan.  As is my town,” she hissed.  “And you will find that I am more than capable of maintaining control of both.  The election is in one week.  I hope that you’re ready.”

“More than ready,” she snapped.

“We shall see.” Cora smiled again and then walked away.  Only then did Emma notice the buzzing coming from her back pocket.  Curious, she pulled out her cell phone, only to discover that she had a text from a restricted number.

_People disappear in Storybrooke,_ it read, and Emma frowned.  “That’s really not helpful,” she muttered, but then the phone buzzed again and a second text appeared.

_Look for them under the hospital._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pieces are starting to slide into place, and the curse is definitely weakening. Who do you think sent that text to Emma? Do let me know what you think – feedback makes my day!
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Seventeen—“Victory is Sweet”, where Cora confronts Gold about Lacey; Emma, Henry, and Regina dig for information on disappearing people; and Hook offers to help Emma. Back in the past, Cora confronts Snow after Leopold’s death


	17. Victory is Sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-graphic references to Non-Con in this chapter.

“I saw that little doxy of yours in here yesterday,” Cora purred, gliding across the floor of his shop to stand in front of Rumplestiltskin.  Fortunately, the counter separated them, but her presence was still enough to send shivers down his spine.

“That little what of mine?” he replied dismissively, hiding his sudden surge of panic behind a raised eyebrow and a sarcastically attentive expression.

“What _do_ you see in that Lacey girl, darling?” his onetime lover wondered, reaching out to straighten his tie.  Rumplestiltskin yanked back, and she let him, smiling that damned victorious smile of hers.

“She’s not you.”

At least that was honest enough, although there were a thousand other things Rumplestiltskin saw in Belle, ones Cora would never understand.  But in the beginning, the fact that Lacey _wasn’t_ Cora was what had made Gold turn to her. He’d been damaged and lonely and so strung out thanks to Cora’s _attentions_ that he’d needed someone, and Lacey had been there.  Lacey had been kind, gentle, and intelligent.  He’d been drawn to her, and she to him— _True Love always wins out_ —and slowly, even under the curse, they had fallen in love.  But he certainly wasn’t going to tell Cora that.  Whatever Cora knew about Lacey, even though it was clearly more than Gold or Rumplestiltskin had ever wanted her to know, was nowhere near the truth.  Thankfully.

Cora laughed.  “Do I disturb you that much?”

“I just don’t like you, dear,” Rumplestiltskin replied nastily, smiling back at her to mask his discomfort.  Oh, Cora knew that she _disturbed_ him.  She was no fool, and knew that she’d taken Gold far too close to the edge too many times.  He didn’t enjoy her fetishes, didn’t like being hurt, and Cora probably wouldn’t have indulged the former or done the latter if he did.  She knew that he hated what she did to him, and she reveled in that.  Power was power for Cora, and she loved every bit of it.

“Of course you don’t,” she purred, stepping around the counter and closing the distance between them.  The coward in Rumplestiltskin wanted to back away from her—the memories of pain and violation at her hands were too fresh—but he refused to give in that much.  Cora stopped right in front of him, her smile never wavering.   “But what _is_ it that you see in her?”

He had hoped that he could distract Cora away from that line of questioning.

“I already told you,” Rumplestiltskin replied flippantly.  “She’s not you.”

“Surely you’re more discriminating than that, or you’d be with half the women in town,” was the cool response.  Slowly, her right hand came up, starting by fooling with his tie but slipping inside his jacket after a few seconds.  Rumplestiltskin shivered, his grip on his cane tightening as he struggled with the rage and fear both ripping through him.  “Why her?”

“She’s a pretty thing,” he said as if it didn’t matter, reaching up with his left hand to push Cora’s hand away.

“Let me touch you,” Cora countered as soon as his fingers touched her wrist.  “ _Now._ ”

Magic sizzled through him, and Rumplestiltskin raged impotently against its hold, a grimace crossing his face and air escaping in a hiss from between suddenly clenched teeth.  But he couldn’t fight her hold; he’d written the curse too damn well and Cora had cast it too expertly.  Was it time to use a please?  No.  He’d have to reserve those to protect Belle and Gabrielle if it came to that, not to protect himself.  His family was more important.  He might have been a coward, but even he could be that brave.

Snarling softly, he let his hand drop, feeling his knuckles go white as he gripped his cane even harder and his curse frothed madly in his mind.  Unable to pull away—Cora had chosen her command well—he glared at his tormenter.

“Is that all?” she asked when he said nothing.

 _Kill her and take control of the curse!_ his own curse raged, but that would not do.  Oh, he _could_ assume control of the Dark Curse by killing its caster, but that would ruin some of his long term plans.  Rumplestiltskin shrugged as casually as he could with Cora’s other hand moving up to join the first, unbuttoning his jacket and vest.  “Does there need to be more?”

“There usually is, with you,” she replied, and Rumplestiltskin tried not to curse himself for a fool.  Gold was simpler than Rumplestiltskin, but he still was a complicated and difficult man, and Cora knew that.

Cora’s hand moved downwards, starting to unbuckle his belt, and Rumplestiltskin finally managed a step back, his body going rigid with tension.  But she moved with him, pressing forward until his back was against the wall and her body so close that he could feel her breath on his skin.  He shuddered, trying to keep up his hostile glare, but finding it hard.  Was she really doing this now?  _Here?_   He had always known that Cora would grow more controlling as the curse slowly slipped through her fingers, but somehow Rumplestiltskin had never foreseen this.

“Stand still, now,” she whispered, finishing with his belt as her other hand reached up to play with his hair.  Rumplestiltskin looked away, and she continued: “Well?  Is it just because she is pretty and willing, and doesn’t… _challenge_ you?”

“Something like that,” he replied uncomfortably, his chest tight.  The curse anchored him in place; even though Rumplestiltskin wanted to flee, now he couldn’t, and he could feel its power wrapping around him.  Cora still had too much control, and he couldn’t fight her, no matter how much he wanted to.

Damn this curse he had created!

“Well, she’s certainly willing enough,” Cora chuckled softly, her hand slipping inside his pants.  Rumplestiltskin squirmed, but the curse held him still, threads of magic enveloping him and forcing him to submit.  Her fingers played over him, nails scraping not-quite-gently as he hissed uncomfortably.  “As evidenced by that little bastard of hers.”

Fury flared; Rumplestiltskin saw red.  He barely had time to stop himself from saying something vehemently defensive of his daughter, but he managed.  Instead, he clothed his anger in his present situation, snarling: “Get your hands off me.”

“You didn’t ask nicely,” she cooed, and although Cora was being sarcastic, Rumplestiltskin sensed the opportunity right before she leaned in to kiss him.

He jerked back, turning his head away even as her lips brushed against his.  Cora had said nothing about a kiss, and he wasn’t feeling cooperative.  Her curse-enforced commands could not hold him on that, and so he exploited that loophole even as he responded to her comment.  “Is that supposed to matter?” he demanded because Gold would have.  Gold would not have known how effective the next words would be, but he did: “ _Please_ get your hands off of me.”

“Of course.”  Cora managed not to look like there was magic forcing her to comply; her playful smile stayed firmly in place, but Rumplestiltskin knew the difference.  He could feel it.  “See what happens when you’re polite?  You get things that you want.”

“I doubt that,” he snapped back, resisting the urge to say more.

Cora laughed, stepping away.  “You never know.”

Rumplestiltskin only snorted, not even waiting before he quickly re-buckled his belt, and then re-buttoned both his vest and his shirt.  He never stopped glaring at her, and Cora never stopped smiling, although she did turn for the door, drifting out of the shop like she had chosen to stop instead of inadvertently inviting him to foil her.  She was clever; Rumplestiltskin had to give her that.  She always had been.

“I’ll see you tonight, dear,” she smiled, and then left Rumplestiltskin alone in the shop with only his sick despair for company.

 

* * *

 

_5 Years Before the Curse_

If only Eva could see her darling daughter now.

Cora smiled to herself as she walked through the dungeons, her daughter’s pleas still echoing in her ears.  Regina would eventually learn that her childish attachment to Snow was misplaced; Cora would teach her that.  Unfortunately, that attachment had been useful when Leopold was alive because he hadn’t been _fully_ under Cora’s control (the necessity of leaving his heart in his chest had been irksome, but one could not feel even fake love without a heart) and had liked to see his stepdaughter and daughter close, which had led to him favoring Regina.   So, she could put up with the foolishness for now, provided Regina proved more malleable in the future.  She would mourn her “little sister” for some time, but then Cora would begin the process of shaping Regina into the queen she knew she could be. 

First, Snow White.  The irritatingly _good_ offspring of a conniving bitch and a fool, and now Cora’s toy to play with.  Her insipid little stepdaughter was due to die in three days, and Cora wanted her to feel every second of fear leading up to that moment.  She would be executed in private, of course, as was befitting a princess, but key members of the court would be there.  Cora could already imagine Snow’s tearful pleas and terror, and she couldn’t _wait_ to see that moment.  Eva might have turned Leopold on her all those years ago, but now Cora had won everything.  She had poisoned Eva, and she would execute her beloved daughter, too. 

“Hello, dear,” she said with a smile, waving the cell door open.  The guards she dismissed; Cora was queen, and a sorceress besides.  Snow certainly wasn’t going to escape _her_. 

“Cora.”  Snow’s voice was surprisingly steady, and although she looked like she might have been crying earlier, now she gazed at her stepmother with serenity Cora had not expected.

“Is that any way to greet someone who comes bearing a gift?” Cora asked lightly, summoning Snow’s too-pure heart into her right hand.  It beat softly, and then harder and harder with delicious fear.

The girl’s eyes snapped to the glowing heart; they always did.  But then she said something unexpected:  “Why don’t you just kill me now?  Crush it and be done with everything.”

“Now why would I do that?” Cora laughed. 

“You’ve won.  Isn’t that enough?” Snow demanded, and now the serenity vanished.  She looked broken again, and Cora drank in her despair.  It was one of the most beautiful things Cora had ever seen.  It was _victory_ , the miller’s daughter beating out the pampered princess once and for all.

“It will never be enough,” she answered honestly, stepping forward and shoving the heart back in Snow’s chest.

Her expression was more priceless than most. Snow’s mouth opened in a shocked ‘o’, and a pitiful little noise of pain squeaked out of her as she staggered, emotions and fears hitting her all at once.  The princess rocked back on her heels, almost falling until she caught herself on the cold stone wall, her eyes wide and disbelieving.  Cora knew from experience that it was _so_ much easier to deal with heartbreak when you did not have your heart, and she reveled in watching Snow’s self-control fail before her eyes.  This was the very least the girl deserved.  She wasn’t only Eva’s daughter, after all.  Snow was the girl who tried to get between _Cora’s_ daughter and her future, who had tried to steal away the prince Cora meant for Regina.

“Why are you doing this?” Snow whispered.  “What did I ever do to _you_?”

“You existed.”  Cora shrugged.  “You’ve taken the place that should belong to my daughter, just as your mother took the place that should have been mine.”

Never mind how Snow had replaced the daughter Cora had given up so many years ago.  She had put Zelena—a name and face she now knew—in a basket and sent her away, and it had been Eva’s fault.  Cora would have kept her had Eva’s spite not gotten in the way, and things would have been different.  Still, Cora would not dwell on that, not now, although it did serve as another strike against Snow.  If not for her mother, if not for little good Snow White, Cora would never have had to give her first child up, and none of this would have been necessary.

“Is this about James?” her stepdaughter asked incredulously.  “It’s not my fault that King George wanted to marry his son to the heir, not to Regina.  And I—”

“And now he shall.  Regina shall inherit _both_ kingdoms when I die, and she will marry the boy you fancy yourself in love with.  Die with that in your heart,” Cora retorted, smiling viciously.  So what if Regina didn’t love Prince James?  Marriages were not made for love; they were made for power.

“You won’t get away with this,” Snow swore.  “Regina’s better than you.  She won’t be your tool.”

 _Such naiveté._  Cora just chuckled.  “Of course she will, dear. She’s my daughter.”

She left without another word, locking the door securely behind herself and summoning the guards back to their posts.  In three days, her victory would be complete, and Cora would shape the world exactly how she wished it to be.

* * *

 

“I can’t believe she did that,” Emma grumbled as they poked through files in the Storybrooke Records Office.  The files there were so unorganized that things were impossible to find unless you already knew where they were, and Emma was obviously ready to lose her mind after only a half an hour of searching.  Of course, the fact that Regina had managed to convince Mr. Kay to take an early lunch didn’t help either of them, but at least that kept him from reporting to Cora what they were looking for.  Overall, Regina thought that was a necessary inconvenience, even if it did slow their search down.

“Of course she did,” Regina replied, rolling her eyes.  “Francis Scadlock is mother’s pet reporter.  He runs the _Daily Mirror_ , and never publishes a thing that she doesn’t want him to.”

“Those records were supposed to be sealed!” Emma objected, and Regina snorted.

“Yes, because no one has _ever_ hacked into juvenile records before.”

Emma frowned, but before she could argue—or complain more—Henry piped up: “It’s not like you did something terrible.  All you did was steal some watches, right?”

“That’s not the point,” Emma told their mutual son—although how he’d become _their_ son somewhat baffled Regina.  She was the one who had done the hard work raising Henry when Emma was too young and frightened to do so, and Henry was _her_ son.  But she had to admit that Emma had at least a little right to him, and the savior had never indicated that she wanted to take Henry away from Regina.  Had she done that, it wouldn’t have mattered whose daughter Emma was.  Regina would have fought her tooth and nail and _never_ helped her one bit.  But she hadn’t, which meant Regina could get along with her just fine.  _Particularly when she reminds me of Snow._

“No, the point is that we’re looking for something hidden under the hospital, and _not_ buried treasure,” she cut in dryly.  “Can you two focus?”

“Sorry, Mom,” Henry said immediately, and Regina spared her beloved boy a smile.  She was still ‘Mom’ while Emma was just ‘Emma’, and Regina felt a rush of love every time she heard Henry call her that.

“There has to be _something_ here,” Emma groused.  “That text—”

“Could have been a prank,” she pointed out.  “I’ve never heard of anything being there, and I’m Mother’s assistant.”

“But you were under the curse—” Henry started, and Regina cut him off hurriedly.  Emma still wasn’t ready to hear all of that, and it would just make the Savior testy.

“Let’s keep looking, then,” she said briskly, shooting a warning glare at her son.

Henry just shrugged and did so.  _He_ thought Emma needed to be smacked in the face with the truth, but Regina had known Emma’s parents well enough to know that would just make Emma stubborn.  Her own approach was a little more subtle, not that subtlety had ever been her strong suit.  Rumplestiltskin would be far more suited to manipulate the Savior, but _he_ was still busy with her mother, a thought that just made Regina roll her eyes and open another drawer of files.  This one was even less organized than the last, with most of the folders not even labeled.  Sighing, she started digging through the folder in front, hoping to find _anything_ about the construction of the library or some place where people who disappeared—and there were a _lot_ of such people in Storybrooke—might be stored by an Evil Queen.

The first folder was useless, as were the six after that.  But in the eighth, Regina found a set of blueprints.  At first, she didn’t think they were important, but then she caught sight of ‘Storybrooke Asylum’ typed down in the bottom right hand corner, and she yanked them out of the drawer.

“I think I found something!”

* * *

 

“May I have a moment, Miss Swan?” an accented voice asked as Emma, Regina, and Henry strode out of Storybrooke Town Records.

Emma turned, irritated at the interruption.  For once she felt like she’d accomplished something _useful_ for a change. Regina had found blueprints for an asylum buried underneath the hospital, of all places, and then Henry had stumbled upon additional information on the very same secret prison.  They didn’t know who was there or how to get in, but at least they knew the place existed—and that meant that Emma’s anonymous benefactor had been right.  Whoever had sent her that information certainly knew what they were talking about.  _Too bad he or she didn’t give me a number to call back. I’d like some more tidbits of information!_

“Uh, sure,” she replied, glancing at Regina and Henry.  “I’ll catch up with you two later.”

“Tomorrow,” Regina replied immediately.  “Henry’s got homework to do.”

“But Mom, this is so much more interesting!” the boy objected, pouting.

“But your math homework is even more important,” she retorted, giving him a pointed look.  Temperamental though she could sometimes be, Regina really was a good mother for Henry, so Emma backed her up.

“Don’t you have a test tomorrow?” she asked.

Henry frowned.  “Yes, but—”

“No buts,” Regina cut him off, grabbing him by the shoulder.  “We’ll see you tomorrow, Emma.”

“Yep,” she replied, turning back to the dark-haired marina owner.  “So, what can I do for you, Killian?”

She’d only met the man once before, and then he’d rather inappropriately invited her out right after Graham’s accident, right after Cora had fired her and actually had the nerve to file a restraining order to keep Emma away from her friend!  At the moment, that meant she was relying on reports from Regina to keep abreast of Graham’s condition, but that wasn’t the same as being able to visit him.  Emma wasn’t sure if she had any powerful romantic feelings for the former sheriff, but she knew that she liked him, and that he was a damn good man.  He deserved a lot better than what Cora had done, and all her memories of Cyril—‘call me Killian’—O’Malley were wrapped up in her anger over that situation.  It wasn’t terribly fair, but Emma supposed her reaction was human enough.

“I wanted to offer you my help, actually,” he replied, giving her a charming smile that probably made most women melt a little. 

“And why would you want to do that?” Emma asked curiously.

“Because I liked—like—Graham,” was the response.  “He’s a good man, and Keith Law isn’t.  Old fashioned though it sounds…this town deserves better.”

Emma raised an eyebrow.  “You think that’s me?”

“I don’t know.”  Now his smile turned saucy and inviting.  “But I’d like to find out.”

 _Ah, there it is.  I was wondering how long he could go without flirting._ Emma knew O’Malley’s type, after all.  He was admittedly pretty to look at, or even gorgeous, with deep blue eyes and just a scruffy enough appearance to make a girl’s knees weak.  She’d been involved with men of this type a half dozen times, and usually enjoyed the liaisons while they lasted.  He was exactly the wrong sort of guy, the type who broke hearts and moved onto the next woman without blinking an eye, but Emma ate those kinds of guys for breakfast.

“I bet you would,” she retorted, waiting a beat before continuing: “Can we limit the flirting and keep this to business?  You want to help, fine.  Tell me how you’re going to do that.”

“Ah, straightforward, eh, love?  I like that in a lass,” he said with another grin.   “I’m a respectable business owner.  I have lots of friends and business contacts.  People listen to me.”

“And you’ll get them to vote for me?”  Emma wanted to hear that straight up, not just hints.

“Aye, I will,” O’Malley confirmed. 

Emma cocked her head, studying the marina owner for a moment.  He seemed honest enough, and she didn’t detect a lie, so she allowed herself to smile.  “Okay, then.  You pull that off, and I’ll let you buy me that drink you promised.”

After all, it didn’t hurt to give the man an incentive.  Emma didn’t think it was dishonest to promise him a drink, and she’d probably even enjoy sharing one with him.  O’Malley was certainly one of the best looking men in town, and _not_ one that Henry thought was related to her.  Even if Henry’s book was utterly insanity, it was nice to know that her kid didn’t think all of the potential love interests in this town were relatives of hers.  Not that she was looking for love, because she wasn’t.  But there were worse ways to celebrate a potential victory than having a drink with a handsome and rich man.

* * *

 

Poor Prince Eric—or Chef Christopher Anderson in this world—put the dessert dishes on the table without a word, backing away and waiting for direction from Cora.  He was yet another well-trained and cowed royal, just the way she liked them here in Storybrooke.  Rumplestiltskin found her continued persecution of the royals incredibly crass, but then, Cora had always been vindictive and vicious for all her outward display of good manners.  Gold hadn’t really cared who Cora used and abused, and in truth, Rumplestiltskin didn’t much give a damn, either.  Except in select cases, he supposed.  Mostly, though, he just didn’t care.  Most of them had never done anything for him unless they wanted something in return, so whatever happened to those arrogant royals was on their own heads, distasteful though it was.

“That will be all, Christopher,” Cora said, waving an authoritative hand to dismiss him.  “You can come back for the dishes in…oh, an hour or so.”

Most expert chefs would have been insulted by the fact that they were expected to clean the dishes as well cook, but Anderson said nothing.  He only nodded and retreated from the room, blissfully silent.  Rumplestiltskin was, as Gold had always been, grateful for his discretion.  Anderson had caught the two of them in…compromising positions more than once, many of which had consisted of Gold attempting to resist Cora.  It never had worked out well for Gold, but Anderson never said a word.  Apparently, Cora had indeed created herself the perfect servant with the curse, and Rumplestiltskin was willing to bet she was quite satisfied on the domestic front.

“Still feeling feisty, darling?” she purred, daintily eating the chocolate cake Anderson had served.  Normally, Rumplestiltskin’s sweet tooth would have demanded he devour such a delicious treat, but tonight he had no appetite.  Being around Cora tended to do that to him, so he sat back and just watched her, not even bothering to hide his hostility.

“Define feisty,” he snapped.

Cora smiled.   “I can see what your answer is.  What _has_ gotten into you, lately?”

Alarms went off in his head; although the question had been asked casually, there was a dangerous glint in Cora’s eyes.  _Regina hasn’t come by recently,_ Rumplestiltskin realized abruptly.  _She’s been very cautious ever since the Huntsman’s accident._   That could only mean one thing.  Cora had somehow realized that Regina remembered, and that meant she could do the same where he was concerned.  Of course, she wasn’t nearly so good at bullying him as she had always been at bullying her daughter, but Rumplestiltskin still had to be careful.  One misstep could endanger his family, because Cora still had enough power to harm them without worrying about repercussions.

“I suppose it never occurred to you that your antics in my shop might put me in a foul mood,” he said with Gold’s quiet ire and Gold’s pointed glare.

“You’re saying that _I_ put you in such a foul mood?” Her expression was the picture of innocence, but he’d chosen the right angle.  Cora enjoyed making Gold uncomfortable, which was why she’d acted like that in the shop, which had always been Gold’s one place of safety.

“I’m a private man, Cora.  Not an exhibitionist.”

“Of course you aren’t.  But what’s life without a little adventure?” Her smile wasn’t playful, though; it was hungry and dangerous, and more than a little possessive.  It was enough to send a chill down Rumplestiltskin’s spine, and not in a good way.  Gold had feared her, and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to wind up fearing _Cora_ , not just what she could do to him.

“I think we’re going to have to disagree on that front,” Rumplestiltskin replied drily.  He had never been much of an adventurer, after all, and Gold hadn’t, either.  Both were content with going where the pursuit of their goals—or the pursuit of power—took them, and no further.  And he _wasn’t_ into her kinks, either.  “I’m not into your…habits, dear.  You know that.”

Cora rose gracefully, gesturing for him to do the same.  “That’s what makes it so much fun.”

“For you, perhaps,” he shot back, but rose, leaning on his cane.  Some battles were worth fighting; others were not.  He could not accidentally use a please tonight, not twice in one day.  Not if he wanted Cora to think he was merely Gold.  Tonight he would have to keep Rumplestiltskin under wraps, would have to endure whatever happened, much though that thought made him feel sick. 

His stomach rolled in disgust and fear as Cora stepped close to him, but Rumplestiltskin forced himself to stand his ground.  Besides, one of the distinctive problems with being in the Land Without Magic was how the old leg injury hampered his mobility, and Rumplestiltskin knew from vast personal experience that he’d go nowhere quickly nor gracefully.  Better to let her close the distance than to make a clumsy fool out of himself trying to get away.  This woman might have raped him time and again, might have forced humiliation upon humiliation upon him, but he still had at least a little pride left.

“Did you read that lovely article that Scadlock wrote about our interloping would-be sheriff?” Cora asked curiously as she reached up to untie his tie.  It always annoyed him when she did that. Cora liked to use his expensive silk ties in ways they were not designed to be used, which meant they often wound up wrinkled and stretched.  So he scowled at her freely.

“That piece of rubbish?  Of course I did.  Scadlock’s a terrible writer,” he said drolly.  “Though I have to grant you that he’s decent enough at ferreting out secrets.  How _did_ you convince him to dig up such things on Miss Swan?”

Cora preened, and Rumplestiltskin tried not to roll his eyes.  Of course he knew how she’d convinced Francis Scadlock to do her bidding; the owner of the _Daily Mirror_ had been Will Scarlet before the curse, sometime member of the Merry Men and later reluctantly in Cora’s service.  If Rumplestiltskin’s memory served him correctly—and it usually did—Scarlet and his lady love had returned from Wonderland only to run afoul of the Evil Queen, who’d promptly taken his heart when he’d refused to do her some service or another.  Although what Rumplestiltskin couldn’t recall was what had happened to Ella’s stepsister…Anastasia?  Something like that.  She should have been here in Storybrooke as one of Ashley Boyd’s obnoxious stepsisters, but only the elder one seemed to be around.  _Odd._   The girl was largely unremarkable, despite having almost become the Red Queen, but Rumplestiltskin had kept an eye on the pair because they shared True Love.

“Most men are easy enough to _persuade_ if you know where their buttons are,” she replied smugly, her hands moving downwards to unbutton his jacket and vest.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t manage to hold back his grimace, but he _did_ manage not to point out that possessing someone’s heart made them oddly malleable to your desires.  Cora already knew that, after all, and Gold certainly wasn’t supposed to believe in magic.

Still, thinking about that was easier than coping with the way Cora insistently tugged his suit jacket and vest off, and Rumplestiltskin kept trying to distract himself—and her—with inane questions about the many ways she intended to block Emma from becoming sheriff.  He learned a few useful things, and perhaps managed to delay the inevitable for a little while.  Cora _did_ like to have her formidable intelligence appreciated, after all, and she had no reason to suspect that Gold was rooting for the Savior.  Gold had almost as much dirt on Keith Law as she did, and had no problems manipulating and/or bullying him.  _Gold_ would have been far more satisfied with Law filling Graham’s shoes, but Rumplestiltskin was not Gold.

Even if he felt very much like his cursed self as Cora slowly stripped him of clothes and dignity both before leading him down to the basement, even if he did resist enough to force her to use a few well-placed _Nows_ to make him comply.  The next two hours were a complete nightmare, and by the time she’d finished with her regimen of shocks—fiercer and longer than usual—Rumplestiltskin was shaking and panting where she’d tied him to the bed.  That damn bed had restraints built in, and no matter how much he jerked and convulsed, he knew from vast experience that they’d not give.  He hated feeling helpless, hated the way Cora reached out to tenderly brush sweat-drenched hair out of his face.

“Your little Lacey can’t get reactions _nearly_ this powerful out of you, can she?” Cora said, clearly satisfied with her work.

He looked at her incredulously, the truth finally dawning on him.  Cora was _jealous_.  She was envious of the relationship Gold had with Lacey, even though she must have known about it for quite some time.  Oh, she was probably more irritated because that relationship meant her possession—Gold—was getting away from her, going to someone else for comfort, but all the same, he could read the expression on the face of his heartless former lover.   That was the reason for the extra pain, the continual pushing of his limits.  Cora was jealous.

“She’s nothing,” he managed to wheeze, hating himself for the lie.  Or not quite lie.  “Lacey is…just a distraction.”

  _Lacey_ , after all, was just an overlay.  A mask to protect Belle, as Gold protected him.   In the end, Lacey would not matter.  Only Belle would.  That was his loophole, his way to speak truthfully and convince Cora that Lacey did not matter.  That was the way he could keep his family safe from this monster to which he had given so much power.

_Forgive me, Belle._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to everyone who guessed that Gold texted that little tidbit of information to Emma. He’s working more behind the scenes here than he was in the show, but he’s still in the game and hoping to make Emma sheriff.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Eighteen: “Pressure Points”, where Emma bursts into the asylum, Hook tries to get in Emma’s good graces, and Rumplestiltskin fights with the urge to wake Belle up. Back in the past, David and Regina plot to rescue Snow and Regina turns to her mentor for help.
> 
> While you’re waiting for the next chapter, riddle me this: what unexpected people do you think will be found in the asylum?


	18. Pressure Points

“Look, Doctor, I _know_ it’s there,” Emma said bluntly, standing with her hands on her hips.  Mary Margaret Blanchard stood on one side and Sidney Glass on the other, all three glaring implacably.  “And I’d _hate_ to think that you have anything to do with imprisoning people without trial.  In fact—”

“Wait a minute, what did you say?” Whale cut her off, his expression flashing from bored to worried in an instant.

“I said imprisoned without trial.  As in, completely illegally.  Or you can just call it kidnapping,” Emma shrugged theatrically.  “Whatever kind of picture you want to paint, you can bet it’s going to be a messy one.”

She didn’t have to glance Sidney’s way.  Whale did that for her, turning his now-bug-eyed expression on the reporter as all the color drained out of his face.  It seemed to take Storybrooke’s senior doctor a long moment to find his voice; his mouth opened and closed soundlessly several times before he cleared his throat, still looking terrified.  “I…I was told that it was an asylum.  That everyone there, uh, belongs.”

“There’s no records of anyone having been lawfully committed,” Emma retorted.  They’d checked that one, spent two days combing through records just to make sure.  After all, Emma couldn’t discount the possibility of her anonymous tipster having lied to her, all to set her up for some spectacular failure.  She wouldn’t have put doing that past Cora, after all.  The mayor would have loved to see her go down in flames.  But that didn’t seem to be the case—in fact, the text about _People disappear in Storybrooke_ seemed to be right on.  Emma now had a list of eight people who had gone missing in the last twenty-eight years, every one of them having vanished without a trace.  She was starting to wonder how many of them she’d find in the hospital’s basement.

“But Doctor Beauregard—” Whale started to object, only to have Sidney cut him off.

“No such person,” the reporter declared with a smile.  “You, Doctor Hopper, and Doctor Miner are the only licensed physicians in town.”

How even such a small town got away with having just one real doctor, one psychiatrist, and one pediatrician was beyond Emma, but medical licenses were a matter of public record, and the only Beauregard in town was a security guard.  There definitely wasn’t a second psychiatrist running some super-secret insane asylum underneath the hospital.  All the information about the so-called asylum might have appeared plausible on paper, but once Emma started digging, the perfect façade fell apart pretty damn quickly.

To give Whale credit, he seemed to figure that one out, and didn’t argue from that point forward.  He also didn’t ask why the fired deputy sheriff was the one demanding to go down there, accompanied by a reporter and a school teacher, either, for which Emma was extremely grateful.  After all, it wasn’t like she had a search warrant.  She didn’t have a damn thing except facts to back her up and a story that she’d promised Sidney would be a good one.  Whale didn’t _have_ to take them down to the so-called asylum, and he probably shouldn’t have done so, but once Sidney handed over records that proved to him that there actually _wasn’t_ a Doctor Beauregard (although Miles Beauregard did seem to be responsible for the asylum’s security, he certainly didn’t have any kind of medical degree), Whale proved surprisingly cooperative.

“Nurse Zephyr, would you mind coming with us?” Whale asked nervously as the quartet walked past a tall, pale nurse with long red hair.  Her curls were pulled back in a bun, and she turned to look at them with a bright smile.

“Of course, Doctor.”

Whale probably wanted to bring her along just in case Emma decided to do something crazy, she figured.  So she spent a moment studying ‘Chloe Zephyr’, as her nametag read, and decided that the nurse looked harmless enough.  If having her along made Whale feel better, Emma was just fine with that.  She just wanted to get this done before someone more official showed up or before Whale wised up and started asking questions. 

“Be careful, Emma,” Mary Margaret said softly, placing a gentle hand on her arm while Whale punched a code in on a door labeled _EXIT_.  “We don’t—”

“I know,” Emma cut her off before Mary Margaret could say something that might make Whale chicken out.  She knew that she had no legal right to be there.  That was why she’d had to bully Whale into taking them down there voluntarily. 

Of course, the doctor had paused in the doorway, so Emma shot him a glare. 

“Let’s go,” she prompted him, and Whale led the way down the stairs, followed a little too closely by Zephyr.  A severe looking nurse sat at a desk at the bottom, glancing up at them with an expression filled with boredom and then a little surprise when she saw that Whale was accompanied by three people who definitely _weren’t_ hospital staff.

“A little early for check-ups, isn’t it, Doctor?” the nurse asked, her eyebrows going up.

Whale shifted nervously.  “We’re, uh, here for something else today, Nurse Ratched.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, we are.”  Emma threw a pointed look at Whale, and he finally shrugged. 

“This way, I guess.”  She turned to follow him down the corridor, but not before Sidney tried a charming smile on for the nurse.

“May I see your patient records, please?” he asked.

The nurse frowned.  “Does the mayor know about this?”

“Would we be here if she didn’t?” Mary Margaret countered, and Emma hadn’t thought she could look so innocent.  _Particularly not if she’s misleading someone.  I didn’t think that Mary Margaret had that in her._ Emma tried to hide her smile as Whale turned a corner and led her down a long hallway with six solid metal doors on each side.  Meanwhile, Mary Margaret and Sidney tag-teamed the nurse into forking over a list of the people down there.  Sidney wanted it to write an article, of course, but Emma knew that Mary Margaret would make sure that they got a copy of the information before Sidney ran off with it. Not that Emma didn’t trust the reporter—he’d been helpful so far—but she knew that his first priority was writing a good story, not helping people.

“Let’s get these doors open,” Emma prompted Whale, and the doctor shrugged.

“When the mayor comes looking for blood, I’m sending her in your direction,” he said irritably.

“Fine.”  A thought occurred to Emma, however, before Whale punched the code into the first door on the right.  “None of these people are psycho kind of crazy, are they?  Dangerous, I mean?”

Whale shook his head, albeit a little reluctantly.  “No.  They’re quiet, mostly.  A couple are amnesiacs, don’t know who they are.  A few are subject to harmless delusions.  But none of them are dangerous.”

“Then why are they down here?” Emma asked.

“Look, I never asked, okay?”

And wasn’t that typical.  Emma had been in a lot of small towns over the years, and she had _never_ been in one that was run as oddly as Storybrooke was.  Cora seemed to control everything in this place—and who ever heard of some secret asylum-cum-prison buried underneath a hospital?  The fact that the asylum existence at all was absolute insanity, and there was no way in hell that no one in the town had never investigated this place before.  How could they live with some secret prison right under their noses, a place where the mayor could shove anyone she wanted for however long she wanted?  Emma couldn’t wrap her mind around it.  Out of all the odd things about this town, that stood out the most.  There was no way that an entire town’s worth of people could miss this.

_People disappear in Storybrooke_ , the anonymous text had said.  _Someone_ had noticed.  Why had that person waited until Emma was around to say something?  This mystery got weirder and weirder by the moment.

In the end, they pulled six people out of stark, padded cells and brought them into the hospital proper.  All were in good health, but it would take a while to identify them and try to figure out if they had family in town.  Two had no memories at all—they were blank slates who basically knew how to function in the world, but nothing of themselves—three immediately told her stories of having angered Cora and having been wrongfully imprisoned (Michael Tillman was one of those, Emma was rather grateful to see), and the sixth kept talking about needing to find Will Scarlet and how the Evil Queen had taken his heart.  That girl, Anastasia, might have actually been a little bit mad, but Emma was starting to really wonder.  Nothing made sense, and how would some girl buried under the hospital have known about Henry’s fairytale theory?

She made a mental note to ask Henry if there was a Will Scarlet or an Anastasia in the Book, and left the six former prisoners in Whale’s capable hands the moment Archie arrived to evaluate them.  Sidney was busy trying to interview them, and Mary Margaret had stuck around to help, but Emma had questions that needed answering.  Now.

* * *

 

Regina had intentionally distanced herself from Emma’s crusade down to the asylum—it was one thing to be involved in searching for the place, but another entirely to tag along on the decidedly _illegal_ trip down there.  Like it or not, she remained the mayor’s principle assistant, and that meant Regina couldn’t afford to do things like that.  Someone also had to stay at home to make sure Henry stayed out of it, given how useless David was on that front.  The curse had turned her brother-in-law into a bit of a hopeless idiot, easy to manipulate and easier to run circles around.  Regina loved the man dearly (Charming, anyway, _not_ David Nolan), but her mother really had done a number on him here.  Much like she once had done to her own husband, David Nolan was affable, biddable, and quick to give in.

Besides, he was filling in for Graham’s volunteer shift at the animal hospital since the former sheriff was still in the hospital, which meant it was up to Regina to fetch Henry from school and make sure he didn’t go running off to ‘help’ Emma.  The last thing they needed was for Henry to do something that would bring Cora’s attention to what they were doing.  Regina would never forget that Cora had threatened Henry once before, and she couldn’t afford to let Cora know that she was working against her.   _He’s not my blood,_ Cora had said, and remembering those words always sent a chill down Regina’s spine.  Cora didn’t care about Henry.  She saw him as a tool to be used to control Regina, nothing more.

The front door slammed open, and Regina’s head jerked around to glare at her son.

“I didn’t do it!” Henry objected from his seat at the table.  He was supposedly doing his homework, but Regina could tell he wasn’t concentrating.

“Your father isn’t due home until—”

“What the _hell_ is wrong with this town?” Emma Swan demanded, storming into the kitchen.  Regina started, blinking in surprise.  Then she remembered that she’d foolishly given the Savior a key to her home, and invited her to come by at any time.  _Which apparently includes when she wants to have a temper tantrum_.

“The list is long,” she replied dryly. 

“Tell me about it.”  Emma snorted.  “How the hell can there be a secret prison that _no one_ knew about?  Scratch that.  Whale knew.  He had the damn combination to the _high security_ _lock_ , and yet he never even thought to ask if any of those people had ever been _actually_ declared insane.  Which they hadn’t, by the way.  There isn’t a single record to explain why they’re done there, other than that your mother wanted them to be.”

Regina couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes.  Would Emma _ever_ embrace the truth?  She was still looking for logical answers, whereas Regina knew there were none.  “Color me surprised,” she muttered.

“That’s really helpful,” Emma glared.

“We keep telling you what the problem is,” Henry pointed out bluntly, looking at his birth mother.  “You just don’t want to believe us.”

“Because no rational person can believe that a small town in Maine is populated by fairy tale characters under a curse,” Emma shot back.

“Rational towns don’t have secret prisons buried under the hospital,” Henry retorted, and Regina choked back a laugh.

“It isn’t about rationality,” she said before Emma could reply to their son.  “And if you think it is, you really haven’t been listening.”

Emma groaned.  “This again?”

“This _always_ , Miss Swan,” Regina snapped, her patience stretched to the breaking point.  “You don’t have to like it to believe it.  You don’t even have to think that it’s logical, because maybe it isn’t, or at least not in this world.  But reality isn’t always logical, and _this is real._   And like it or not, everyone’s depending on you.”

“I can’t deal with that now.  I’m running for sheriff in five days.”

Regina wanted to smash her head into the counter, but instead she gritted her teeth and shoved back the urge to shake her niece.  _I thought Snow could be bad, but Emma has distilled stubbornness down to an art form,_ she thought irritably.  “Fine,” she said shortly.  “Don’t believe.  Concentrate on getting elected, because maybe then you’ll be able to make a difference.”

That got her a skeptical look.  “I’m no Savior, Regina.  I’m just…me.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point.”

If Regina was someone nicer, she would have said something encouraging.  Snow certainly would have, but Regina had always been darker than her sister.  She’d tried to be a good person, but she didn’t always manage, and sometimes the darkness inside her shined through.  So, she just met Emma’s eyes squarely and dared the younger woman to argue.  Emma glared back for a moment, and Regina could see her hackles coming up—but then emotion flashed across Emma’s face, and she shrugged. 

“You gonna help me get elected or not?” she finally asked.

“Of course I am,” Regina replied with a sigh, exchanging a glance with Henry.

Sooner or later, they’d get Emma to believe.  But today just wasn’t going to be that day.

* * *

 

_5 Years Before The Curse_

Maybe now King George would let him go home.

News had just reached their kingdom that Princess Snow had killed King Leopold.  The missive from Queen Cora had been short and to the point, but no one had to tell David that the engagement was off.  Part of him was relieved, even if he didn’t actually believe the story.  He might have replaced James four months ago and been playing the part of prince ever since, but he didn’t fit in here.  The only time he’d felt even vaguely like he belonged somewhere other than the farm was when he’d been in Leopold’s kingdom, doing his (sort of) adopted father’s bidding and attempting to woo a princess.  Apparently James hadn’t done so well on that front before his accident—if you could call challenging a minotaur to a duel an _accident_ —and George had been very insistent that David do better.

Much to his surprise, he’d rather liked the princess.  He’d expected someone stuck up and, well, _royal_ , and instead he’d met a down to earth and nice person. 

_“You’re different this time,” Snow said as he led her through the steps of a dance he’d hastily learned just two weeks earlier._

_“How so?”_

_“You’re actually a little…charming,” she replied, a hint of a smile touching her face._

_David almost missed a step, trying to find a neutral answer that wouldn’t give the game away.  After all, only a handful of George’s most trusted advisors knew about the swap, and David had to keep up pretenses in order to keep his mother safe and happy.  “Are you saying that I wasn’t before?”_

_“Actually, yes, I am,” the princess retorted, twirling effortlessly.  She made the dance look so easy, and David would have to be blind not to notice that she was beautiful._

_“Maybe I had a change of heart.”  He tried to shrug casually, but didn’t think she believed him at all._

That evening—and the two after it—had been the most amazing time in David’s life.  For the first time, he’d found himself actually _wanting_ to be the prince King George demanded he be, because there was something amazing about the princess whom people were already calling ‘the fairest of them all’.  Snow was kind, funny, and there was an undeniable spark in the air between them whenever they were together.  David couldn’t define exactly what that was, but there was certainly something about Snow White that made him want to get to know her.  She was a princess and he was nothing but a dressed-up shepherd, but he wanted to fall in love with her.

When George and Leopold had finally finished ironing out the details of their betrothal two months after that, David had been ecstatic.  He didn’t like George, and he missed home more than ever, but the thought of marrying Snow wouldn’t leave him alone.  Even when Queen Cora insisted that no marriage could take place before Snow’s twenty-first birthday—which was almost a year away!—David’s enthusiasm remained high.  George said that he could spend the intervening months learning to act like a real prince and learning to rule, but David would put up with that if it meant he could be with Snow.  He’d never believed in love at first sight, but there was something about her that _mattered_ to him. 

_Apparently it_ was _too perfect,_ David thought, staring out the window at the night sky.  His instincts had told him that he was no fairytale prince who would wed a princess and find True Love, and he should have listened to them.  His ‘perfect’ princess had turned out to be a murderess, and George was already talking about marrying him to King Midas’ daughter instead.  George was even considering Princess Regina, who was six years _older_ than he was, but apparently now stood to inherit Leopold’s kingdom now that Snow was due to be executed.  The entire thought sickened David, but—

“Good, you’re alone,” a voice said from behind him, and David whirled around.  The one thing about being a prince that he’d found himself enjoying was swordplay, and his sword came easily to hand as he turned to face the interloper.

It was Regina.

“Well, I was before you barged in,” he retorted without thinking, and then blinked, looking at the still-closed door. “How _did_ you get in here?”

“Magic, of course,” the princess his (not) father might want him to marry replied with a shrug. 

David blinked.  “I didn’t know you used magic.”

“It runs in the family,” was her dry response.

“You mean that Snow…?” he asked without meaning to.  It didn’t matter anymore, but somehow it did.

“No.  We’re stepsisters, not half siblings.  No shared blood,” Regina corrected him.  Then she shook her head.  “But that’s not why I’m here.  I’m here because Snow needs your help.”

David’s heart leapt before he could stop it, but he stomped down on the reaction before his feelings could betray him.  “I’m not sure that I should be really interested in helping someone who murdered her own father for power.”

“Do you really think she’d do that?” the other princess retorted, turning an acidic glare on him. 

“I don’t know.  I barely know her,” he pointed out.

“Last I saw the two of you, you were in the middle of falling in love.  What changed?”

“Hearing someone is guilty of murder does tend to change things,” David replied wryly.  Even as he said that, though, he kept thinking about what Regina had said.  He knew how close the sisters were.  If _she_ didn’t believe Snow was guilty, maybe she wasn’t.  Regina knew Snow better than anyone.  _Maybe, just maybe…_

“Look, if you don’t want to help, just say so.  I’ll do this without you,” Regina snapped, starting to turn away.  Her pretty face—because no one could deny that both sisters were quite beautiful—was lined with worry, and David could see that her anger stemmed from concern.  So he grabbed her arm.

“Wait.  No, I didn’t mean—I just—this is all coming at me pretty fast, all right?” he tried to explain.  “Can you tell me what actually happened?  If Snow didn’t kill King Leopold, who did?”

“That doesn’t matter,” was the somewhat evasive answer.  “My mother’s behind it.”

“Why?” David wanted to know.  Queen Cora had struck him as a very intelligent and driven woman, and maybe a little bit creepy, but not as someone who would frame her stepdaughter for murder.

“Power.  Why else?”

* * *

 

“Your paperwork says your name is Victoria Scadlock,” Mary Margaret said as gently as she could, sitting in a booth at Granny’s while they sorted through the former prisoners.  She was trying to stop the blonde woman from starting in on another rambling denial, but so far was only meeting with limited success.  “You are married but separated from Francis Scadlock, the senior editor at the _Daily Mirror_ , and—”

“Give it up, sister,” another voice interjected.  “She doesn’t remember a thing.”

Mary Margaret blinked.  The man who spoke was utterly familiar.  “Leroy?” she asked incredulously.

“Glad to see you remember me,” the bald man replied caustically.  “Since you and everyone else seemed to forget about me the moment I was stuffed in that asylum for a crime I didn’t commit.”

“I thought…I thought you left town,” she stuttered, shaking her head in confusion.  “Everyone thought that.”

“Well, everyone was wrong,” Leroy retorted, and then grimaced as Archie approached.  “Do I _really_ have to do this, Doc? I _know_ I’m not crazy.  Though I’m not so sure about the rest of you.”

Archie’s smile was gentle.  “Then it shouldn’t take long, should it?”

From across the table from Snow, Victoria Scadlock looked at Archie like he was some sort of dangerous creature.  “Who are you?” she demanded.  “I’ve never seen you before.”  Then she turned back to glare at Mary Margaret.  “And my name isn’t Victoria.  It’s _Anastasia._ ”

* * *

 

_5 Years Before The Curse_

She could do this without her mother knowing, Regina told herself.  James had agreed to help, and that meant Regina should be able to foist the blame off where it couldn’t do any damage.  She didn’t think that James had discussed the matter with his father, but King George was a practical and ambitious man.  He would jump at the opportunity to marry his heir to Snow and claim Leopold’s kingdom through her.  Midas might have been able to turn anything into gold with a touch, but the kingdom Snow stood to inherit was the largest and most self-sufficient in the entire Enchanted Forest.  Combined with George’s, it would become an absolute powerhouse.  _George will think that’s worth a little war or two against Mother,_ Regina thought behind a smile, _and if_ that _happens, she’ll be distracted enough that I can rescue Daniel!_

“Thinking of saving your little stepsister?” a high-pitched voice asked her, and the question as accompanied by an annoying laugh.  Turning, Regina looked at the owner of that obnoxious giggle, worry making her heart skip a beat.

“How did you know?” she demanded.

Her teacher waved an airy hand.  “I do see the future, you know.”

“Then it’ll work?” Regina asked desperately, her heart pounding wildly against her ribcage.  “Will we succeed?”

“Now that you’ve recruited her little prince into the game, it will.”  Reptilian eyes studied her, and Rumplestiltskin’s expression went unreadable.  “But everything has its price, dear.  Are you sure you’re willing to pay?”

“She’s my sister,” Regina replied firmly.  “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Ooooh,” Rumplestiltskin trilled, his eyes suddenly dancing and his hands twirling excitedly.  “Such courage!”

“Stop it,” she snapped.  “Can you teach me anything that will help, or not?”

She knew better than to ask if _he_ would rescue Snow, or if she could bring her little sister to the Dark Castle for safety afterwards.  Rumplestiltskin would remain neutral in this conflict, even if he did so enjoy irking her mother from time to time.  He wouldn’t take sides.  It was up to Regina, but if she could glean a little useful knowledge from him, anything her mother would not expect—and could not detect—she would take what she could get. 

The damn imp was studying her again.  Contemplatively.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I think I have just the thing.”

* * *

 

“Congratulations, Miss Swan,” a voice said, making Emma look up from her breakfast.  “The entire town is talking about you.”

“Killian,” she said in surprise, taking the folded newspaper that the marina owner was holding out.  She hadn’t expected the dark-haired man to show up while she was sharing breakfast with Regina, David, and Henry the Saturday before the election, just one day after she, Mary Margaret, and Sidney had barged into the asylum.  “What are you doing here?”

“Admiring you, apparently,” O’Malley replied with a sultry smile.  Emma gave him a hard look before glancing down at the _Daily Mirror_. 

And there it was.  Splashed right across the top of the front page as the headline story that Sidney had wanted so badly were the words “ **SECRET ASYLUM UNEARTHED BY CANDIDATE FOR SHERIFF** ”.  Emma had to read the words a few times before she managed to scan the article, the words leaping off the page.  To her left, Henry leaned over to read it, too, and Emma could feel the smile radiating off him before she’d even managed to read half of the words. 

“Way to go, Emma!” Henry exalted, and even Regina had cracked a smile.  Emma had to admit that seeing the article felt damn good—she really did want to win the election, but she wanted to do it the right way.  Doing this, freeing six innocent people, really mattered, and as weird as this town was, that still had to count for something.  A lot, maybe.

“Henry’s right,” David said.  “I think you’ve got this election in the bag.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Regina interjected, echoing Emma’s thoughts.  “Don’t count my mother out yet.  She’s bound to have another trick up her sleeve.”

“Ah, Cora’s more bark than bite,” David replied with a shrug and a smile at his wife.  But there was nothing affectionate in the annoyed look Regina shot him.

“That’s what you think,” she muttered, just as Emma realized that O’Malley was still standing at the end of their table.  She looked up at him and smiled.

“Thank you for bringing this to me,” she said.  “It really is great news.”

“It’s my pleasure, love,” O’Malley replied with a wink.  “Perhaps some time we might discuss it in private?”

Emma tried not to scowl.  If this was O’Malley’s way of trying to invite himself to breakfast with them, it certainly wasn’t going to work.  She was grateful that he’d brought her the article, and she wasn’t blind to his obvious physical charms, but O’Malley would have to do a lot more if he wanted to get into her good graces.  _Like actually helping, not just waving newspapers in my face_ , Emma thought.  He’d said that he knew people and that he was willing to help her get elected, but so far all Emma had heard from Cyril Call-Me-Killian O’Malley was words. 

“Maybe,” she replied dryly, giving him a droll look.  Pretty face or not, Emma really didn’t like a man whose first attempt to come onto her had started when she’d been visiting the bedside of the last man she’d dated.  Maybe there was nothing serious between her and Graham, but until she could get that damn restraining order lifted, there was no way to know.

Fortunately, Killian seemed smart enough to get the hint, and left the diner before Regina said something obnoxious to him. Judging from the look on her face—and from the placating expression David was wearing—Regina had been warming up to do just that, and Emma found herself rather grateful for the older woman at the moment.  Henry seemed to think that Regina was her aunt, and although Henry’s theory _had_ to be absolutely bogus, Emma thought she might have liked to have an aunt like Regina.  _Or family, anyway.  It would be nice to have family._

* * *

 

Their relationship had returned to quiet looks and subtle touches, sneaking glances when no one was looking and trying to pretend they meant nothing to one another.  Rumplestiltskin knew it was foolish—staying away from Belle was the _only_ way to keep her and Gabi safe—but he couldn’t help himself.  He was such a weak man, so desperate and so needy, and Lacey _was_ Belle save in one or two ways that mattered.  She was brave, bold, and she’d loved Gold even when she should not.  Lacey had been the only thing that kept Gold sane through all those years with Cora, the only bright spot in an otherwise dark world.  She was so much like Belle, except quieter and so much more easily cowed…but who wasn’t, in Cora’s Storybrooke? She had not wanted to make people strong enough to resist her. 

And even when that option existed, doing so was never a good idea, as Rumplestiltskin’s previous evening had proved.  Fortunately for him, Cora had actually let him go that Sunday morning instead of forcing him to stay longer, but she’d left him with more aches and pains than he wanted to think about, and several reminders he was steadfastly _not_ thinking about.  He was still shaking when he made it home, and hesitated for several long moments before cautiously sinking onto his couch and pouring himself a glass of scotch.  The drink did nothing to steady him, but he wasn’t in any shape to climb the stairs right now, no matter how much he wanted to wash away Cora’s touch.  But he resisted the urge to pour himself another at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning.

Pressure points. Not his, but the curse’s.  They could both feel it happening, could sense what Emma Swan’s discovery under the hospital was doing.  The curse was weakening, and Rumplestiltskin had felt the victory inherent in that—after all, _he_ had pointed the Savior in that direction with that tiny little text message—until Cora had torn him down off that high with a nightmare of pain and humiliation.  She’d gone further than ever before, left him hurting and reeling and so very ready to curl up and cry.  Rumplestiltskin had tried to cling to his pride and self-control, but Cora had stripped that away, too, leaving him shaking and shuddering and pleading until she had gagged him.  He was a wreck, as bad as Gold had ever been, desperate to find some way to overcome his own humanity.

Finally, trembling fingers pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number almost without thinking.  Lacey answered on the second ring.

“Gold?” she asked, sounding surprised. “I thought you said you weren’t going to call.”

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he admitted, his voice cracking and hating himself for the weakness, hating _needing_ so badly and hurting so much.  He was so damn lonely, and he wanted his family, needed someone to be there to tell him that he didn’t have to face this by himself.  He’d been a hair’s breath away from using his own caveat to put a stop to the previous evening’s activities, a heartbeat away from letting Cora know he was awake.  But he didn’t dare.  Doing that could put _everything_ in jeopardy, and Rumplestiltskin would not sacrifice his chance to find his son just because he was in a little pain.

Or a lot.

“You sound terrible,” Lacey said softly.

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “I think I am.”

“I’m coming over,” she replied immediately, not bothering with inane questions or silly reassurances.  “Just let me—”

“No,” he cut her off, forcing himself to take a deep breath.  “Sweetheart, you can’t.  I’ll be all right.  I just needed…I just needed to talk to you.  That’s all.”

“Gold—”

“No.”

“I know you’re convinced that she can hurt me, but she’s only the mayor.  She’s not that powerful, and I’ll take that risk,” Lacey said stubbornly, sounding more like Belle than ever before.  “You’re worth fighting for.  I’ll chance it.”

Oh, he loved this woman.  Her words were almost enough to make him tell her to come over, to throw caution to the wind, and to—

_No,_ Rumplestiltskin told himself firmly.  _You can’t.  You can’t endanger her, no matter how badly you need her.  Gabrielle needs her more than you do, and if Cora_ knew _…_ The thought made him shiver.  And his fear of _that_ was stronger than the fear of what Cora’s caveats could let her do to him, stronger than the maelstrom of terror and pain still whipping through him.  He had never been strong, but he _could_ choose love over fear.

“I won’t chance it,” Rumplestiltskin managed to say firmly.  “Stay away from me.  Keep yourself—and Renee—safe.  Please.  I’ll go.  I just had to talk to you.”

“Don’t—”

“I love you.”  He hung up before he could hear her reply, before he could listen to Lacey try to wrap her mind around the fact that Gold had _never_ , not once, said those words to her.  But Rumplestiltskin needed to say it, and he needed her to know.  Lacey wasn’t Belle…but he loved her anyway.  And their daughter.

He had to keep them safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to all my lovely readers! I’m going to be a NaNoWriMo Rebel this year and continue this story instead of starting something new, so feel free to cheer me on if you want. Kudos to everyone who guessed that Michael Tillman and Anastasia were in the asylum! The other three people who were down there may eventually come up, but right now they’re not as important as the three who were named.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Nineteen: “Love and Family”, in which Cora issues a terrifying threat, elections for sheriff commence, Lacey runs into her father, and Hook tries to seduce Emma. Back in the past, Regina and David go to rescue Snow and Rumplestiltskin pays his father-in-law a visit.
> 
> Oh, and did you catch Zelena’s cameo?


	19. Love and Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: non-graphic mentions of torture in this chapter.

“Regina, dearest, you’ve been avoiding me,” Cora said, striding into Regina’s office.  She was dressed in a black business suit again, all polish and sharp edges, but did she never realize how _ominous_ that made her look?  Then again, knowing her mother, she treasured the look, even if she should have been trying to fool the hapless residents of Storybrooke into complacency. A metaphorical thunderstorm rolled along over her head, now, however, and Regina managed not to smile upon seeing it.  There were only two days to go left before the elections, and Cora was getting _angry_.

“Nonsense, Mother.  I’ve just been busy.”

“Helping Miss Swan run for election,” her mother half-snarled, her dark eyes flashing.

“Henry’s interested in it.  I thought you’d be happy that he’s concentrating on something other than fairy tales,” she replied sweetly.  This was the first time she’d tried to stand up to her mother since their horrible confrontation at Graham’s bedside.  Regina had tried to put forth the appearance of good behavior since then, but the easiest way to do that was by avoiding Cora.  Unfortunately, it was hard to do that when her mother walked in like this.

“Your impertinence is not amusing,” Cora snapped.  “Don’t forget the consequences of disobeying me.”

Before she knew it, Regina was on her feet.  Perhaps she’d been on her best behavior for too long, or maybe she was just ready to snap.   “Oh, I don’t know.  It’s harder for you to murder people in this world, particularly now that you’ve crippled your favorite henchmen.”

“You still have those you care about.”  The smile was sickeningly sweet.

“You won’t touch Snow or David. You’re too obsessed with your revenge,” Regina scoffed.  _And you can’t kill Emma without breaking the curse!_

“Ah, but that doesn’t protect Henry, now, does it?”

The world dropped out from under Regina, and suddenly her legs stopped working.  Her rear hit the chair hard enough to make her teeth rattle, but she never noticed.  Every cell in her body went cold.  So cold.

“You wouldn’t,” she whispered, memories whirling through her mind.

“Test me, darling,” said the woman who had once imprisoned and tortured Regina’s True Love.

Regina swallowed hard, her temper forgotten.  “No,” she whispered.  “I won’t.”  Because Cora _would_ hurt Henry.  Regina had no doubts on that front—Cora had gone so far as to point out that Henry wasn’t _her_ blood not too long ago.  The next words came out quiet and broken: “What do you want?”

“You’ll not support Miss Swan in her lunatic desire to become sheriff,” Cora replied conversationally, her tone as mild as it might be were she discussing the weather.  “If anyone asks, you will voice your unreserved desire for Keith Law to be elected.  Understood?”

“Yes, Mother,” Regina whispered, feeling more helpless than she had in years.

Cora smiled.  “Good.  I knew you’d see things my way.”

* * *

 

_5 Years Before the Curse_

A wave of Regina’s hand distracted both guards and warped their minds into believing no one was in the poorly-lit corridor.  It wasn’t exactly an invisibility spell—those, Rumplestiltskin had insisted, were beyond her current level of expertise—but it was a small and important distraction which more or less made both guards believe that nothing had changed.  She could have knocked them out, or let James kill them, but doing so would have alerted Cora.  Regina knew that her mother had enchanted every guard who worked in the dungeons to alert her if they were in any way incapacitated; Cora did not plan on taking any risks where Snow as concerned.  Of course, Regina had found that out the last time she’d tried to visit Daniel without permission, but she knew that Cora would have used the same safeguards here.

Rumplestiltskin’s little spell, however, sailed right through the protections her mother had set up, just as he’d said it would.  The distraction would only last ten minutes or so, but that was enough time for Regina and James to get Snow away.  She’d managed to teleport herself and the prince as deep in the dungeons as she dared, close enough that these should be the only two guards she had to fool.  No one came down here for recreation, after all, and—

“What was that?” the sharp-eared prince asked.

She’d heard it, too, footsteps approaching from a corridor off to the right.  “I’ll deal with that,” Regina said, thinking quickly.  “You go get Snow out.  I’ll meet you there.”

“Right.” 

“Here.  Take these.”  She held out the key ring that the Huntsman had turned a blind eye to her stealing; she really did rather like the poor man, and he often tried to rebel against her mother in small ways.  Regina knew that her mother was planning on using the Huntsman as her executioner—Cora loved to watch him hate killing when the whim hit her—so he was more than willing to help her as subtly as he could.

“Thanks,” James said, and quickly jogged down towards Snow’s cell.  Regina turned away, slipping into the shadows and readying that little distraction spell once again.  Rumplestiltskin had shown her how to adjust it, how to use the spell to make someone turn and walk the opposite direction with just a tiny push.

The spark leapt out of her hand, and soon enough, the footsteps faded into the distance.  Regina did not stop to see who it was; there wasn’t time, and she didn’t care.  Instead, she turned and followed in James’ path, coming around the corner in front of Snow’s cell just in time to hear a horrible _thunk_ and hear James hiss in pain before crumbling to the ground.  Rushing forward and grasping magic in her hands, Regina prepared herself for the worst.  If her mother was down here, she’d have to throw caution to the wind and fight her, because Regina wasn’t going to let her sister die.  Not like this, not ever, and certainly not to satisfy her mother’s insane thirst for revenge.  Snow was her sister, and Regina _would_ protect her.  She came out of the shadows with her hands full of fire, ready to attack—

Only to find herself face to face with her horrified sister.

“James?” Snow gasped, standing over the dazed prince with a rock in her hand.

Of course.  They’d both been wearing hoods, and Snow hadn’t been able to recognize James until after she’d brained him with a rock.  But his impact with the floor must have made James’ hood fall off, because now he was blinking dizzily and Snow was staring at him in horror.   A sudden wild spike of amusement made the fireballs in Regina’s hands sputter out; it was all she could do not to giggle.  The stalwart warrior prince had been felled by a princess who was a half a foot shorter than he was…and a rock.

“Hello to you, too,” James said unevenly, looking woozy.

“What are you doing here?” Snow demanded, and then went a little red.  “I’m so sorry!”

“I came to rescue you, but I think you were doing okay by yourself,” the prince replied, struggling to his feet.  Snow reached out to help him, and Regina could almost physically _feel_ the spark travelling between the two; magic resonated around them and filled the air with sweetness.

Snow smiled, and James smiled back, and Regina could see them falling even further in love.  _True Love,_ Rumplestiltskin had told her once, she remembered with a pang in her heart, _is the most powerful magic.  But it has to be fought for._

“Enough, you two,” she interrupted, clearing her throat to push away her own traitorous feelings.  “You can get all lovey-dovey later.  Right now, it’s time to get you out of here.”

Snow started.  “Regina?”

“Were you expecting someone else?” she grinned at her sister, pulling her hood down.  “I told you that I wasn’t going to let it end like this.”

Suddenly, her arms were full of her sister and Snow was hugging her tightly.  Regina returned the embrace, and felt Snow shake with emotion.  “I never doubted you,” her little sister whispered.

“I bet you didn’t,” Regina replied, but she felt herself smiling.   “Now, let’s get out of here.  I can’t teleport the three of us very far, but I can give us a head start to where James and I left some horses.”

“Your mother is going to be furious.”  Snow pulled back to look at her.

“Let her,” Regina declared, gesturing the prince closer. 

Moments later, purple magic swirled around the trio, pulling Snow out of the dungeons and away from her pending execution.

* * *

 

Lacey had vague memories of voting in elections in Storybrooke, but she couldn’t recall a turnout like this.  It seemed like the entire town had shown up to vote in the elections for Sheriff, and everyone who _wasn’t_ talking about how Graham would never walk again was still talking about the mysterious asylum that Emma Swan had found underneath the library.  The mayor, of course, had gone on record immediately to say that she knew _nothing_ about this, and she’d even had Keith Law arrest one Miles Beauregard.  Blame was being dropped right on Beauregard’s head, even though he claimed at first to be nothing but a security guard.  Today’s edition of the _Daily Mirror_ , however, said that he’d confessed to creating the asylum and locking all kinds of innocent people up in it.

Lacey found that more than a little suspicious.  Oh, the headline was typical enough: **“MILD MANNERED SECURITY GUARD A CLOSET PSYCHOPATH?”** and any article written by Francis Scadlock was sure to be sensationalized.  But she found the sudden confession odd.

Not that it was any of her business.  She was just there to vote for sheriff—and _not_ for the creep that had been stalking her almost as long as she could remember.  So, Lacey stepped into the voting booth, filled out her ballot, and then stepped back out once she was finished.  Ruby had somehow slipped into line behind her (Whale had probably let her in so he could get an unobstructed view of her backside), and she gave Lacey a quick smile and wave as she ducked in to take her place.

Four steps later, Lacey almost ran straight into her father.  She managed to stop just short of hitting him, blinking in surprise.  Moe French had been smiling, but when he looked down at her he started frowning.

“Hi, Dad,” she said quietly.

His frown turned into a scowl.  “Lacey.”

“How are you?” she asked, glad he hadn’t walked away yet.  He usually did by this point, and Lacey felt pathetic for craving his approval so much, but she _missed_ him.  Renee was almost four years old!  Surely her father had gotten over that by now.  Renee deserved to know her grandfather, and Lacey missed her father.  Moe had been trying to pretend that neither of them existed ever since Lacey had refused to have her child aborted, and then compounded matters by refusing to do a paternity test to determine who had fathered “it”.  Her father hadn’t approved of either choice, but Lacey had been an adult, and he’d not been able to change her mind.  So, he’d settled for disowning her and refusing to meet his granddaughter even once.

“I’m fine,” Moe replied shortly, immediately starting to turn away.  “Excuse me.”

Desperately, Lacey grabbed his arm.  “Don’t,” she pleaded.

The look her father turned on her was anything but loving, but Lacey was at her wits’ end.  Gold’s paranoia had left her strung out and lonely.  Their relationship had never been what someone could call conventional, but she’d always known that he cared for her.  But listening to him say that he loved her right before he hung up on her had left Lacey in terrible need of family to turn to, and the only family she had other than Renee was her father.  She’d known that calling him would only result in getting hung up on—and less nicely than Gold had done—but surely running into him like this had to be some sort of sign.  Didn’t it?

“I have places to be, Lacey,” Moe told her dismissively, shrugging off the hand on his arm.

“More important than talking to your daughter for the first time in years?” she asked daringly, _willing_ his answer to be different this time.  Lacey wasn’t blind.  Things were changing in Storybrooke.  Surely this could change, too?

“You’re no daughter of mine,” her father snapped, and Lacey jerked back, blinking back tears that wanted to rise.  He’d told her not to come back, but—

“Dad—” she started, only to be cut off.

“Unless you’ve decided to come to your senses and get rid of the brat?”

“ _What?_ ” Lacey gasped, a sudden surge of fury quashing the desire to cry.  She snarled: “That’s your granddaughter you’re talking about.”

“Your brat is no relation of mine,” Moe retorted.  “You had a good life, Lacey.  Tony would have married you and given you a respectable name, but instead you had to ruin everything, didn’t you?  All because you couldn’t keep your legs shut.”

She’d had enough.  All Lacey wanted was her father to act like he once did, to love her and understand her.  Instead he berated her and told her she was a whore.  “I never wanted to marry Tony,” she snapped.  “ _You_ just wanted his father’s money to cover up your gambling debts, and he wouldn’t give you a cent when I sent his precious boy packing.”

Her father went bright red, and for a moment, Lacey thought he might hit her.  But Moe hadn’t done that often, save for the legendary walloping he’d delivered when she’d told him that she was pregnant.  She’d gone to him frightened and in tears, and Moe had just been worried how his business associates would react to him finding out that his daughter was about to become an unwed mother.  When he’d told her to leave, Lacey had been more than willing to do so, particularly since her father never apologized for what he’d said and done that night.  She’d been willing to let it go, to patch things up with him…but he wasn’t worth it.

“You brought shame down on your family,” Moe said defensively, and Lacey rolled her eyes.

“I thought you said that I wasn’t your family,” she retorted.  “And Renee has no problems at all with me.  _She’s_ my family.”  She shook her head sadly, feeling grief war with anger and knowing she’d have a good cry later.  “I don’t know why I tried to talk to you.  Forget it.  You’re not worth it.”

Lacey spun and walked away before her father could say another word, her head held high and refusing to look back.  She’d never stop loving her father, but until he decided to act decently towards her, she was done with him.  Let him make the first move next time.  Lacey was through working to get close to someone who didn’t give a damn about her.

* * *

 

_3 ½ Years Before the Curse_

“Do you think we should tell Papa?” Belle asked, looking at where her right hand lay on her stomach.  She wasn’t showing yet, but she’d missed two months in a row, and Rumplestiltskin’s magic had confirmed the truth for them just a week earlier.  She was pregnant.  They were going to have a _child._   Solid proof of their love was growing in her belly, and Belle was almost beside herself with excitement.

Had someone asked her a year earlier if she would have been excited to be with child, Belle would have responded pragmatically.  Back then, she would have expected that any child she carried would be Gaston’s, and that she would by now be safely married to the knight and expected to act as his broodmare.  She would never have believed someone if they’d told her she would now be married to her True Love and carrying _his_ child; in fact, Belle would have told that person they were crazy and that her life was already mapped out.  She’d accepted her fate, after all, even if she had jumped at an opportunity to escape the drudgery of being Gaston’s properly adoring broodmare.  Go with a monster and save her people, even if it ruined her prospects and carried with it a potential of death?  Belle was glad for the opportunity if it let her escape the perfectly proper life her father had scripted for her.

When the beast turned out to be less a monster and more a man—despite his outer looks—Belle had been delighted.  Getting to know Rumplestiltskin had been slow and tricky, but he was worth the work.  Now they were married, and if Belle’s math was right, this miracle child in her belly had been conceived sometime around their magical wedding in Amorveria.  She didn’t know, and didn’t care, if the child had been conceived there or here in the Dark Castle.  Belle loved both of Rumplestiltskin’s forms, human and Dark One both, and she was just happy to be with him, even when the infuriating man did things like doubt himself.

Fortunately, at the moment, _Rumplestiltskin_ was not the man who worried her.  And her husband was sitting next to her on the couch, his hand lying on top of hers.  She didn’t care if he had blackened claws instead of human nails, or that his hands shimmered goldly and were slightly scaled.  Rumplestiltskin was _hers_ , and he was exactly what she needed right now: a shoulder to lean on when her hopes were being dashed.

“That’s….that’s up to you, sweetheart,” her husband answered her question softly.

“He still hasn’t responded to my last letter,” Belle replied sadly.  “For the fifth time.”

“I know.”

Her father had been ignoring every message Belle sent since before their marriage, and having him ignore her hurt worse than Belle could ever have imagined.  She’d always known that her father loved her, even if Sir Maurice had never _understood_ her very well.  Still, he’d always been there for her, and she knew that he’d argued so strongly against her coming with Rumplestiltskin because he loved her.  Belle had thought he’d be against the idea of them marrying, and had braced herself for his anger…but she had never imagined that Maurice would just ignore her instead of saying a word in return.

It had made her cry more than once.  Now she was only sad—and angry, too, but mostly sad that her father had apparently decided to cut her out of his life without even talking to her.  Without even _writing_ her.  He didn’t even have the decency to tell her that he was doing it; Belle learned through his lack of responses.  _I thought I knew Papa better than that,_ she thought dejectedly, and then glanced up at Rumplestiltskin with eyes that started to fill with tears again.

“Oh, sweetheart,” her love whispered, and before Belle knew what was happening, he’d pulled her into his arms.    “I’m sorry.  If it wasn’t me you married—”

“Shut up,” she cut him off, her voice muffled in his shoulder.  Squeezing her eyes shut didn’t stop a few tears from leaking out, and Rumplestiltskin’s silk shirt would suffer for that, but neither of them really noticed.  “It’s not your fault.”

“Belle, I know what I am,” Rumplestiltskin objected, sounding both annoyed and resigned.  “If you’d married anyone other than a monster, your father would not be acting like this.”

“I don’t care,” she replied stubbornly.  “I love you.  If Papa can’t accept that, that’s his problem.”

“I could—”

“No,” Belle cut him off again, not even wanting to know what Rumplestiltskin was going to volunteer to do.  She straightened to look her husband in the eye. “Promise me you won’t turn my father into anything.  Or _do_ anything to him.  Please.”

At least he had the grace to look a little abashed.  “Of course I won’t.  I promise.” 

“Good.”  Squaring her shoulders bravely, Belle swallowed back her grief.  “My family is here,” she told Rumplestiltskin, glancing significantly at her stomach once more.  “Papa will come around, and if he doesn’t”—her voice tried to crack, but she fought it back—“I made my choice.”

Later, it would occur to Belle that she’d never asked Rumplestiltskin to promise not to _talk_ to her father, but by then it was too late.  Her husband was very specific in the promises he made, and while Belle could count on him not killing her father (even if that was a loophole she’d inadvertently left him), she’d never specified that Rumplestiltskin was not to scare Maurice.  Protective as he was, Rumplestiltskin was bound to do _something_ , and by the time he fessed up to it, the damage was done. 

* * *

 

He’d seen the two of them talk, and had seen Lacey march away with her head held high.  It took all of Rumplestiltskin’s self-control not to stalk over and tell his father-in-law what he thought of him, but he’d done that before and the fool hadn’t gotten the message then, either.  Moe French was a cold-hearted bastard who ignored his daughter and granddaughter.  At least Sir Maurice had wanted his daughter back, even if he had not wanted to respect her choices.  Rumplestiltskin had never thought that he could respect someone lessthan he respected Maurice, but Moe French had thoroughly accomplished that.  How _anyone_ could ever live with themselves for abandoning their own child was a mystery to him.  Letting Bae go had been the worst decision Rumplestiltskin had ever made, and he hated himself every day for not being there for Gabi.

 _Renee,_ he told himself firmly, watching Lacey’s back and aching to go to her.  But he couldn’t, not in public.  Not for either one of them.  _Your daughter doesn’t know you are her father, not here, and she’s_ safer _that way._  

Yet he still felt like he was abandoning them both, and it burned.

* * *

 

_3 ½ Years Before the Curse_

“She deserves better, you know,” Rumplestiltskin said, barely able to keep the acid out of his voice.

He had stood silently in the shadows as Maurice took Belle’s newest letter—the sixth—out of the box they had sent with Gaston and burned it unread.   The fool had probably tried to put the box in the fire when it showed up, not understanding that Rumplestiltskin had enchanted it to be proof against such things.  So now it sat on a bookshelf in the fool’s presence chamber, gathering dust until Maurice removed every letter soon after it arrived.

Rumplestiltskin was rather gratified to see that Maurice jumped, went stark white, and then spun to face him.  Belle might frown at him frightening her father, but the bastard deserved every bit of fear Rumplestiltskin could instill in him.  The larger man looked utterly shocked to find the Dark One in his private chambers, and the knight’s eyes darted wildly around the room, searching for a weapon before he seemed to realize that going for one would be utterly useless.  For his part, Rumplestiltskin just danced away from the wall, light on his feet and his posture all the more threatening because he didn’t _have_ to act overtly dangerous.

“What have you done to my Belle?” Sir Maurice demanded.

The fool had courage.  Rumplestiltskin had to give him that.  Most fathers would have written their daughters off the moment the Dark One swept them away, but Maurice had sent Gaston to save her, and had tried to say no to Rumplestiltskin’s demand.  Most fathers crumbled far more quickly than Maurice had, sending the wailing daughters off to be maids for the Dark One and forgetting them soon after.

Rumplestiltskin had plenty of experience with the type.  He’d bargained for more than one maid over the centuries, and although he hadn’t murdered most of them, or even driven most insane (that was just the once, and the girl really did have it coming), he found that their families never wanted them back.  No, they were considered contaminated or dead, and he sent most of them off under better circumstances than they’d arrived after he tired of them.  None of them had been anything like Belle, of course, but he’d not mistreated all of them.  Or even most.  He’d certainly never despoiled any of them!  Not that it had mattered to their families.  Thinking of that only stoked his temper; having had a family and lost it, Rumplestiltskin would never be able to understand how some men viewed their wives and children as possessions.

“I?” he asked sharply.  “ _I_ am not the one who has refused to even _read_ her letters.  I think, dearie, that it’s you who’s doing the damage, not I.”

Maurice had the decency to flinch slightly at that.  “I read the first one,” the knight said with Belle’s courage.  “I saw how you enchanted her.  I’m not going to read things that I know you have forced her to write.”

“Forced?”  Somehow, that possibility had never occurred to Rumplestiltskin, and he hoped that it had never occurred to Belle, either.  The entire concept took him by surprise.  Why would he have forced her to write anything, even if she was only his maid?

“My Belle would never fall for a beast like you,” Maurice spat.

“Then you never knew her very well at all, now, did you?” Rumplestiltskin retorted before he could stop himself, giggling nastily, with the dark voice of his curse only egging him on.  _Tell him how you deflowered his daughter.  Tell him how she cried your name._   Shoving that aside, he grinned, all rotten teeth and victory: “I never _needed_ to enchant her.”

 _All I needed to do was fall in love_ , he thought, but he’d never admit that.  Not with the look on Maurice’s face.

“My poor girl,” the knight breathed, and the curse cackled within Rumplestiltskin.  With an effort, he brought it under control.

“Indeed, your ‘poor girl’,” he snarled.  “Poor in that her father ignores her and will not respond to even her most heartfelt entreaties.  _Poor_ in that she wishes for her father to know of her happiness, and he spits in her face by turning his back on her, even when she saved his miserable life.”

“I am not—” Maurice started, but Rumplestiltskin cut him off.

“You made her cry, _Sir Maurice_ ,” he said, his voice high and mocking.  “I’m of a mind to kill you for that alone.”

“Begone, demon, and torment me no more,” was the response, and if Rumplestiltskin had not been able to detect conflict on Maurice’s face, he would have killed him then and there. Yet the next words did not help him rein in his temper.  “We will honor Belle’s memory and her sacrifice as she would want us to honor them.  I will not sully her memory with your foul words or fouler deeds.”

Rumplestiltskin gaped.  “You speak of her as if she were dead.”

“I am sure that she will be when you are through with her,” Maurice said sadly.  “I have grieved for my daughter already.  Why must you mock me?”

He had promised Belle—oh, so long ago—that her friends and family would be safe.  Surely that covered this cretin, but Rumplestiltskin’s temper, never mind that of the curse, was raging so strongly that he had to remind himself of this.  Repeatedly.  He had come here to try to get Maurice to respond to Belle’s letters, because Belle _loved_ this fool, and this was what he got in response?  Maurice did not deserve Belle’s affection.

“Mock you?” he demanded in a snarl.  “If I were mocking you, dear, you would know it.”

Quickly, Rumplestiltskin closed the distance between them, and was gratified to see the much larger man cringe away from him.  He had never been tall, but as the Dark One, he did not need to be. 

“I came here,” he continued very slowly, doggedly holding back his desire to squash this fool like the bug he was, “because _Belle_ misses you.  But she deserves better than to know that you think of her as tainted and dead.”

He spat the last words with enough fury that a wind was starting to whip around the room, making tapestries lift off of the walls and the windows shake in their mountings.  But Rumplestiltskin did not care.

“How could I not, with what you must have done to her?”

If that was genuine pain on Maurice’s face, Rumplestiltskin was too angry to notice it.

“She is my wife!” he thundered.

“Call it what you will,” Maurice replied brokenly.  “But I know my daughter would never willingly consent to such an unholy match, and I shudder to think of what you have done to her.”

The image of a father grieving for his child—whom he was undoubtedly imagining hurt and abused—was enough to douse the worst of Rumplestiltskin’s rage.

“I am not that kind of monster,” he said quietly, but even as the words came out, he knew Maurice would never believe him.

Rumplestiltskin did not wait for a response; instead, he vanished in a swirl of golden smoke.  The color made him think of the dress Belle had worn the day they first met, but it gave him no comfort.  _That is what you get for trying to reason with fools,_ his curse whispered in his mind.  _Do not care what they think.  They are beneath you._   Usually, Rumplestiltskin knew better than to listen to that voice, knew better than to give in to it.  But in this case, he rather thought he agreed with his curse.  They were _all_ beneath him.  All except Belle.

* * *

 

“Can I buy you that drink now, love?”

Killian had to raise his voice to be heard over the din inside Granny’s; it seemed like half the town was packed in there to celebrate. Of course, had Keith Law—despicable lowlife that he was—won the race for sheriff, the party would have been at the Rabbit Hole and probably would have involved ladies of ill repute, but Killian tried not to let his disappointment show.  Although that party might have been wilder and far more entertaining, it would not help him accomplish his goals.  So, he had to make do with what he had.

Given how furious Cora was going to be over being thwarted like this, he rather figured that he needed all the points in his favor that he could get.  Cora had told him a week earlier than Emma Swan was the one who could break her precious little curse, and ordered Killian to continue working to get in her good graces.  On one hand, he was happy to do so.   Miss Swan was a rather lovely looking lass, and Killian had always possessed an eye for beauty.  On the other, if Storybrooke’s new sheriff actually succeeded in breaking the curse, it would not do to get on the bad side of the new power in town.  Killian was a pirate, after all, and pirates sailed with the wind.  He wasn’t prepared to abandon Cora yet; doing so would be dangerous at best and fatal at worst, but Killian believed in keeping his options open.  Getting on Emma’s good side—or perhaps somewhere more intimate—would serve both of his purposes.

For now, however, he would continue to do as the queen bid.  She was far too tricky and too powerful to cross.  He would just have to time his advances properly and make sure that the Savior never knew of his other allegiances.  Getting in her good graces would ensure he was able to swap sides if he needed to, and if he could make the lass fall in love with him, so much the better.  He could spend his energies on far worse pursuits.

His friendly question was rewarded with a smile.  “Sure.  Although I think that’s ‘Sheriff’ now, and not ‘love’,” Emma pointed out cockily.

“Ah, what are titles between friends?” Killian grinned.  He had always liked confidence in a woman. 

“Is that what we are?” she countered quickly, her wits obviously not dulled at all by the empty glass in front of her.

“Of course,” he replied, waving Ruby over with his right hand.  Even though he’d woken up in Storybrooke with two working hands, the left one never quite felt right.  He knew that it was Cora’s doing, and Killian was not fool enough to trust such a gift, particularly when he’d never been told the price.  “Bring me your finest whiskey and give our good Sheriff another of whatever she is drinking!”

Ruby grinned back at him. “Coming right up,” she said with a saucy wink.

Killian returned it.  Now _that_ lass was a handful, and one he’d enjoyed on several occasions.  Ruby—whoever she was back home—wasn’t looking for attachments any more than he was, and that meant their times together were always enjoyable.  _Pay attention, mate!_ he scolded himself.    _Keep your eye on the target!_

While he’d been distracted, Emma had turned back to her roommate, that dumpy schoolteacher who Cora always wanted him to keep an eye on.  She’d ordered him to seduce Mary Margaret boring Blanchard early in their days, and Killian had worked at that task until the stalker whom Cora had cursed into obsessing over the little teacher had tried to run him off.  Then he’d cut his losses and Cora had been satisfied enough, although Killian had not enjoyed the experience.  So, now he leaned in between the pair, knowing that Mary Margaret would shift away to give him space so that he could smile at Swan.

“I hear it was quite the landslide victory,” he said to her, meeting her eyes as Emma turned to look at him.  Ruby delivered the drinks just in time, and he raised his to her.  “My congratulations.”

“Thank you, Killian,” the pretty blonde replied.  “I do appreciate the help, whatever you did.”

“I’m sure my humble contribution was hardly required at all,” he said modestly.  Truth be told, it hadn’t been.  The discovery of the asylum had done the trick, and Killian was almost annoyed by that.  He’d wanted Swan to be further in his debt than she now was.  “Though I was glad to do my part.”

“I won’t forget it,” Emma promised, and Killian resisted the urge to tell her that he’d make sure of that.

Instead, he straightened, drink in hand and raising it to the other patrons pitching his voice so that he could be heard over the crowd.  “I’d like to propose a toast!” he shouted.  “To our new Sheriff Swan!”

“Sheriff Swan!” damn near a hundred voices echoed, and Killian met Emma’s eyes before he knocked back his drink in one gulp.  She matched his motion—was she _also_ drinking liquor instead of beer?  If so, he was fascinated already—and Killian wiggled his eyebrows at her, just enough to make her giggle.

Then, slamming his glass down on the bar, he offered her a half bow (the most a man could get away with in this world), and strode out of the diner.  _Know when to draw back and make them chase you,_ his brother had always told him, and Killian had distilled seduction into a fine art over the years.  He permitted himself one small glance over his shoulder, just to show Swan that he was interested, and sure enough, she was still watching him and smiling.

Yes, this would work out nicely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Emma is sheriff, and Snow and Charming always seem to have a blow to the head involved somewhere in their relationship. Do tell me what you think of this chapter, particularly if you think Cora will make good on her threat to Henry and what she'll do.
> 
> Next up: Chapter Twenty: “The Price of Victory,” where Emma and Cora have another spat, Cora continues to manipulate Hook, and the Evil Queen hatches a nasty plan. Back in the past, Cora finds Regina while she, Snow, and Charming are on the run and everything starts to go wrong.


	20. The Price of Victory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cheat sheet of characters who lacked cursed names in the show but have them here is located right [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2582528).

The morning after the elections found Emma with a screaming headache.  She should have known that staying out and celebrating that much would be a bad idea, but she’d been so happy.  It wasn’t just that she’d stuck one to Cora and won the damn election that the overbearing mayor had been determined to see her lose; it was that she’d been able to show Henry that good could win sometimes.  He’d been so down about Graham’s accident, but the double whammy of finding the asylum and Emma’s election had cheered him right up.  Watching Henry celebrate—even before he got sent home and to bed—had made Emma’s night, and she’d stayed up late at Granny’s, teasing Mary Margaret into enjoying herself, too.  She’d decided the price was worth paying the next morning, and Emma didn’t quite disagree with herself now that the day had arrived.

So, she pushed through the miserable morning and made it into the afternoon.  Even more importantly, Emma had made sure to have the sheriff’s station open on time; she wasn’t going to give Cora any excuses to complain about her conduct.  Hungover or not, Emma was behind her desk fifteen minutes early, sorting through the mess of paperwork that had only grown since the last time she’d been here.  Keith, on the other hand, was predictably late…and even more hungover than Emma.

She thought about sending her deputy home (and what an odd thought that was; Keith worked for _her_ now).  Emma wasn’t entirely sure that Keith wasn’t actually still drunk, but she resisted the urge to kick him out, instead telling him to take a walk before he did something stupid.  She also took his car keys, which made Keith downright furious, but the idiot was well known in town for driving under the influence, and Emma was not about to let that happen on her watch.  Graham had struggled to control Keith because he’d been too nice, but Emma had no problems embracing her inner bitch when the situation called for it.  Her actions prompted a vicious tirade of insults from Keith, during which he told Emma she shouldn’t get so comfortable in her new job, lest vaguely terrible things happen.  But that just made Emma laugh. She’d been threatened by far more frightening people in her life, and Keith just wasn’t that scary.

Keith stormed out, which left her with an hour or so of blissful quiet to try to make sense out of Graham’s nonexistent filing system.  Then Mary Margaret dropped by for an early lunch, followed none too subtly by Jefferson, who peeled off when the new sheriff gave him a hard look.  By then, Emma had mostly beaten her headache into submission with coffee, water, and some painkillers, so she was happy for the company—provided her roommate left the stalker outside.  So, they had a pleasant lunch before Mary Margaret headed back to school, and Emma settled in to dig further into the mess.  She didn’t get far, however, before then the stream of well-wishers began.  Ten or fifteen people dropped by to congratulate her in the next few hours, from Ruby to David Nolan to Ashley Boyd (with baby Alexandra in tow).  Emma was grateful for the attention even if it left her a little worn out; it was nice to know that this odd little town really had embraced her.  She was starting to feel at home for the first time ever, and that was surprisingly…nice.

By the time Henry showed up after school, though, she was kind of glad that he wasn’t another well-meaning friend.

“Everyone at school is so excited,” he told her happily.  “Things are changing!  You won!”

His enthusiasm was hard not to catch, even with the dull roar still echoing between her ears, and Emma smiled.  “I’ve still got a lot of work to do, kid.  Graham left a lot of paperwork half-finished, and Keith didn’t do any of it.  I think this place is in worse shape than it was when I got fired.”

“You’ll fix it,” he replied sunnily.  “I know you will.  And I know that my grandmother can’t bully you into arresting people for no reason, either.”

“No, she can’t,” Emma grimaced.  _Unlike Graham, apparently._   She had known things in Storybrooke were weird, but that last bit had come as a very unwelcome surprise.

It had started, of course, with the _Daily Mirror_.  Sidney had gotten himself another blockbuster headline: an exclusive interview with Michael Tillman, who told a harrowing story of having been arrested without any charges ever being filed, and then locked away for years.  Frighteningly enough, _Graham_ had been the one who brought Tillman to the asylum, but since the old sheriff was still in a coma, he couldn’t tell anyone who had put him up to that.  But everyone knew that it had to have been Cora, even if Sidney had been extremely careful not to even imply that within the article.

“You’re bringing back the happy endings,” Henry told her more seriously.  “Ava and Nicholas are going to move in with their dad next week, right after he finds an apartment.”

Skeptical about the curse or not, Emma had to smile.  “That’s great news.”

“Yes, it is wonderful to hear that two innocent children are being given to an unstable former prisoner,” a new voice said acidly, making Emma’s head snap around.

“Madam Mayor,” she said icily, rising.

Emma hadn’t heard Cora come in, and judging from his expression, Henry hadn’t, either.  But she met the mayor’s eyes levelly; Emma was not about to let Cora intimidate her.  This woman had _far_ more power than any small town mayor should, and now Emma was the sheriff.  Protecting the people of Storybrooke was her job, and Emma was starting to think that they needed protecting from Cora Mills far more than they needed saving from some curse Henry had found in a book.  Cora, however, was smiling.

“You should investigate that, Sheriff,” she said sweetly.  “It would be terrible if something happened to those poor children.”

Henry bristled at her right, but Emma got in before the kid could say something they’d both regret.

“Yeah, it would, wouldn’t it?” She gave the mayor a hard look.

Cora’s smug expression never wavered.  “I know the new job is a little overwhelming, Miss Swan, but I’m here to help.  I’ll be glad to give you a list of the priorities that I want you to focus on.”

“I bet you would,” Emma snorted, and then smiled back nastily.  “I’ll take it under advisement.”

“You’ll do more than that, _Sheriff,_ ” Cora snapped, her eyes flashing dangerously.  “You’ll do as I say.”

“She doesn’t work for you,” Henry got in before Emma could answer, and Cora turned her glare on her grandson.

“Stay out of adult conversations, Henry,” the mayor said imperiously, and Emma watched the boy’s hackles go up.  “This concerns matters that you are too young to understand.”

“I’m not too young to see what you’re doing,” Henry objected angrily.  “You’re trying to manipulate Emma like you manipulated Graham, but it’s not going to happen.  _She_ won’t let you control her.”

“Henry—” Emma tried to get a word in to stop the idealistic ten year old from saying anything more, but Cora overrode her.

“Go home to your mother,” she ordered.  “I think our new sheriff is a bad influence on you.”

“Nothing like _you_ are,” the boy retorted bitterly, reaching for his bag.  He clearly knew better than to cross his adopted grandmother too far, though, because he started shoving his schoolwork into the bag with angry motions, glaring mutinously at Cora while he did so.  

“That’s quite enough out of you, young man,” Cora snapped.  “Go home.  Now.”

“I’m going,” Henry muttered, and then stormed out, slamming the door behind himself.  Emma watched him go with surprise—she’d never seen the kid like this—and waited for the inevitable explosion to come.

Cora, however, turned to her very coldly and calmly.  “Stay away from my grandson, Miss Swan.  I won’t tell you that again.”

_The hell I will._

“That’s not up to you,” was what Emma replied, and it was a lot nicer than what she wanted to say.  After all, it wasn’t like a restraining order would work this time around.  Henry’s parents would have to sign off on that, and Emma was sure they wouldn’t.

“You’ll see that it is,” Cora retorted, her eyes flashing as she strode out.

Emma watched her leave, too, shaking her head and sighing to herself.  Hadn’t Cora figured her out at all yet?  The more the mayor tried to order Emma to stay away from Henry, the more Emma wanted to stick around.  Regina and David were good parents, but David was a doormat and Cora had _some_ hold over Regina that made her daughter back down when Cora pushed just right.  Emma didn’t know how Cora managed that, but it worried her.  It worried her most for the kid who’d steadily been creeping his way into her heart, but Emma was concerned for Regina, too.  Regina had somehow become a friend, and Emma knew something was going on here.

One way or another, she’d get to the bottom of this.

* * *

 

_5 Years Before the Curse_

They’d ridden hard for hours, but horses could only last so long before taking a break.  Regina supposed that there was some spell that would extend their stamina, but she didn’t know it and figured such magic would come at a price she might not be willing to pay.  At any rate, although Snow and James were almost as expert riders as she was (Regina had taught Snow herself, years earlier), all three of them were as ready to slow down as their horses were after several hours on the run.  Regina was something of an expert on running from her mother at this point, and she knew that distance was everything.  The further away from Cora they got, the harder it would be for Cora to use magic to track them.  Regina would compound matters soon by going back to the palace so that Cora didn’t know she’d been involved, but first she had to make sure Snow and James were safe.

Dismounting, Regina turned to look at her sister and her sister’s prince.  Whatever change of personality Prince James had experienced, it had clearly worked out well for him; the prince helped Snow down from her horse with a smile, and Regina recognized the look in his eyes.  _It’s the way I used to look at Daniel._   Pain tightened like a fist around Regina’s heart; it was the way she would _still_ look at Daniel if only she could see him.  She’d wanted so badly to sneak down and warn him that she was going to do something her mother would hate, but Regina hadn’t dared.  Cora monitored Daniel’s cell far more closely than she did Snow’s, and she would have noticed Regina whispering secrets.  So, Regina had to embark on this rescue mission without so much as seeing her True Love, and that made watching Snow and James together burn.

She didn’t begrudge Snow her love.  Falling in love was absolutely magical, and her baby sister deserved that, particularly after how rough the last few years of her life had been.  But it did make Regina miss Daniel more than ever before.  Just watching the pair smile with glowing eyes and trade secret glances was…wonderfully painful. 

“You really are rather charming, aren’t you?” Snow laughed.

“I try,” he replied, smiling back.

“Why did you come?” Snow asked suddenly.  “I know why Regina came, but why did you?  If Cora finds out, she’ll threaten war against your kingdom.”

“You know why I came,” the prince answered softly, and Regina had to turn away.

“I’m going to go look for some water for the horses,” she declared, unable to watch the pair falling in love like that.  Regina didn’t begrudge Snow her love, but that didn’t mean she wanted to stick around to watch.  Not right now.

She’d barely made it three steps before Snow ran to catch up with her, calling:  “Regina, wait!”

“For what?  I don’t think you two need a chaperone,” she smiled, turning to look at her little sister.

Snow actually blushed.  “Well, no, but can’t I say thank you?”

“You’d never have to,” Regina replied seriously, wrapping her free arm around Snow’s shoulders.  “You’d do the same for me.”

“In a heartbeat,” Snow confirmed, and the sisters hugged. 

“Now, go romance your prince,” Regina said in a teasing tone.  “This one seems to be worth the work, and besides, you deserve some happiness after everything that’s happened.”

“So do you.”  Snow’s eyes went sad, and Regina had to swallow back her pain.

“Well, some of us get there faster than others, I guess,” she said around the lump in her throat.

Snow squeezed her around the waist one last time.  “Things will work out for you.  I know it.”

“You’re such an optimist,” Regina grumbled good-naturedly.  “You drive me insane, you know that?”

“Of course I do.”

Regina shoved her away playfully.  “Go to your prince.  I’ll go find water for the horses and use magic to cover our trail.”

“Do you think Queen Cora can track us?” James asked as Regina and Snow both turned back towards him.  “I know you said that teleporting away would give us a head start, but if she can follow us, anyway…”

“I won’t lie to you,” Regina said bluntly.  “My mother is powerful and knowledgeable.  If anyone _can_ track us, it’s her, but I’ll do everything I can to keep her from finding you.  I’ll even see if I can’t teleport you further towards your kingdom before I go home.”

“You’re going back?” James echoed in surprise, but Snow only looked resigned.  Snow knew Regina, and they both knew what she had to.

“It’s the best way to distract her.”

“Will you be safe doing that?” the prince asked next, making Regina blink.  _Where_ did _George’s arrogant and self-centered son go?  He’s completely different now,_ she thought to herself.  This was hardly the time to ask what had made James change so much, but she was still curious.  Being concerned for others hadn’t seemed to be Prince James’ strong suit the first few times Regina and Snow had met him, although he appeared perfectly sincere today.

Regina shrugged as casually as she could.  “I’ll be fine.  But…speaking of things happening, if you _do_ need help when I can’t be here, call on Rumplestiltskin.”

“The Dark One?” James asked immediately, and Regina felt her eyebrows go up in surprise.  She hadn’t expected George’s son to know of him at all.

“Yes,” she replied.  “He’s…well, something of a friend.  But he enjoys tweaking Mother’s tail, and he’s the only person I know who doesn’t fear her at all.  He’ll make you pay a price for it, but if you need help, he can do it.”

“Right.” Snow nodded decisively.  “Okay.  You do what you have to, Regina, so we can keep moving.”

Nodding, Regina led her borrowed horse deeper into the woods.  She didn’t dislike the black gelding that they’d rented from a post house, but he wasn’t _her_ horse and she missed her own Lightning.  But it had been easier to have horses waiting in the predetermined location than to try to teleport herself, James, Snow _and_ three horses, so she had to make do.  Besides, it didn’t matter.  She’d be leaving this horse with Snow and James as a spare when she teleported herself back to the palace, so not getting attached was probably a good idea.

A flick of her hand and a moment’s concentration sent a spell racing out a head of her; Regina wasn’t an expert at using magic to find things, by any means, but locating water should be fairly simple.  The gelding jerked up short a step, staring at her with wide brown eyes, and Regina had to stop to soothe him.  The poor horse obviously wasn’t used to magic, and she supposed she couldn’t blame him.  Post horses didn’t usually carry sorceresses around, after all, and Regina took a few moments to calm the spooked gelding down.  After doing so, she continued leading him through the trees, following the slight glowing trail that her spell left behind.  _I used to hate magic,_ she reflected as she walked.  _And now look at me. I even think of myself as a sorceress._ The world was full of ironies, she supposed, but after watching her mother use magic to hurt people for so many years, Regina was growing even more determined to use it to _help_ people.  People like Snow, who had suffered because her mother hated Snow’s mother for some reason that hadn’t mattered in decades.

“There you are, darling,” that hated voice purred, making Regina stumble and then whirl in surprise. “I was getting _so_ worried.”

“Mother?” she yelped without meaning to, and the black gelding jerked his head away from her as magic filled the area around them, boxing Regina in and keeping her from teleporting away.

“Of course.  Were you expecting someone else?”

“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” she tried to say without showing her worry. Was Snow okay?  Had her mother already sent people after her?  Regina had no way to know, but if she could keep Cora busy, maybe Snow and James could escape.  “I was just out for a ride—”

“Don’t lie to me, Regina,” Cora cut her off, sounding far less angry than Regina had expected.  In fact, her tone was almost conversational.  “You know what a terrible idea that is.”

“I wasn’t,” she tried to object, but it sounded weak even to Regina’s ears.

Cora gave her a hard look, and Regina could read the danger in her mother’s dark eyes.  “I would be heartbroken if you tried to leave, sweetheart.  After all, I’m not the only one waiting at home for you.”

“No one’s waiting for me.  You’ve seen to that,” Regina snapped before she could stop herself.

“Is that so?” Cora cocked her head, but it was her slight smile that sent an ominous chill down Regina’s spine.  Before she could say a word—before she could contemplate apologizing, groveling, or starting a fight—Cora waved her right hand, and Daniel appeared in a swirl of purple smoke. 

Squinting in the sunlight, Daniel staggered slightly, looking shocked to be outside his cell for the first time in ten years.  But his eyes found Regina almost immediately, and they were barely ten feet apart.  For the first time in a decade, there was nothing between them: no bars, no chains, and nothing to hold them apart.  Regina wasn’t sure if she moved first or Daniel did, but two steps later, they threw themselves into the others’ arms.  Every envious thought Regina had for her younger sister and James vanished; she was holding onto Daniel, and for that one short moment, everything was perfect.  Daniel was there, he was real, and she was never going to let go of him again.  Their kiss was as inevitable as it was powerful, and for the first time, Regina felt power rushing through her bones. 

 _True Love is the most powerful magic of all,_ Rumplestiltskin had taught her, and Regina could _feel_ it now.  Magic reared to life within her, glowing and powerful and perfect.  Its power made a wonderful chill run through her, and for one short moment, everything was perfect and Regina could believe that everything might just turn out all right.  She had never been powerful enough, never enough in tune with magic, to feel this sheer _love_ sweeping through her, but the longer she held onto Daniel, the stronger it got.

“I love you,” she whispered, cradling Daniel’s face in her hands and smiling so hard that her face hurt.

She could hear joy in his laugh, the first joy she had heard from her True Love since Cora had locked him away.  His eyes were shining.  “I love you, too.”

Daniel leaned in to rest his forehead against hers, and Regina had forgotten how wonderful this was.  The world seemed unimportant; even her mother’s presence could not dim her happiness.  Regina didn’t know why Cora had chosen to free Daniel like this, but at the moment she couldn’t care.  She had missed him so much, missed him like a lost limb, like the other half of her heart.  Their stolen moments were not enough, but this, _this_ was real.  This was everything she had ever dreamed of, this was the life that Cora had torn away from her ten years earlier.  This was what she needed, what Regina had told herself she could no longer have…and yet here she was, wrapped in Daniel’s arms and feeling whole for the first time in forever.

“That’s quite enough,” Cora said sharply, but Regina ignored her mother.

“You look terrible,” she whispered, finally focusing on how pale and thin Daniel’s face was.  It was always hard to make out the finer points of his features while down in the dungeons, and he truly looked awful.  Not that she cared.  Regina felt herself go red as Daniel let out a short laugh.  “I mean—not in a bad way.  Just that you look, um, pale and—”

“You look beautiful,” Daniel cut her off, and they kissed again. 

Power sizzled through Regina’s veins, until suddenly her lips met air.  Off balance, Regina stumbled, almost toppling forward until she caught herself, whirling to face her mother as the swirl of purple magic dissipated.  Daniel had been swept away from her and deposited on his knees a few feet behind her mother.

“Mother!” Regina cried, her hands still grasping at empty air.

Cora cocked her head at her, her lips pursed primly.  “Yes, dear?”

“Why are you doing this?” Regina demanded, starting forward, only to run into an invisible wall. 

She struggled pointlessly for several seconds before remembering her training, and Regina forced herself to stop and take a deep breath.    _You could be more powerful than your mother, if only you would let yourself,_ Rumplestiltskin had told her more than once.  Overall, Regina preferred using brute force to subtlety, but she _did_ know how to unravel spells.  And this one wasn’t particularly hard; a moment’s concentration showed Regina that it was hastily put together, the product of a spell book instead of a sorcerer’s own mind.  Cora often used such spells because the price was less, her daughter knew, but the book was a crutch.  A shortcut.  Just like her mother, Regina had been taught to do better than that—so she focused, reached out with her hands, and _pulled_ the appropriate threads of magic.

The holding spell fell apart around her, and Regina rushed to Daniel’s side, shoving past her mother as Cora let out a soft exclamation of surprise.  Dropping to her knees at Daniel’s side, Regina reached out to touch his face with one hand and grabbed his left hand with the other.  “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” her love replied, sounding a little breathless.

“Rumple _is_ teaching you well, isn’t he?” Cora purred, turning to face them.  It was amazing how her mother could look like everything was going her way, even when her spell had just been deconstructed by her daughter.  But Cora still looked the perfect part of the queen, and the crowd on her head was not even slightly askew.

Regina glared.  “You have no idea.”

“Oh, darling, I’m so proud of you.  You’re turning into quite the sorceress,” was the too-sweet reply.  Then Cora’s voice dropped dangerously.  “Although it seems as if I will have to impart a few lessons of my own.”

Magic raced out, brilliant black and purple twisting together, a pair of dark spells that tore the lovers apart and smashed Regina into the ground on her side.  Crying out, she wasted precious moments pushing the magic aside, only to realize that most of the hurtful, hateful magic had not been aimed at her.  Even as she struggled to her feet, with her head spinning and her heart pounding, she realized that Daniel had been yanked six feet into the air.  She reached for his ankle—it was all she could get to—but a second explosion of power shoved her backwards, and Regina barely stayed on her feet. 

Daniel screamed in pain.

 _“Mother!_ ” Regina howled.  “Stop this!  Please!”

Cora waved a hand to silence Daniel, but the pain was still evident on his drawn and pale face.  “Stop what, dear?  Teaching you a lesson?”

“I know you’re angry with me, but _please_ ,” she begged.  “Don’t hurt Daniel.  It’s not his fault.”

“No, it’s your fault,” her mother replied coldly.  “And it is time you learned the price of defying me.”

“Mother—”

A second scream from Daniel cut her off, and then Cora stepped close to Regina.  Revulsion twisted up in her stomach, making her feel sick—she couldn’t keep her eyes off of Daniel—but she didn’t back away.  Instinct told Regina that doing so would only make things worse.  Another flick of Cora’s fingers silenced the former stable boy, while her other hand reached out to take Regina by the chin, forcing her head around so that she faced her mother.

“Now, you are welcome to go join your beloved stepsister and her foolish prince.  I will destroy them at my leisure.”  Cora shrugged.  “But if you _are_ foolish enough to choose Snow over your true family, Daniel will die for it.”

“You can’t,” Regina whispered.

“I _can_ , and I will.  Don’t test me, darling.”

Her fingers twitched, and Daniel screamed a third time.

* * *

 

“There’s a phone call for you, Captain,” his assistant said as he walked through the door, and Killian smiled.  His staff at the Magical Marina were used to his foibles, and Cyril O’Malley had demanded that they call him Captain for as long as he’d own the place—which, of course, was as long as any of them could remember.  Killian actually did act as captain for the tall ship that served as Storybrooke’s premier dinner cruise and nautical tour ship, so the title wasn’t undeserved.  _Besides, it’s not like I would have let anyone else sail the_ Jolly Roger, _even if it is just catering to tourists and couples looking for romance,_ he thought behind an affable smile.  Cora had told him more than once to be grateful that she’d let his beloved ship come through at all, but Killian still wished she’d allowed the _Jolly Roger_ a more noble purpose.

 _No pirates here in Storybrooke_ , he thought wryly, and smiled at his assistant.  She was a handsome woman, the daughter of some minor noble back home, and ‘Cyril’ had slept with her more than once.  She was adventurous and daring, just his type, and they always had fun together.  “Do I?”

“It’s the mayor.  She called five minutes ago, but she said she’d wait.”

“Well, that’s uncommonly kind of her,” Killian said with a wink, and then ducked into his private office, keeping the smile in place until he was alone. 

Sighing, Killian sat down behind his desk and took a moment to compose himself.  Whatever Cora wanted, he doubted it was just to chat.  She always had a motive, the queen did, and sometimes he regretted having tied himself to her so thoroughly.  But he’d wanted to win, and Cora was clearly the victor here, so Killian latched himself onto her rising star and rode it to the top with her.  Steeling himself, he picked up the phone and tried to sound properly subservient.  It was not a tone he wore well.

“What can I do for you, Madam Mayor?” he asked congenially.

“No good morning for me, Cyril?” He could hear her laughing on the other end.  “How terribly rude of you.”

“Ah, you just caught me at a bad moment, love,” Killian replied, hating the way she used his false first name. 

“Of course I did.”

He hated her mocking voice.  Killian hated _her,_ though, so he supposed that should not be a surprise.  Cora never called unless she wanted something, and he rather suspected that this call was not designed simply to check on his progress with the lovely sheriff.

“Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?  I do have a business to run, you realize.”

“Put your affairs on hold,” Cora commanded.  “I have a job for you.”

* * *

 

_5 Years Before the Curse_

“I can’t fight her!” 

The words were a wail; Regina had appeared, strode across the great hall, and then exploded with pain.  Rumplestiltskin had been there to greet her, of course, because he always greeted his student when she arrived.  But he had not expected this.  He didn’t exactly keep tabs on Cora or the various miseries that she’d doled out, but he did know that his former lover had forced her stepdaughter to kill her second husband.  He’d even known that before Regina came to him, full of a fiery desire to save her beloved stepsister, the one person in the world—aside from her already doomed True Love—who had shown her love and affection since her father’s death.  Regina had, predictably, saved Snow, and not too long ago if Rumplestiltskin’s instincts were correct.

That did not, however, explain her presence here.  Or now.  So, the Dark One blinked at his student, fidgeting slightly as pain and magic rolled off of Regina in waves.  He wasn’t sure what to say, or even what she was so upset about.  Oh, he could probably guess, knowing Cora as he did, but…

“Can’t fight who, dearie?” he asked, even though he knew what the answer had to be.

“My mother,” Regina sobbed, turning to face him, her arms wrapped tightly around her body and tears rolling down her face.  “She hurt Daniel to make me go back with her.”

“Did you expect she’d do something else?” The question came out before Rumplestiltskin could stop himself, and Regina flinched.

“I didn’t—I didn’t—” she stuttered, and the words cut off in a sob.  Her head dropped and Regina let go of all pretense of self-control, just breaking down and crying.

Tentatively, Rumplestiltskin stepped forward and placed a hand on her arm, finally realizing that she didn’t want someone to tell her that Cora was a terrible person or that she could have done anything differently.  Regina had just come to him because she had nowhere else to go and no one else to turn to.  That realization hit him about the same time she suddenly turned to him and buried her head in his shoulder, sobbing wildly.  And what was _he_ supposed to do with a heartbroken princess who wanted to cry her heart out on his shoulder?  He was the Dark One, not her father or… Her friend.  Yes, Rumplestiltskin supposed that he was Regina’s friend.

Awkwardly, Rumplestiltskin reached up to pat Regina on the back, listening to her sobs and wishing he knew how to offer the right kind of comfort.  But it had been years since he’d been close to anyone—the last person had been Cora—and Rumplestiltskin was so very terrible at this.  He didn’t know what to say or do, so he just patted her on the back and let her cry.

* * *

 

Cora hung up the phone, smiling.  Hook would wiggle and moan, but he would do her bidding in the end, and a plan was already forming in her mind.  The boy was a nuisance, and his birth mother even more so.  Cora prided herself on not making decisions in anger, but this one had been stewing for weeks now, ever since Miss Swan had first stood up to her and refused to leave town.  Cora was accustomed to power, and she _didn’t_ like it when people in her town disobeyed her.  But she could have dealt with that had Emma Swan not decided to make herself sheriff. 

The election hadn’t even been close.  Keith Law was well known for his brutish tendencies, for stalking women—Lacey French had even accused him of attempted rape once, although Cora had made sure those charges didn’t stick—for bending the law, and for being a general public menace when driving drunk.  Keith would make a terrible sheriff for Storybrooke, but that shouldn’t have mattered.  Cora’s desires should have been enough to make it so, which she’d counted on ever since using Graham’s heart to cause that accident.  She’d contemplated killing the former sheriff, but in the end was rather pleased to find that her Huntsman had survived.  Cora always disliked admitting, even to herself, that she had allowed her anger to get the better of her, but the Huntsman’s budding relationship with the Savior had spurred her into action. 

 _The Savior._   Cora felt her lips twisting up into a snarl, but could do nothing to stop them.  Snow’s little daughter had survived her supposed death before the curse after all.  _Eva’s granddaughter_.  The thought was a snarl in her mind.  Eva’s bloodline had somehow escaped her ultimate vengeance, had escaped to put its spawn inside _Cora’s_ family.  Out of all the children that Regina could have adopted, Gold had found Eva’s great-grandson, and Cora could have killed him for that.  _Save that revenge for later,_ she told herself.  She had ways to make Gold pay, plenty of them.  But Gold must have done it unknowingly; there was no other explanation.  He’d been under the curse when Cora had tasked him with finding Regina a child, and Cora knew the difference.  No, Gold wasn’t the problem.  Cora’s daughter was.

And so was Cora’s so-called grandson.  _Henry_ had found the book.  He must have been sharing that knowledge with his birth mother, and egging her on towards breaking the curse.  _And Regina.  Regina has been helping them._   Cora snarled out loud.

It wasn’t the first time her daughter had chosen the wrong side, not the first time that Regina had chosen Snow over her mother.  _Ungrateful girl.  She should know better by now._ But Cora would have to deal with that later.  First, she needed to get rid of Emma Swan, and she knew far too well that she could not kill someone who was meant to break the curse, not without breaking her own power over Storybrooke.  That, of course, was something Cora had no intention of doing, which meant she had to encourage Emma Swan to leave Storybrooke.  The first step to that, of course, had been the threats she had thrown at the brash young sheriff the day before.  She knew well enough that demanding that Emma stay away from Henry was tantamount to ensuring that Snow’s daughter would stick to the boy like glue, and that was exactly what Cora wanted.

Taking Henry out of the equation would get rid of the problem.  He was the anchor holding Emma Swan to Storybrooke.  All Cora had to do was cut that loose…and Emma Swan would no longer want to stay.  There was only one way to do that, of course.  She had to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cora has a plan, she just slid the last piece into place, and poor Hook is her pawn to execute it. After all, who needs a mine explosion when you can have a fire?
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Twenty-One: “Players and Pawns,” in which Hook does Cora’s dirty work, Henry visits the library, Regina runs into Errol again, and disaster strikes. Back in the past, Hook falls in with the Evil Queen.


	21. Players and Pawns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cheat sheet of characters who lacked cursed names in the show but have them here is located right [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2582528).

The instructions Cora gave him were explicit, but Killian didn’t like them one bit.  Still, the Evil Queen must have seen the frown on his face, because she cocked her head at him and asked: “Is there a problem, Captain?”

“Oh, of course not,” Killian growled.  “Arson’s one of my favorite hobbies, love.”

“You’re a pirate,” Cora sneered.  “Stop complaining and do as you’re told.”

The threat in her voice was impossible to miss, and Killian had learned not to cross Cora the hard way.  _Several times, as a matter of fact._ No matter how many times he tried to hedge his bets, Killian knew that he was stuck.  He spoke stiffly: “And I think that we both know I am always at your service, Your Majesty.”

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten,” she replied, her tone deceptively mild.  But Killian could hear the threat there, too, and he had no desire to repeat the lessons in loyalty that Cora had taught him.  Once, he’d thought that retaining his memories while no one else did would give him an advantage. Now he was beginning to understand that was a curse in itself.

“I would never do such a thing,” he reassured the Evil Queen, and _that_ was no lie.  His brother had not raised him to be a fool, and Killian could always tell which way the wind blew.  _A downright tempest, favoring her._

“Excellent.  Then you will obey my commands, of course?”

In private, Cora rarely bothered with the fiction that she was the mayor requesting a favor from a friend.  No, in private she was the queen and he her servant; no threadbare or even imaginary freedoms existed for Killian Jones—or Cyril O’Malley—in this supposedly free world.  He had never expected it to be like this, but it wasn’t as though Killian hadn’t known he was allying with the villain of the piece.  But life had taught him that villains _won_ , which was why he’d chosen to abandon honor and become a pirate in the first place.  Honor had brought him nothing but pain, and Killian wanted victory and revenge.  Perhaps then he might chase some sort of happy ending, but these days only the villains got those, too, so he was on the right track.

“Has the library offended you in some way?” he had to ask.  “You do realize that you might burn down that entire side of the street before the fire department gets there.”

Cora shrugged.  “It can be rebuilt.  Just be certain to block the exits and light the fire when I have specified.”

“Of course,” Killian promised, ignoring the way his stomach rolled in disgust.  He didn’t ask her who she planned to burn to death inside the library.  He didn’t want to know.  “Four o’clock tomorrow afternoon.  It will be done.”

“I am always glad to have you on my side, Captain,” Cora said with another of her dangerous smiles, and Killian got out of her presence as soon as good manners would let him.  Cora had seemed so much less terrifying in the beginning.  What _had_ he gotten himself into?

* * *

 

_6 Months Before the Curse_

It had started off so simply.  Who better than a pirate to find a lost treasure?  When the then-powerful Evil Queen had sent Captain Hook after the lost treasure of Oak Island, a mythical place that some called Treasure Island, he had thought that the reward was more than worth the work.  He’d find the treasure for her, get the mythical sword she promised him, and then finally be able to take his revenge against the Dark One.  The job had been anything but simple—hundreds of pirates had died trying to reach Oak Island, but he was Captain Hook.  His crew had survived nearly three centuries in Neverland, and his ship was the fastest pirate ship on the seven seas.  Anything they couldn’t outrun, they could outfight, and he would pit his crew against any two pirate ships you cared to name.  They had only been back in the Enchanted Forest a few years, but the _Jolly Roger_ was already a legend.  Queen Cora had been right to call upon them to do the impossible.

The _Jolly Roger_ wasn’t the first ship Cora had hired, rumors said, but the others fell prey to various dangers along the way.  But Hook’s crew wasn’t just any pirate crew, and they knew how to get a job done, despite attacks from two different sea monsters, a trio of sirens, storms that would have ripped a less magical ship apart, and a myriad of other dangers.  They made it through, battered and damaged, only to face a prolonged battle with Long John Silver himself.  _Impossible,_ other pirate captains had called this quest, and that was the exact word that Silver used to describe his own defeat.  Hook had enjoyed proving him wrong.

Unfortunately for Hook, he hadn’t expected the impossible to take a bit under two years, and by the time the _Jolly Roger_ made port again in Cora’s kingdom, the entire political landscape had changed.  Now her hated stepdaughter was in power, and Killian was smart enough to guess that Queen Snow and King James were not in the market for the same sort of magical trinkets that an evil sorceress was.  He and his mates spent several long days debating just what they should do with the treasure in the _Jolly Roger’s_ hold, and many of the crew were in favor of selling it themselves without ever speaking to the now-exiled queen.  But none of them were terribly serious in that respect; they all had too much experience with Pan.  Sorcerers of any type were dangerous and vindictive, and that meant that breaking their end of the deal was unwise.  Cora had paid well for their services, after all, and they were owed still more gold in addition to their share of the treasure.  So, Hook set out to find Cora in her isolated fortress, certain that a sorceress-queen would not be utterly without resources.

Besides, he _needed_ the Sword of Peleus, and how was he to differentiate the lone magical sword in the lot from the other two dozen included with the treasure?  He needed Cora to do that, because the Sword of Peleus didn’t just make its bearer victorious in battle (an edge any pirate worth his sails coveted); it would also slay all matter of demons, and Hook had just the demon in mind to test that legend out.

“Captain,” a familiar voice purred as he cooled his heels in a posh sitting room.  Exiled or no, the Evil Queen seemed to be doing quite well for herself.  Hook spun to face her, bowing as one would to a ruling queen and not an exile.  After all, it never paid to antagonize a sorceress when you didn’t need to.  “I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to return.”

There was an edge in her voice that Hook did not appreciate.  He straightened.  “Given how no one else you sent after that treasure returned at all, I would appreciate a little more in the way of thanks.”

Dark eyes flashed, and was it his imagination, or had the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees?

“Have you the treasure, then, or are you here to report your failure?” Cora snapped.

“Oh, I’ve the treasure, love.  Safe and sound, as requested.”  He met her eyes boldly, and saw a slight smile work its way onto the Evil Queen’s face.  She was a woman, after all, and one with a reputation for enjoying handsome men at that.

“Excellent.  Where is it?”

“On my ship, where your, uh, stepdaughter’s customs inspectors will never find it,” Hook replied, watching rage flicker across her expression before being suppressed.  _Oh, that’s a sore spot, isn’t it?_

“You’ve done well, Captain,” the Evil Queen said more congenially, stepping forward to close the distance between them.

Hook studied her contemplatively in the silence.  She was a handsome woman, despite being (physically, anyway), old enough to be his mother.  Very well put together, and very self-assured for someone who had been defeated by her stepdaughter and a rag-tag army of dwarves, fairies, and peasants.  Cora was obviously doing well in her exile, too; Hook was quite certain that the young Queen Snow would not be happy to know that there was a small but professional army gathering on the grounds of her stepmother’s castle.  Defeated or not, Cora was clearly still a power to be reckoned with, and Hook was willing to bet that she had a plan of some sort.  She didn’t strike him as the type of woman who ever stopped plotting.

“And our deal?” he asked when she said nothing else.

Cora smiled.  “I will help you identify this magical weapon you seek, as we agreed upon,” she replied airily.  “Provided, of course, it is not the one piece of the treasure that I seek.”

“And what’s that?” Hook asked warily.

“Oh, it’s hardly something that would interest a pirate,” she said with an air of exaggerated innocence, and Hook started to worry.

“What is it?” he pressed.

Cora cocked her head at him, and then finally answered: “The chain of Gleipnir, of course.  I doubt you’ve heard of it.”

“The only chain in any world that can bind any magical being or creature, forged by the dwarves of old out of six impossible things and utterly unbreakable?” he countered immediately, flashing her a smile.  “I’m rather more educated than your average pirate, love.”

“Indeed you are.”  She sounded pleased, and Hook wasn’t certain if that should worry him or not.  Still, it was best to grab this bull by the horns, because sooner or later Cora would find out for herself.

“It’s not there.”

“I beg your pardon?”  That seemed to bring her up short, and the queen blinked in surprise.

“I would have noticed.  It’s not there,” he said bluntly.

Her eyes narrowed ominously.  “And why would _you_ have noticed?” she snarled.

“Because I’ve been looking for something like that for centuries.” Hook shrugged.  “I’ve more interesting enemies than your average pirate as well.”

“I can see that.”  Was that approval in Cora’s voice?  It was so very hard to tell.  Then she pursed her lips contemplatively.  “Would this enemy be Rumplestiltskin?”

Had she struck him with magic, Hook could not have been more shocked.  Just _hearing_ the name of the demon who had killed Milah was enough to make his temper roar in his ears, and he felt his one fist clench in rage.  Three centuries in Neverland had not been enough to erase the pain; nothing ever would.  Even revenge would never be enough, but he owed Milah that much, and more.

“How did you know that?” he demanded, taking a step towards her. His hook came up without so much as a thought, but Cora only smiled and pushed it away with one manicured finger before he could really threaten her.

“I was his student once,” she admitted. “He told me a great many things.”

“Is that so?”  The words grated out of him like cold iron.

Cora laughed.  “Oh, relax, Captain.  Rumplestiltskin and I are hardly friends these days.  In fact, I might be able to help you with your quest for vengeance.”

“How?”

* * *

 

 “I think more cookies might be bad for you,” the ten year old told the three year old seriously as Lacey rolled a ladder over to one of the nearby shelves.  Renee, of course, gave Henry a dubious look, which made the library’s sole patron glance up at Lacey.

“Henry’s right, angel,” she replied, climbing the ladder with her arms full of books.  Lacey didn’t bother looking down, and balancing on precariously high heels never bothered her one bit, either.  She’d been working in the library for practically forever, and Lacey had never once fallen.  This was just a part of her everyday life, just like keeping one eye on her toddler and the other eye on her books was.  The mayor could complain all day long about Lacey bringing her daughter to work, but there was nothing in her contract that expressly forbade Lacey from doing so, and besides, daycare was expensive. 

“One more?” Renee pleaded, and Lacey managed not to laugh. 

“They’re all gone,” Henry pointed out practically, and Renee sniffled in the pouty way only a three year old could.

“And we’re not going upstairs to get more, either,” she told her daughter, starting to put books back on the shelves.  The high schoolers who had departed a half an hour earlier had left a bit of a mess in their wake, which meant there were plenty of heavy reference books to put away.  “That’ll spoil your dinner,” she told her daughter over a volume of the _Encyclopædia Britannica._

“Poo,” was Renee’s response, and now Lacey _really_ had to hold back a giggle.  She was supposed to be the firm parent here, and she couldn’t laugh when her three year old used words she wasn’t supposed to.  Henry, however, did not manage the same kind of decorum, and he snickered.

“Renee,” Lacey chided her daughter.  “No using those words.”

“Poo!” the three year old replied cheerfully, and now Henry was shaking with laughter.  Lacey twisted to point a finger at him.

“You’re not helping!” she told the ten year old sternly.  “Aren’t you supposed to be working on a school project?”

At least Henry had the good grace to look a little ashamed.  “Renee’s helping me?” the boy tried for an excuse.

“Oh, I bet she is,” Lacey replied dryly, rolling her eyes.  Not that she wasn’t grateful that Henry was happy to sit on the floor and play with Renee when he was between research topics, but she didn’t want the spirited boy encouraging Renee _too_ much.  Or at least not to say words like “poo.”  Overall, Henry was a really good kid, and Lacey figured that Renee could have a lot worse role models.

 _Like Henry’s horrible grandmother,_ she thought to herself, putting the last volume of the encyclopedia on the shelf with a grimace.  The mayor hadn’t been by the library since she’d tried to threaten Lacey for giving Henry a book, but she still gave Lacey the creeps.  And even Gold was afraid of her—Gold, who wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything.  Cora Mills was not the sort of woman that Lacey wanted her little girl to grow into, and she was always glad to see that Henry seemed to take more after his adopted father than his adopted grandmother.

“Do you mind if I take this book home, Miss French?” Henry asked, turning an innocent look on her that Lacey _knew_ he hadn’t learned from anyone in his adopted family.  “I think that my dad would like it.”

Stepping off the ladder, Lacey peered around the circulation desk to look at the book in Henry’s hands.  It was a book on swordsmanship and the history of swords—obviously the kind of book that would interest a ten year old, though not really the type that David Nolan would be in to.  “Sure, Henry,” she replied with a smile, deciding not to call him on the white lie.  “As long as you check it out properly and bring it back in two weeks.”

“Can I fill out the checkout sheet?”  The boy hopped to his feet with a grin. 

“Go ahead.  Just don’t let Renee write on it, please.”

“Awesome!” 

Throwing one more glance at her daughter—who was engrossed in her blocks again and had already forgotten that she wanted another cookie—Lacey headed over to fetch the next stack of books that needed filing.  Meanwhile, Henry bent over the circulation desk and started filling out the details from the front flap of the book.  Grabbing the next stack of reference books, most of which were additional heavy volumes of the _Encyclopædia Britannica,_ Lacey didn’t bother to give Henry more than a glance.  He always liked checking his own books out like this, and she’d been letting him do it for several months.  Henry’s handwriting might have been that of a ten year old, but—

“What’s that smell?” Henry asked suddenly, and Lacey paused on the first step of the ladder.

“What smell?” she asked reflexively, before she had even drawn a deep breath.

“It smells like smoke!”

* * *

 

He’d be damned if he was going to do this in any way that would point fingers in his direction.  Killian might be stuck following Cora’s orders—and even with Graham out of commission, he knew there was no escaping her, lest she decide to use her curse against him to make his life even _more_ miserable—but he certainly wasn’t going to go play the part of her fall guy.  Cora was welcome to pin this one someone else.  Killian was going to make sure he had a solid alibi.

It had been depressingly easy to lock the doors of the library from the outside.  Cora’s skeleton keys were useful for that, and while he’d contemplated bribing one of the departing high school students to do it—as a prank, of course—Killian had decided to do the job himself in the end.  Instead, he’d tasked one of the kids with starting a small scuffle in the street, which had kept anyone from noticing the way a certain marina owner quietly locked the library doors and flipped the sign to closed.  Cora wanted whoever was inside to stay inside, and _he_ didn’t want anyone else to wander into the conflagration he was about to cause.  So, Killian used the kids, two of which worked for him at the marina after school, to stage a bit of an argument in the street in front of Storybrooke Coffee.  That pulled all eyes away from the library, and when Doctor Hopper came down to break it up, everyone started paying attention to him.

He waited until the crowd dissipated to duck around the library and light the old-fashioned fuse he’d laid the night before.  Doing so had made Killian lose more sleep than he might have liked, but he’d used the skeleton keys to get into the library and to place a few oil-soaked rags in strategic locations, mostly behind bookshelves.  He’d been particularly careful to put one line of fuses near the doors and windows; Cora was particular about not wanting anyone to escape this fire, so Hook planned for the fire to start in multiple places.  After all, there was plenty of fuel for the fire, and once it got started…

Still, he wasn’t an idiot, and using an old fashioned fuse that he’d cut himself meant two things.  Firstly, Hook knew the material used in the fuse would burn up with the library.  Secondly—and far more important—he knew that he had exactly five minutes from lighting it to when the sparks reached the first bunch of rags.  That gave him enough time to get down the street to Granny’s, and just enough time to have an order in before people started noticing.  Ruby obligingly came over right away, and Hook shot her a sultry smile as he ordered the daily special, ignoring any pangs of his conscience. 

He didn’t care who was inside.  Really, he didn’t.

He couldn’t afford to.

* * *

 

Regina hadn’t meant to run into the man whose child she had saved several weeks earlier, but once little Jamie Forrester waved at her, she was done for.  The cute little boy pointed her out to his father, who promptly hefted Jamie in his arms and crossed the street—looking out for Deputy Law’s truck as he did so, undoubtedly—with a smile on his face. 

“Jamie wanted to say hi,” he said by way of greeting, and the grin the child turned on Regina could make any mother melt.

“Well, hello then,” she replied with a smile of her own to Jamie.  Regina didn’t mean to meet Errol Forrester’s eyes after doing so, but something inside her fluttered when she did so.  The distinct feeling of something _clicking_ into place echoed through her soul.  Something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

 _No._ She had to ignore this feeling, whatever it was.  Regina knew that—it was why she’d refused to ask Rumplestiltskin who this handsome firefighter really was.   She had work to do, a niece to protect, and a curse to break.  Anything else could wait until later.  The last thing she wanted to do right now was get involved with someone who didn’t know who they were!  No matter how drawn to him she was, she had to stay away.  It was the only sensible thing to do, and besides, she couldn’t afford the distraction.

“Jamie and I were about to go get some ice cream,” Errol told her, oblivious to Regina’s internal conflict.  “Would you like to join us?”

“I shouldn’t…”  But she wanted to.  Oh, Regina wanted to.

“C’mon.  It’s just ice cream,” Errol goaded her with a grin.  “I’m hardly going to endanger your virtue with my four year old along.”

The blunt words startled a laugh out of Regina; she’d always liked straightforward men, and Errol seemed honest to a fault.  She knew she shouldn’t, but her mouth was open to accept the invitation when someone cried out from further down the street.  The Forresters had caught Regina in front of Standard Clocks while she was on her way to pick up Henry from the library, but now as she looked across the street, smoke billowed out of that very same library, black and already thick enough already to obscure the clock tower. 

“What the…?” Errol started to whisper, but words utterly escaped Regina.  All she could do was stare in growing horror, with her mother’s words echoing through her mind.

 _“Ah, but that doesn’t protect Henry, now, does it?”_   Cora had said oh so coldly, and even as Regina stared blankly at now-burning library, she knew that this was her punishment.  This was her mother’s way of reminding Regina that those she loved would never be safe, not if she dared move against Cora in any way.  Errol was saying something to her, but Regina stood numbly and stupidly, coldness seeping into her bones and making her as immobile as a statue.  But then realization hit hard, and Regina had never been the type of woman who sat still and waited for someone else to save her.  _And I won’t let Mother hurt Henry without a fight, either!_   She started forward without even thinking, until a hard hand on her arm jerked her up short.

“Regina!” Errol finally reached out to shake her with one hand, and she turned to look at him with wide eyes. 

“Let go of me!”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, his grip on her arm hard enough to hurt.  Regina didn’t notice.

“Henry’s in there!” she retorted, panic making her voice go high. 

Horror crossed Errol’s face, and he nodded grimly.  “Then take Jamie.  Please.” 

“What—why?”  She was about to go into a fire.  Why would he want her to take his child?

“Because this is my job,” the man she barely knew answered bluntly.  “Keep my son safe for me while I go rescue yours.”

“I—”

Errol shoved Jamie into her arms before Regina could say more, and sprinted towards the library.  There wasn’t a fire truck in sight, and Regina could barely hear sirens coming towards them in the distance, but she suddenly understood that Errol Forrester wasn’t the type to care about that.  He saw people in danger, and he rushed in to rescue them.  Wooden legs carried Regina forward as a crowd started to gather around her; Jamie Forrester was strangely quiet in her arms, but her numbness was wearing off.  He was trusting her, Regina realized, this man who had met her all of twice.  He was trusting her to keep Jamie safe while he rushed into a burning building.  And she didn’t even know who he really was.

“The doors are locked!” someone shouted from closer to the library.  Was that Ruby, the young werewolf who Snow and Charming had befriended so long ago?

“Get me an axe, wet blankets, anything you’ve got!” Errol ordered several other people, snagging a baseball bat from a passing student.  He stepped up to one of the windows while the student yelped, smashing the baseball bat into the glass.

The window gave with a loud _crash_ , and flames leapt out.

* * *

 

“The back door is locked, too!”

Lacey pushed her way through two bookshelves, coughing as the smoke grew thicker and thicker.  She’d shoved Henry and Renee down behind the circulation desk and told them to stay low, knowing that keeping them near the front door was the safest place for them.  But the fire had spread to the front of the library with terrifying speed, and now nowhere at all was safe.  She’d braved the flames—and gotten her left hand burned in the process—to try the back door, but no matter how hard she’d pushed, it had refused to budge.  Someone had locked it from the outside, and Lacey had no chance of breaking it down before smoke overcame her.  So, she rushed her way back to the front of the library, blinking in the thick and stinging smoke, hoping against hope that someone would have gotten the front doors open by the time she got there.

But the doors were still shut, and Henry was trying bravely to shield a crying Renee from the worst of the smoke.  The flames hadn’t reached behind the desk yet, but they were getting closer, and Lacey knew there wasn’t time to waste.  Not when Henry was starting to look at her with panicked eyes, too.  She had two children to protect, and almost no way to keep them safe.  There were too many flames between her and the windows; even if Lacey had some way to break them, she couldn’t think of a way to get the children through.  But there was one place—

“What do we do?” Henry coughed.

“This way!” Lacey made the decision even as the words came out, leaning down to wrap one arm around Renee and take hold of Henry with the other hand.  The ten year old followed her willingly to the only place that seemed even remotely safe: the broken elevator that was blocked off by a small bookshelf that was thankfully only smoldering, not burning yet.

Shoving the bookshelf out of the way, Lacey shoved Henry into the elevator before ducking in herself.  The small compartment was thankfully smoke free, although it was growing awfully hot.  Lacey knew that the last place you were supposed to go during a fire was an elevator, but where else could she go?  There was nowhere else in the library that was even remotely safe, and Lacey was out of options.  So, she held her crying daughter against her chest with one arm and pulled Henry close with the other, her mind and heart racing.

“Where does this go?” Henry, always curious, asked over the roar of the fire outside.

“I don’t know,” Lacey admitted.  “It’s been broken for as long as I remember.”

“Anywhere’s better than here,” the boy pointed out reasonably, pushing buttons at random.

Nothing happened, and Lacey swallowed.  “I think it only works from the outside,” she said quietly.

Henry grimaced; neither of them wanted to go back out there.  The roar of the fire was only getting louder, and the walls of the elevator were getting hotter.  Together, they backed away from the door and the rising heat, and several seconds ticked by in tense silence.  Renee wheezed and cried in fear against Lacey’s shoulder, and although her right arm was starting to get numb from holding Renee like this, she wasn’t about to let go of either of them.

“It’ll be okay, sweetie,” she tried to soothe her little girl.  Tried to soothe all of them.  “The fire fighters will come.  We just have to wait.”

“Won’t the fire burn through the cables?” Henry asked around a cough.

“I hope not,” Lacey said more quietly than she wanted to.  She hadn’t thought of that, but Henry was right.  Soon enough, the fire was bound to burn through the elevator’s cables and drop them to the bottom…wherever that was.

The idea started to form in her mind then, with terrifying clarity, and Lacey sucked in a deep breath before saying more.

* * *

 

A crowd was starting to gather already, which gave Killian the chance to join the growing mob outside the library.  The foolish chief of the firefighters was trying to get in through a burning window, and several other well-meaning citizens rushed over to try to pry the doors open while he climbed through.  The poor bastard was probably going to roast himself for his efforts, but he seemed not to notice that.  Killian had done a very good job of making sure that no one could get in without sufficient protective equipment, which Forrester was definitely not wearing.  His jeans and t-shirt would do him no good, and Killian felt a pang of compassion for him.  _Unlucky bloke is only doing his job.  Pity he had to be so close by when the fire started._

“Going to lend a hand, Mr. O’Malley?” a smooth voice purred from beside him, and Killian turned to look at Cora.

“I’d only be in the way,” he answered for any audience they might have.  “My expertise is on the water, love, not in fires.”

She smiled thinly, her eyes still on the raging fire.  “Of course it is.”

Sirens grew louder, and the crowd parted to let the first fire truck through.  Meleville Anzo leapt down off the truck immediately and started yelling orders, but Killian could tell from the tone of his voice that the deputy fire chief knew that it was too late to save the library.  He was taking actions to preserve the surrounding buildings, and that meant Cora should be well-satisfied.

Sneaking a look at her face, Killian decided that the queen seemed rather happy.  Oh, her expression was hard to read, but there was a glimmer of pleasure in her eyes that made his stomach roll.  _You don’t want to know, mate,_ the pirate told himself for the hundredth time.  _Don’t ask.  Just do your job and leave the rest on her non-existent conscience._   Still, he didn’t want to look at the fire anymore.  He’d completed his part, and now Killian just wanted to figure out a way to leave without drawing attention to himself, particularly from the blonde sheriff who had run up to stand next to the mayor’s daughter, her pretty features tight and marred by horror.

“It’s a pity that our little librarian and her brat were probably caught in the fire,” Cora mused, sounding _almost_ sorry, but not enough to fool Killian.

“What?” the word tore out of him in surprise, and his stare grew horrified.

Cora just shrugged.  “Well, it is the library.  I imagine they were both inside.”

“You—you—”

She cut him off with a hand on his arm, and Killian pulled away as if the touch burned him.  Lacey French had never done anything to him, and her little daughter was _little_.  She was what, three years old?  Even on his worst days as a pirate, Killian didn’t make war on children, and he certainly wasn’t a child killer!  How could Cora have made him set this up, knowing there might be a child inside?  And how could she look so _satisfied_ knowing that an innocent little girl might be dying right now?

“I’m sure Mr. Gold will be devastated to know that his little doxy has burned to death,” Cora mused emotionlessly, and those words jerked Killian up short.

“Lacey and Gold?” he echoed, turning back to stare at the fire.

“Not anymore,” Cora chuckled softly, and then she leaned in close to speak so quietly that only he could hear: “I did say that I would help you get your revenge, Captain.  I never break my word.”

“The child…”

“An unfortunate accident. Hopefully, she is elsewhere.  The child means nothing to me,” the Evil Queen replied with a shrug.  “As for the rest…”

She trailed off meaningfully, not needing to say more.  And no, Killian would not mourn for Rumplestiltskin’s lover if she died in the fire.  Not after the demon had taken Milah from him so callously—he _deserved_ to know that grief, that world-ending pain.  Even if it was only his cursed self, the bastard deserved every bit of agony that Cora could dole out on him, and Killian would not mourn for a woman who had foolishly chosen Gold. 

 _It’s not her fault,_ the voice of his conscience whispered.  _She’s cursed, just like everyone else._ But the voice fell immediately silent as Killian happened to turn and see Gold stepping out of his shop across the street, horror etched into his normally impassive features.

* * *

 

“Take Renee,” Lacey told Henry, turning to hand her precious daughter to the ten year old.  Smoke was starting to seep into the elevator, now, and soon their small compartment of safety would turn into an oven.  There wasn’t any time, and she had to do _something._

“Why?” the boy asked in confusion, although he took the crying child without hesitation.

“The elevator works from the outside,” she explained, trying not to let her voice shake.  “I’ll go out and send you both down.”

“What?  _No!_   You can’t!  If you do that, you’ll die!” Henry objected, and Lacey squared her shoulders. 

 _Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow_ , she told herself firmly.  “It’s your only chance,” she said firmly.  “And Renee’s.  So don’t argue with me, Henry.  Please.”

“I’ll take care of her,” Henry promised, his eyes wide with horror, and Lacey opened the doors and stepped out of the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think will happen to Lacey as she steps out with the fire raging? And do you feel bad for Hook, or do you think he’s too irredeemable a villain to have regrets?
> 
> Next up is Chapter Twenty-Two: “True Love Wins Out,” where the fire continues to rage, Emma and Cora have another spat, and Gold does something dangerous. Back in the past, Belle wonders why Rumplestiltskin actually missed with that arrow, and Gabrielle is born.
> 
> Also, feel free to check out my Freeze on the Stones Cheat Sheet, which includes a list of who is who out of cursed characters whose name you might not recognize. Also, if you’re interested in a in-order timeline of the Enchanted Forest flashbacks, let me know in your comment (here or there).


	22. True Love Wins Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fire continues to rage, Emma and Cora have another spat, and Gold does something dangerous. Back in the past, Belle wonders why Rumplestiltskin actually missed with that arrow, and Gabrielle is born.

Seeing through the smoke was almost impossible.

Lacey hadn’t expected it to be this bad when she’d come out of the elevator, but the entire interior of the library was dark with thick smoke, black in patches but now mostly grayish white.  Everything she could see was bathed in a hellish red-orange glow; flames danced on the ceilings and engulfed the bookshelves to her left.  The circulation desk was one of the few things not burning, but Lacey knew it would go up soon, too.  Like almost everything else in the library, the desk was wood, and the smell of burning wood already filled the air to bursting.  Coughing, she slammed the elevator doors shut behind herself, hoping that too much smoke hadn’t gotten in already and forcing herself not to send one last look her daughter’s way.

There wasn’t time.  She was already having a hard time breathing, and Lacey knew that if she hesitated at all, she’d probably black out.  So, she fumbled desperately for the elevator’s controls, blinking stinging tears out of her eyes.  Seeing the controls was hard, and there was no time for second chances.  She had to get this right on the first try.

_Crash!_

Her hands were on the buttons, but the sudden noise startled her into turning.  Coughing hard enough to shake her entire body, Lacey blinked soot and smoke out of her eyes as fresh air suddenly streamed into the library, making the flames to her left roar even higher.  She flinched away and stumbled, only to be caught by a strong set of hands.

“Lacey!” a familiar voice shouted, but it took her smoke-addled brain a moment to realize that it belonged to Errol Forrester, whose son was only a year older than Renee.  He was wrapped in blanket of some sort, which he promptly extended to cover her as well.  “Where are the kids?”

“In”—cough—“here!” She didn’t bother to try to explain, and instead rushed to open the elevator doors one more time, relief making her hands shake.  Breathing was hard, so hard, but they were so close to rescue and she _would not_ give up now.

Henry and Renee were huddled in the back, both coughing in the smoke and crouched as low as they could get.  Both looked at the adults with wide and terrified eyes, but Henry was still holding onto Renee and not letting the younger girl touch the hot floor.

“Come on!” Errol shouted, reaching out a hand.  Henry bolted forward immediately, stumbling straight into Lacey’s arms.  She grabbed Renee from him as Errol picked the boy up, and they turned for the door together.  When they were a few feet away, the firefighter ordered:  “Stay down!”

Lacey let Errol shove her down, still coughing.  Henry huddled against her under the blanket and Renee held on tight, but she was able to make out Errol’s form as he attacked the door from the inside with the baseball bat he’d brought in with him.  It had to be burning his hands—it was a metal bat, not a wooden one—but he gave no sign of pain.  One powerful swing came after another; he was aiming for the weak point between the doors, aiming to smash the lock out before they all burned to death or died of smoke inhalation.  Logically, Lacey knew that only seconds had passed since Errol had burst into the library, but they were running out of time.

* * *

 

Regina spotted her mother talking to that odious pirate and strode that way before she remembered she was holding an innocent child in her arms.  Once she’d thought of Jamie, however, it didn’t matter.  He was only four, and he wouldn’t remember a thing she said or make sense of it, anyway.  But Errol was still inside the burning library, and so was _Henry_ , and Regina wanted to kill her mother on the spot. 

“This is your doing, isn’t it?” she hissed as the pirate backed off hastily, clearly wanting nothing to do with their conversation.  He was one of her mother’s flunkies here—Cora might have even had his heart, for all Regina knew—but obviously was smart enough to know when he wasn’t wanted.

“This tragedy?  Of course not, darling,” Cora replied, and the very innocence in her reply made Regina want to spit fire.  Cora cocked her head.  “And who is this little darling you have with you?”

“Jamie Forrester,” she snarled, shifting her grip on the boy. Jamie waved friendlily at Cora, oblivious to the anger swirling around him.  “His _father_ is in there trying to rescue Henry!”

“Oh, no.  _Henry_ is inside?”

Her mother had never been a terribly good actor, but Regina didn’t think she was even trying at the moment.  Her expression barely even changed, and although her voice registered horror, she could see the calculating gleam in Cora’s eyes.  They met Regina’s own levelly enough, and Regina did not have to be a mind reader to see the warning there.  Or rather, the I-told-you-what-would-happen look, the one that told Regina how her mother had no problems trying to kill her adopted son.  Regina was so angry that she wanted to cry, wanted to gouge her mother’s eyes out, and wanted to start a magical battle right here in the middle of the street.

Of course, not having magic was a severe handicap on that front, but Regina was damn close to slugging her mother to compensate.  Worry, however, won over anger.  The sirens were getting louder, but Regina knew that even as the fire truck skidded to a halt in front of the crowd, that it was too late.  She wanted to be sick.

“You know he is!” she hissed, hating the tiny smile on her mother’s face.

“Look!” Jamie piped up before Cora could respond, and both women spun to look as the doors to the library suddenly burst open.

Smoke billowed out, but Regina didn’t even notice that as she rushed forward.  Because there they were, four forms buried underneath a burning blanket.  The big, burly firefighter who’d just jumped off the truck rushed over to pull the blanket off of the quartet, and Regina’s knees went weak when she saw Errol Forrester carrying her son in his arms.  Lacey French stumbled along next to him, her own little girl cradled close to her chest, but in that moment, Regina had never seen anything more beautiful than the firefighter who had saved her son.

* * *

 

Fifteen minutes later, Lacey was starting to feel vaguely human again.  Her vision was starting to clear, and Renee was snuggled up closely to her side.  They both sat on one stretcher behind the ambulance while Henry sat on another, with all three wearing oxygen masks to try to help them fight the effects of smoke inhalation.  They were all covered in soot despite the paramedics’ best efforts to clean them off, but Lacey didn’t care.  They were _safe_. Regina and David Nolan were there, too, both crowding around Henry as the boy tried to tell them that he was fine, along with Emma Swan who looked just as worried but a little out of place.  Little Jamie Forrester had climbed up on the stretcher next to Henry while his father directed the firefighting efforts, and the ten year old seemed to be weathering the attention just fine, despite his smoke-stained clothes and tired grin.

A pang of jealousy hit Lacey as she looked down at her daughter, and for a moment, she wondered what it would be like to have family and friends surround her like that.  She’d always told herself that she didn’t need more than Renee, but right now it would have been really nice to have someone to lean on.  To not have to be the strong one, just for once.

“How are you doing?” a voice asked, and Lacey turned her head to look at the new sheriff as Emma approached her stretcher.

“We’re okay,” she said, pulling the mask off with a cough.  “Or we will be, anyway.”

Renee had stopped crying a few minutes ago, and she now looked up at the sheriff with wide brown eyes as Lacey rubbed her back.  Slowly, the little girl crawled into her mother’s lap, and Lacey just wrapped her arms around her tightly, turning to watch the flames engulfing her workplace…and her home.

“That’s, uh, good,” Emma said awkwardly, clearly following Lacey’s eyes.  “Look, I just talked to Granny.  She said that there’s a room open for you for as long as you need it, since I gather that your relationship with your father isn’t all that great.”

“No, it isn’t,” Lacey replied quietly.  She’d spotted Moe French in the crowd a few minutes earlier, but he’d made no move to approach her.  In fact, the only person who had said a word to her other than the paramedics and the sheriff had been Regina Nolan, and she’d been understandably distracted by her own child.

“Mary Margaret headed home to grab some of our stuff for you, too,” Emma continued, and Lacey felt a real smile cross her face.  Pretty much everything she owned had to be burned up by now; they had the fire under control, but the library was all but gone.  She was certain that her little apartment was destroyed, too.  “And since the library is town property, I’m sure that the town will pay for—”

“Not when the fire was undoubtedly caused by Miss French’s negligence, the town won’t,” a new voice cut in, and Lacey turned to look at the mayor, her stomach rolling with loss and grief. 

“What?” Emma snapped.

“There will be an investigation, but I think we all know what that will turn up,” Cora Mills continued, sending a poisonous smile Lacey’s way.  “Such a terrible fire was probably caused by Miss French’s continued inattention to her… _child_ , and I’m not paying a cent out for their care unless someone can prove otherwise.”

“Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?” the sheriff demanded.

 “That’s only in legal cases, Sheriff.  This is an administrative matter,” Cora countered, and Lacey felt like a ping pong ball bouncing between the pair of them.

“That’s horseshit!”

“Bad word,” Renee muttered against Lacey’s chest, and a sad, broken laugh wormed its way out of Lacey as Emma looked down in horror.

“Sorry,” the sheriff said, cringing.

The mayor, however, just snorted.  “Be it as it may, Miss Swan, you have no standing in this matter.  The fire department and the D.A. will conduct the investigation, not you.  So your feelings on the matter are not my concern.”

“This isn’t right,” Emma shot back, but Lacey was already doing the math in her head when Cora shrugged.

“It’s all right, Emma,” she said softly, knowing that fighting with the mayor on this was useless.  Cora _could_ keep the town from paying Lacey a cent, even though part of her employment contract stated that the town would insure her belongings against fire, flooding, or building damage.  For the first time, Lacey really understood what Gold had meant when he referred to Cora’s power…and she knew that arguing this point would only make things worse.  Hopefully, the investigation would prove her innocent, and she could get the money afterwards.  “I have some money saved up.”

Not nearly enough, she knew.  She would have to find another job, and fast, not to mention a place to live.  Even if Granny was nice enough to give her a discount on account of being Ruby’s friend, staying at the bed and breakfast would be expensive to do long term. 

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Cora said with false sweetness.  “Because we both know that your father won’t take you back.”

“My problems with my father are none of your business, Madam Mayor,” Lacey snapped before she could stop herself.  She didn’t know what had caused the fire—aside from being certain that it wasn’t Renee’s fault—but her nerves were stretched to the breaking point, and Lacey was through putting up with Cora’s nastiness.  “So unless you have something _helpful_ to add, why don’t you go torment someone else?”

Fury immediately filled Cora’s eyes, but Emma snickered all too openly, drawing some of the mayor’s ire her way.  Unfortunately, there was plenty of it to go around, and Cora’s lips curled up into another nasty smile. 

“With an attitude like that, it’s a wonder that child services hasn’t taken your brat away yet,” the mayor purred acidly.  Then her glare turned on Emma.  “Although it’s _no_ wonder why you had to give Henry up.”

With that parting shot, Cora strode off, her head high and expression self-satisfied.  Lacey glared after her, but it was Emma who said:

“What a—uh, _cranky_ woman.”  The sheriff glanced guiltily down at Renee, but Renee just smiled at her, not noticing the pause as Emma reconfigured what she was going to say for the three year old’s benefit.

“Yeah,” Lacey agreed quietly, and then forced a smile.  “Look, we’ll be all right.  You go check on Henry.  He needs you, too.”

Henry idolized Emma, Lacey knew.  He loved both of his adopted parents, but his birth mother had become his hero, and the last thing Henry needed was for Emma to be fawning over Lacey and Renee right now.  The boy had been unbelievably brave during the fire, but he was only ten years old, and he needed his mother right now.  _Both_ of them.  Emma, however, still looked uncertain.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yeah.  We’ll go get that room at Granny’s, so it won’t be like we’ll be hard to find,” Lacey promised.  “Go on.  He was really brave today, and you should be proud of him.”

“I am,” Emma replied immediately, and Lacey liked the way the sheriff’s face softened as she looked Henry’s way.

“Then go,” she told the blonde woman, and watched Emma go rejoin the family circle—fortunately free of Cora—around Henry.  Henry beamed upon seeing his birth mother approach, and Lacey watched the boy start excitedly telling Emma about his experiences in the fire.  Watching the pair of them made that horrible feeling of envy rear its head again, and Lacey swallowed back her loneliness.  She had a beautiful daughter and they were _alive._ What more could she ask for?  

* * *

 

Regina watched the firefighters as Henry regaled David and Emma with the story of how brave Miss French had been ready to die to save him and her daughter.  She’d heard it already, from both Errol and Henry both, and made a mental note to thank the mousy little librarian.  Who _had_ Lacey French been back in their world?  Regina had never noticed her before, but she must have possessed impressive courage back there, otherwise it would have not have shone through the curse like this.  That, however, could wait for later.  There was someone else she wanted to thank so much more, someone who already made her battered heart skip a beat every time she looked at him.  Regina had told herself that she needed to avoid Errol Forrester for that very reason; she couldn’t afford romantic entanglements now, not with the end of the curse approaching and certainly not without attracting her mother’s fatal attention.  But now she burned to know who Errol was, _needed_ to know the man who had saved her son.

He’d stepped out of the fire like he rushed into burning buildings every day, and then smoothly taken command of the firefighting efforts.  His team managed to save the surrounding buildings, too, although the library itself was utterly finished.  Regina tried to watch without anyone noticing, which was fairly easy given how _everyone_ was staring at the intrepid firefighters, but she couldn’t ignore how damn heroic Errol looked out there.  Whoever he’d been, he’d definitely been the hero type.  Had Regina been her mother, she’d have been hoping that he was a prince or a king, but she found herself not caring.  She’d fallen in love with a stableboy once.  What did it matter who Errol had been?

_Love_.  The Dark Princess who her mother had forced her to be would scoff at the notion, but Regina knew that flutter in her heart way too well.  It wasn’t real, not yet— _real_ love had to be fought for—but it was possible.  And she wanted that more terribly than she’d ever been able to express.

“Henry, honey, I’m so glad to see you’re all right,” a voice intruded on her thoughts, and Regina whirled to face her mother, unable to stop herself from glaring.

Thankfully, her son was more tactful, as well as being blissfully unaware that his grandmother had probably been trying to kill him.  “Thanks, Grandma.”

“Well, we were all terribly worried about you, weren’t we, Regina?” Cora turned on her with a smile, and if Regina could have murdered her mother right there, she would have done it. 

“Of course we were, Mother,” she grated out.

Was Regina the only one who saw the malicious sparkle in her mother’s eyes as Cora reached out to stroke Henry’s hair?  No, she wasn’t; Emma’s eyes narrowed, too, and she glanced at Regina as if wanting permission to tell the Evil Queen what to do with herself.  _If only I could grant it!_   But Regina was perfectly capable of taking a warning to heart.  She would have to be much more careful from here on out; Cora’s attempt to hurt Henry might have been foiled, but she wouldn’t put it past her mother to try again.  Regina was furious, not stupid.

“Well, then, why don’t we all head home?” Cora said sweetly.  “I think a celebratory dinner is in order, and Chef Anderson is preparing your favorites, Henry.”

“Okay,” Henry agreed uneasily, glancing at his mother as if he was finally picking up on her undercurrent of anger.  But Regina forced a smile for him.

“That’s lovely of you,” she told her mother, wanting to choke on the words.

Cora smiled maternally at her before turning a razor-sharp glare Emma’s way.  “Not you, Miss Swan.  This is for family only.”

* * *

 

He was…relieved.  There was no other word for the emotion coursing through Killian, and he didn’t even think that he minded that feeling at all.  He hadn’t been overly fond of the idea of setting a fire in the first place, and the idea of burning two innocent children up in there—even if one of those children was the daughter of the Dark One’s lover—left the pirate feeling more than a little sick.  He wouldn’t have minded too much if Lacey French had burned, even if his conscience did whisper that the girl had never done anything to him.  She even smiled at his flirting the few times he came by the library, and had she not been such a conscientious mother, he’d probably have thrown a line or two in that direction himself in the past.  He’d always admired her a little bit, and if Cora hadn’t told him what she meant to Gold…well, Killian might very well have liked her.

On one hand, he felt that anyone who jumped into bed with the Dark One, cursed or no, deserved what they got.  On the other, Kilian was no fool, and he wouldn’t put it past Cora to have given Gold someone to care about.  The demon was a cold blooded bastard in both worlds, but Killian had seen the stark horror on his face when he’d seen the library burning and had known that the woman he—not _loved_ , because even while cursed, Killian wasn’t sure Gold was capable of love—liked, or was at least sleeping with, was inside.  Killian well remembered that feeling of the world dropping out from under your feet, remembered knowing that an evil force of nature was about to ruin your world and there wasn’t a bloody thing you could do about it.  And for a moment, he actually pitied the man.

Then he remembered Milah, remembered that Gold was not Rumplestiltskin, and decided that he’d save his pity for Lacey and her cute little girl.  Fortunately, the chief firefighter had decided to play hero, and Killian promised himself he’d join the rest of the town in buying Forrester drinks until the man bled whiskey from his ears.  Whoever Errol had been, the man was a damn hero now, and he deserved every accolade he got.  _Particularly for saving the Nolan boy.  Emma would be devastated if anything happened to him,_ Killian knew, and then wondered when he’d started thinking of the blonde sheriff as ‘Emma’.  He was attracted to her in a physical sense, but she was supposed to be a job.  A mark, if you would.  Not a person to get emotionally involved with.

 Whatever she was, he was glad her boy was safe.  Henry.  He seemed like a good lad, and Killian had nothing against Regina, either.  Or even against the fool prince who didn’t know he was the boy’s grandfather.  He wasn’t sure what had possessed Cora to try to kill her own adopted grandson—and was sure that he didn’t want to poke that sleeping dragon—but Killian was glad she’d failed.

And very glad she hadn’t turned him into a child killer twice over while she was at it.

* * *

 

_4 ½ Years Before the Curse_

“Why didn’t you kill him?” Belle asked as the horseless carriage rattled its way back towards the Dark Castle.

Rumplestiltskin jerked up short, turning to face her with an expression that said he utterly did not comprehend her question.  Sighing, Belle crossed her arms and stared at her employer until he finally said:

“Whatever do you ask that for, dearie?  You should just be happy that I didn’t,” he shot back with that irritating laugh of his.

“I _am_ happy,” she retorted.  “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to know why.”

Belle had known he was lonely.  She had known that for a while now, and had seen glimmers of the man hiding underneath the monster that Rumplestiltskin always reminded her he was.  She was slowly getting to know him, rough edges and all, and Belle firmly believed that there _was_ goodness buried deep within him, despite that darkness that festered inside him.  Belle had always believed in being honest with herself, and she knew that she was starting to develop… _feelings_ for Rumplestiltskin.  There was so much about him that drew her in, that made her laugh and made her happy.  It wasn’t rational, and it didn’t make sense, but Belle didn’t care.

Still, she had to _know_.  She needed to know if there really was any good left in Rumplestiltskin before she let herself fall for him.

“I…the arrow simply missed,” he lied, and Belle snickered.

“I thought that bow never missed?”  His grumble was audible, and Belle bounced forward to sit next to him, wrapping her hands around his arm and smiling up at him.  “I think you didn’t want to leave a child without a father.”

Rumplestiltskin scowled, but Belle continued to smile.  “Oh, read your book or something,” he snapped.

“Later,” she replied sunnily.  “You’re not as scary as you think you are, you know.”

“You have no _idea_ how scary I am, dearie.”  Another nasty giggle came as he pulled away, but Belle saw no actual ire in his glare, and she just continued to smile .  He really _wasn’t_ as dark as he thought he was, and that warmed her heart.

* * *

 

The type of town Storybrooke was became so very apparent when the fire died down, the ambulances drove away, and the crowd left.  The sun was going down by then, and no one seemed to pay attention to Lacey or Renee French as they headed slowly towards Granny’s, walking quietly along the now-deserted streets.  Behind them, the library lay in shambles, along with all of their belongings.  Mother and daughter both still wore smoke-blackened clothing and looked more than a little worse for the wear, but no one stayed to see if they were all right, not even Moe French, who should have cared more than anyone else.

Or more than _almost_ anyone else.

Gold had gone to great lengths to keep his relationship with Lacey a secret from Cora, even when doing so risked breaking her heart.  He kept his distance when Lacey needed him, stood and watched another man rescue her in silence, and remained in the shop while the furor died down.  He wanted to go to her, more than anything, but he didn’t dare.  Not with Cora standing there watching _everything_.  Even when Cora left, however, he lingered on the sidelines, telling himself that it was safer for both of them if he stayed away.  But now, watching Lacey head towards Granny’s by herself, lonely and oh so brave, forcing herself to face a terrifying and friendless future…he couldn’t do it.  Rumplestiltskin just couldn’t.

So, he pulled his Cadillac up next to her, rolling the car to a stop as she turned to see who it was.  Rumplestiltskin rolled down the window, swallowing hard as he looked at the smoke-stained face of his True Love.  Of his _wife._

“Get in the car, sweetheart,” he said softly.  “I’m taking you home.”

Wide blue eyes stared at him until Gabrielle— _Renee!—_ asked innocently: “Gold?”

“Yeah.”  A smile tugged at his lips; how _had_ he managed to avoid his daughter for this long?  Oh, he could tell himself all day long that it was to keep them both safe, but just seeing her made his heart beat a little faster, made his darkened soul just a little bit lighter.  Leaning across the car, he opened the passenger door for them.  “Get in.”

Lacey did, shifting Renee into the spot between them as the little girl smiled, all teeth and Baelfire’s brown eyes.  “I thought you said…”

“I was wrong,” Rumplestiltskin said as she closed the door and buckled in.  His smile turned crooked.  “I was a fool.”

“I understand,” Lacey replied softly.  “I think.”

“Home?” Renee echoed as he put the car into drive, looking up at him with wide eyes. 

Rumplestiltskin looked down as he stopped the car at a stop sign, smiling at the cursed little girl who did not know she was his daughter.  “Would you like that?  To come to my house?”

Renee looked thoughtful for a long moment, and then she nodded very solemnly.  “Okay.”

Rumplestiltskin felt a smile tug at his lips, and without thinking, he looked up at Lacey to see her staring at him with such naked need and sorrow that it broke his heart.  He couldn’t keep doing this to her.  Lacey deserved better, and even if he’d always been a coward, he had loved Belle from almost the beginning.   And Gold had loved Lacey to the point of distraction, beyond logic and certainly far beyond caution.  _True Love wins out every time, I suppose,_ Rumplestiltskin thought to himself, reaching out for Lacey’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.  “But it will be different now.  I promise.”

And when Lacey smiled Belle’s smile like that, he could almost believe himself.

* * *

 

_3 Years Before the Curse_

Their child had come into the world without the benefit of a midwife and with only her father’s magic to keep her safe and healthy, but Gabrielle appeared with a bang, wailing as any healthy babe should and proving right away that she had her mother’s sprit.  Now she was sleeping in her mother’s arms, wrapped in a blue blanket that Rumplestiltskin had expected to match her eyes...which had turned out to be, much to his surprise, a warm brown color that reminded him almost painfully of Baelfire.  Or of himself, long ago, if he wanted to indulge in a bit of honesty. 

“I think she’s out,” Belle said, smiling tiredly.

“I do think so,” he agreed softly, leaning over to kiss his wife on the forehead.  Belle still lay in their bed with Gabrielle in her arms, but Rumplestiltskin was on top of the covers next to her, now, staring in amazement at the perfect little child he and Belle had someone created.  _She’ll look like her mother,_ he thought with no small amount of satisfaction.  He’d Seen that much, although Rumplestiltskin always had a hard time Seeing into his own future or that of those closest to him. 

“She’s so beautiful,” Belle whispered.

“She’ll look like you,” Rumplestiltskin replied, and then laughed lightly.  “And a good thing that is, too.  We’d not want her looking like this.”

He indicated his own scaly form with a sweep of one hand, but his wife turned her head to smile at him, grabbing that hand before Rumplestiltskin could say something else derogatory about himself.  “I would have loved her no matter what she looked like.  Just like I love you.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, kissing the hand that still held his.

“It’s not about deserving,” Belle replied seriously.  “It’s about love, and I love you, Rumplestiltskin.  For all eternity.”

“And I love you, Belle.”  The warmth spreading inside him was almost enough to silence even his curse and Rumplestiltskin felt like there might never be a moment so perfect as this one, lying quietly with his wife and his daughter, knowing that he could love them and be loved.  “No matter what.”

* * *

 

“We don’t have any things,” Lacey said worriedly as Rumplestiltskin led her and Renee into the house. 

He smiled slightly, already thinking of the things he needed to move to childproof the antique-ridden house that the curse had given him.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t give a damn about most of those belongings, but he didn’t want Gabrielle— _Renee!_ —hurting herself.  Fortunately, the three year old was tired enough right now that she probably wouldn’t be too grabby.  Tomorrow, of course, would be another matter, but he figured that he could fix things in the meantime.  “Don’t worry about that,” he reassured her.  “What’s mine is yours, and I’ll call Dove and have him do a quick shopping trip for any necessities you might need.”

“Thank you,” was her soft reply, and he gave her a smile. 

Besides, it wasn’t like Lacey hadn’t spent a night or two at his house; she had shampoo, soap, and a change of clothes or two there from the days before he’d woken up.  Gabrielle would be a little more difficult to clothe, but thankfully the giant pink house had a washing machine, and Dove had a girlfriend.  Gold had forgotten her name frequently, but Rumplestiltskin knew who she actually was, and he’d be sure to mention to Dove that he should take his lady friend along to go shopping for Lacey and a three year old.

“Now,” Rumplestiltskin said, pulling his mind to the present and away from plans he could make later, “let’s get this little lady settled in, shall we?”

“Where?” Renee wanted to know, and Rumplestiltskin glanced at Lacey.

“For now, let’s try the couch.  I think I get the Disney channel,” he told them both, knowing from experience that putting a Disney movie on was the quickest way to distract Renee.  She was still too young to understand most of them, but she liked the songs and the pretty colors.  And Rumplestiltskin needed a chance to talk to Lacey alone, which thankfully she seemed to sense.

Together, they got Renee settled in on the couch in front of the television.  Gold never watched a lot of TV, but he had apparently bought the entire cable package under the curse, for which Rumplestiltskin was currently grateful.  Soon enough, Renee was engrossed in _The Little Mermaid,_ freeing her parents up to talk.  Not that both of them knew that they were in this together…but Rumplestiltskin knew he had to change that, so he took Lacey gently by the arm and led her into the kitchen.  From there, they could keep an eye on the sleepy and stressed three year old, but the chances of Renee overhearing them was slim.

“Gold, I need to understand what’s going on,” Lacey said before he could get a word in.  She looked so sad and so broken, but she forged on bravely.  “I know you wanted to stay away from us to keep us safe from Cora, and I’m really starting to understand why, but won’t this ruin all of that?”

“It will, but—”

“Then why are we here?” she cut him off.  “I have money.  We could have stayed at Granny’s until I get another job.”

If her voice cracked on the last sentence, it was clear that Lacey was determined not to show that.  She just stared at him stubbornly, and Rumplestiltskin reached out without even meaning to, leaving his cane balanced against the counter so that he could touch one hand to her cheek and the other to take both of her hands in his. 

“Because I can’t do this anymore,” he answered honestly.  “Because I can’t leave you to struggle on your own when I can take care of you.  I love you, and I won’t abandon you when you need me.”

“Gold…”

Seeing tears in her eyes broke him into little tiny pieces, so Rumplestiltskin leaned in to kiss her, pouring all of his love and hope and _need_ into the kiss.  There was scant little magic in this land aside from the curse, but there was one thing powerful enough to transcend realms.  That was the kiss they were denied back home, the one way in which they could never demonstrate their love for one another, the power that had surged through Rumplestiltskin but he could never quite embrace.  But here his curse was powerless and trapped, and he _did not care_ what it might do to his magic—even though he knew, intellectually, that it would not harm his powers, not in this land. 

Long ago, he had placed a second drop of True Love on the parchment for the Dark Curse, preparing for this very moment.  Rumplestiltskin had never been quite sure that it would work; even though he placed an extra line in the curse itself to allow love to exist—so that the caster could deny it, Cora would assume—but now he knew it would.  Had Gold and Lacey not fallen in love with one another, he would never have been able to wake Belle up, but Gold _had_ loved Lacey with all of his guarded heart.  And Lacey loved him back; that was plain from the way she wrapped her arms tightly around him and held on for dear life.  A few short, blissful seconds passed before the power rolled through him, strong and pure and _light_ , powerful enough to make Rumplestiltskin’s curse screech in terror and retreat beneath the human he still was deep inside. 

Breathless, they pulled apart, and he looked into huge blue eyes that he knew so very well, seeing recognition dawn in them for the first time in twenty-eight years. 

“Rumple?” Belle asked hopefully, and, heart soaring, he kissed her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Twenty-Three: “Coming Home,” in which Emma is sick of Keith’s shenanigans, Belle and Rumplestiltskin have a long overdue talk, and Regina seeks Errol out. Back in the past, we find out what happened to Marian.


	23. Coming Home

Emma found Keith drunk and face down on the floor after the fire was out and she slunk away from the little Mills family reunion.  She hadn’t known what else to do after Cora had so nastily told her that she wasn’t welcome at their little party, and despite the apologetic glances Regina sent her way, Emma wasn’t about to stick around when she wasn’t wanted.  Henry was all right, and that was what mattered.  Emma had arrived after the fire had been in full swing, having been answering what turned out to be a prank call about a robbery on the other side of town, just too late to help at all.  In fact, she’d show up just in time to see Errol Forrester burst out of the library as a hero.  Otherwise, she probably would have run in there herself, and would have been a lot less effective doing so.

That didn’t matter now.  The crowd had died down and she’d headed into the sheriff’s office to try to do something useful, only to find Keith passed out drunk.  He looked like he’d started out sitting in her chair—there was a half empty bottle of whiskey on her desk—but slid down to the floor and somehow flipped over onto his face.  The entire station smelled like vomit and cheap liquor, making Emma grimace as she came in.  Her already foul mood just dropped right into the crapper, and Emma kicked her deputy.

“Get up,” she snapped.  “You’re fired.”

Keith rolled with her kick and blinked at her blearily.  “Wha…?” 

“You’re a drunk and a lecher, and a horrible cop.  You’re fired.  Get out of my Sheriff’s Station,” she replied, feeling better already.  Perhaps it was wrong to take her frustrations out on Keith, but that didn’t mean Emma was wrong.  Keith was a disaster, and no one in Storybrooke trusted him to do the right thing.

“You can’t fire me,” her (former!) deputy slurred.

“The hell I can’t,” Emma retorted.  “Get up or crawl out, but I’m done with you.”

Keith was drunk enough to try to get up, but not sober enough to manage.  He landed back in a heap, sitting cross legged now.  His teeth even rattled a little when he hit the ground, but he didn’t seem to notice.  “I’ll tell the mayor lady,” he objected, swaying.  “She’ll fix your everything.”

“I bet she will.” Despite herself, Emma was smiling.  A fantastic idea had occurred to her, so she taunted Keith: “In fact, why don’t you go see her now?  Tell her how horrible I am to you.”

“Don’t see if I won’.”  Somehow, Keith managed to lever himself to his feet, using her desk for balance.  She’d have to disinfect it when he was through.  “She’ll fire _you._ No me.”

“Go find out,” she urged him, wishing she could see Cora’s face when Keith interrupted her celebratory dinner.

“I will.  Jus’ you wait,” he replied, staggering out.  Emma watched him with satisfaction until she realized that Keith had left her with both a half-drunk bottle of really crappy whiskey that she wouldn’t use as lighter fluid and a trashcan full of vomit.

“You forgot your damn bottle!” Emma called after him, but Keith was already stumbling down the street.

Groaning, she looked at the trashcan and decided to throw the entire thing in the dumpster; that would probably be easier than trying to figure out what various diseases Keith had puked into it and somehow disinfecting it.  _At least he made it into the can and didn’t leave a mess on the floor,_ Emma told herself.  Then she braced herself for the stench and grabbed the trashcan, lugging it out the back door and towards the dumpster out back.  A vague yelp and a crash drifted in through the still open front doors, and Emma sighed.

The likelihood of Keith making it all the way to Cora’s without passing out was low, unfortunately.  Emma would probably have to dig him out of a gutter later, but at least the keys to his rusty old truck were still sitting in the sheriff’s station.  He wouldn’t be driving drunk, and Emma could start a search for a new deputy in the morning.  _Anyone_ had to be better than Keith Law.  Hell, hiring that smarmy marina owner would be better than this!   Keith had no morals, no self-control, and no respect for the law at all.  Even in this screwed up town, Emma could do better than that. 

_Maybe Ruby wants a job,_ she thought with a smile.  _She was talking about leaving Granny’s…_

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin and Belle had a marriage’s worth of kisses to make up for, not to mention twenty-eight years of not truly being together and several months of recent separation.  So, the second kiss became a third, and then a fourth, and then they finally broke apart, laughing and holding tightly to one another.  He knew she would have questions, and he’d give answers that Belle wouldn’t like, but for the moment Rumplestiltskin just closed his eyes and treasured the feeling of having his wife safe in his arms, and knowing that their beloved daughter was watching Disney in the next room.  Belle seemed to feel the same, because she buried her head in his shoulder for what seemed an eternity, clinging to Rumplestiltskin as desperately as he was clinging to her.

“How long have you been awake?” Belle asked quietly, drawing back so that her voice was no longer muffled in his suit jacket.

He might have expected it would start here, but Rumplestiltskin knew better than to lie to Belle, or at least not about this.  She knew what his plans had been, and she was really only looking for confirmation.  He forced himself to shrug slightly.  “Ever since Miss Swan showed up.”

“That long?”  Why did that make her wince?

“Yes.”  He tried to stop there, he really did, but the next words tumbled out anyway.  “I wanted to wake you up earlier, Belle.  I really did.  But it wasn’t safe.  Cora—”

“She’s hurting you,” Belle cut him off, and Rumplestiltskin wished to hell that Lacey hadn’t known so much.

He looked away.

“Rumple?” her voice was soft, as was the hand that touched his cheek and gently brought his head around to face her.  But he couldn’t look at her, so Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he whispered.

“Oh, Rumple.”  Suddenly, her arms were around him again, and Rumplestiltskin felt Belle’s lips brush his cheek as she pulled him close.  Letting out a shaky breath, he allowed his head to drop onto her shoulder, let himself feel safe and whole for the first time since he’d woken up to find himself in hell.  He could be strong for Belle.  He had to be.  Just this once, he needed to be the strong one. Belle and Gabi had gone through enough today.

Belle held him in silence for several long moments before asking:

“What’s going on?  Why are you letting her?” She leaned back again to look him in the eyes until Rumplestiltskin had to look away once more, and this time Belle let him.   He didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to _think_ about it, and damn it all, he was starting to shake slightly.  Belle’s voice dropped to a whisper when she added: “Why can’t you stop her?”

“I suppose it’s partially my fault.”  With an effort, Rumplestiltskin pulled himself back together, retreating behind the mask of self-control that Gold had always been so good at.  He tried to sound flippant with his explanation, but he was afraid it just came out slightly broken.  “When I gave her the information she needed to cast the curse, I had Cora insert a caveat that she would have to do whatever I wished, so long as I said ‘please’.  I intended to use it, if worst came to worst, to keep you both safe.  But I must have given her the idea, because she inserted a few of her own.”

“They force you to go to her,” Belle guessed immediately, and Rumplestiltskin nodded miserably.

“Yes,” he admitted.  “And I can’t fight it.  The only magic here is the curse, and it’s too strong.  And if I try too hard, she’s going to realize that I know exactly who I am, and we can’t afford that, not yet.”

“What about your pleases?”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head.  “Gold doesn’t know about them, so I can’t do that on purpose.  And besides…I don’t know what will happen if we both try to use them at the same time.  It’ll likely come down to which one of us used it first, and Cora has more than one.”

“Oh, Rumple,” she whispered again, pulling his head close with one hand so that she could kiss him on the forehead.  He melted into her embrace, feeling the months—or years, depending upon how he looked at it—of loneliness rolling through him like a curse cloud.  “I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with this alone.”

“But I didn’t,” he said honestly.  “Lacey…”

“Lacey loved you,” his wife finished for him, and he could finally hear a slight smile in her voice.

“And Gold loved her.”  Now Rumplestiltskin pulled back to look at Belle, a smile tugging at his lips.  “True Love wins out,” he said softly.  “The curse didn’t tie either of us to anyone, so we found one another.”

Rumplestiltskin had always believed in the power of True Love—he had watched it at work too many times in his study of magic to doubt—but he had never really experienced it firsthand.  Oh, Belle had nearly broken his curse, and the power he’d felt behind their kisses in Amorveria had been extraordinary.  But he had never even imagined that his love for Belle might be pure enough to withstand the Dark Curse, to circumvent it and to find a way despite every obstacle thrown in its path.  He was such a dark creature, with such a damaged soul, and Rumplestiltskin had always imagined that tainted the love he felt for Belle, even though it was one of the few pure things in his world.  But here they were, having fallen in love not once but twice, and he could not bring himself to doubt any of it.

“So we did,” Belle replied with a brilliant smile, and despite the horrors lurking in his mind, Rumplestiltskin kissed her again.  Belle wasn’t Cora, and even Lacey had always been able to soothe away Gold’s pain and fears.

She brought him peace.  Belle was the light that had invaded his soul, the person who had brought him closer to the man he had been than Rumplestiltskin had ever been as the Dark One.  Being with her was like coming home, and Rumplestiltskin allowed himself to revel in this moment for as long as it lasted.  There would be plenty of challenges to come, and Cora remained a terrible danger in their lives, but he wanted to savor this moment.  He had missed Belle so much, and he could tell by the way her hands held tightly to him that she’d felt the same.

“I guess this answers the question of where I’ll be sleeping tonight,” Belle murmured in his ear, and a chuckle snuck out of Rumplestiltskin before he realized. 

“I suppose it does,” he replied, smiling hard enough that the muscles in his face twitched a bit.  Gold’s face wasn’t used to joy, and it felt a little strange.

Concern crossed Belle’s face, and he saw her hesitate before she asked: “Can we stay, though?  I know you’re trying to keep Cora from knowing, but…”

But Lacey didn’t have the money to stay at Granny’s for long, and jobs were hard to come by in Storybrooke, Belle didn’t have to say.  Cora’s tactic of burning down the library—and Rumplestiltskin didn’t want to even _let_ his temper contemplate Cora’s reasons for doing that, not when he couldn’t afford to let his curse off its leash—had done more damage than almost anything else.  It deprived Belle of her job and her home in one fell swoop, not to mention all of her belongings.  Cora undoubtedly expected both mother and daughter to suffer, or for Lacey to be forced to give up Renee in order to go back to her father’s.  She’d probably block Lacey from getting another job, too, just out of pure vindictiveness.  And Rumplestiltskin was not about to let that happen.

“I thought,” he said contemplatively, “that Gold might hire Lacey as a live-in maid.  If you want to stay…?”

He couldn’t discount the fact that she might be angry enough to want to live elsewhere, and—

“Of course I do, you silly man,” Belle replied immediately, lifting a hand to smack him lightly on the shoulder.  Relief coursed through him, and Rumplestiltskin smiled.  “Even if I am a terrible maid.”

“Well, then.  That should keep you both here, at least.  Though people will talk,” he added hesitantly.

“I don’t care,” his brave wife replied.  “I want to be with my family, and that includes you, Rumplestiltskin.”

Hearing her say his name like that made him close his eyes again, melting into her touch as Belle’s fingers brushed his cheek.  He had been so worried for her earlier, so ready to rush right into that fire after Belle and Gabrielle both, but what could a cripple do in the Land Without Magic?  For once, it had not even been his own habitual cowardice holding him back, but by the time Rumplestiltskin had heard about the fire, it had already been raging and the outlaw-turned-firefighter had already gone in.  He’d been able to do nothing but watch helplessly and pray that another man could save his family.   _I suppose that I really should be grateful I never killed Robin Hood,_ Rumplestiltskin thought suddenly, and contemplating that little quirk of fate made him snicker aloud.

“What?” Belle asked curiously.

“The irony is rather beautiful.  You stopped me from killing Robin Hood all those years ago for the sake of his wife and unborn child…and now he’s saved _my_ wife and child.”

She gave him a cheeky smile.  “I thought you just ‘missed’?”

“Of course I did,” Rumplestiltskin replied, leaning in to steal another kiss.  He would never forget that day, and now he owed the outlaw twice over: first, for providing an opportunity in which the terrible Dark One realized that he was honestly and truly in love with his maid, and second, for saving his family when he could not.

* * *

 

“I’ll go grab ‘em, if you like,” Mel Anzo—whoever he actually was—told Regina as she tried hard not to fidget uneasily.   She shouldn’t be here, but David was off getting Henry cleaned up, and she needed to do this before she could face her mother at that horrible dinner she had planned.  _Celebratory my ass,_ Regina thought angrily.  _She wants me to know she still has all the power.  That she can hurt anyone she wants to, and that I can do nothing to stop her._

“Thanks,” was what she said out loud, wrapping her arms around herself and trying to look dignified.  She’d looked up Errol’s address in the phone book, and was only slightly surprised to find that he and his son lived with the humongous firefighter.  She hoped like crazy that there wasn’t something going on between them—but _no,_ she didn’t.  Maybe there was, and it wasn’t her concern at all.

Except she wanted it to be.

“Hey, Regina,” Errol’s voice suddenly said, and her head whipped around from where she’d been staring at the doorbell. 

“Hi,” she replied awkwardly, trying on a smile that felt entirely too natural.  What _was_ it about this man who could make her knees go weak?  She’d only met him a handful of times, first when she’d saved his son and then when he’d saved hers from a far greater danger.

“What, uh, can I do for you?  And do you want to come in?” he asked, stepping back to clear space for her to come through the door.  Behind him, Regina could just make out a very rustic looking apartment, with a deer head on one wall and a crossbow on the other.  It looked like a place owned by two bachelors, complete with a stack of random shoes lined up against one wall and some sort of electronic gaming system or another by the television. 

She shook her head, despite the fact that she really wanted to say yes.  “No thanks.  I…I’m expected at my mother’s.  I just wanted to stop by and say thank you.  You saved my son’s life.”

“As you saved mine.”

“It’s hardly the same.  I—you ran into a _burning building_ for Henry, and I…I just needed to thank you.  To your face,” Regina stuttered.  “Because he means the world to me, and I don’t know what I’d be if I lost him.”

“And I don’t know what I’d do without Jamie,” the handsome man replied, reaching out hesitantly to touch her arm.  “You don’t owe me anything.  I was doing my job.”

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t thank you,” she retorted.

Errol shrugged.  “Then you’re welcome, if you insist.”  His smile was crooked.  “Besides, your boy was very brave.  You should be proud of him.”

“I am.”  Now, at least, her smile could be unrestrained. 

“I can only hope that my Jamie grows into the same sort,” he replied.  “I envy you the stability of your married life.  Raising him without my wife is…hard.”

“What happened to her?”

She shouldn’t ask.  She really shouldn’t.

“An accident,” Errol answered, looking distant and broken.  “She hit a tree driving to a friend’s after we had a fight, and it caused a car fire.  We got there too late, and by the time I pulled her out, she was dead.”

“I’m so sorry,” Regina replied, and it felt so inadequate coming from the woman whose mother had undoubtedly set that tragically horrible backstory up. 

“It was years ago,” was his quiet answer.  “Jamie barely remembers her, but…”

“I know how you feel.”  She shouldn’t have said it, but her mind was full of Daniel when the words tumbled out, and surprisingly, Errol didn’t point out that she had a husband who was _supposed_ to be the love of her life.

“I think those we love never really leave us,” he said instead, squeezing her arm gently.  “Perhaps we move on, but they’re never truly gone.  I’ve heard it said that we live in the hearts of those we leave behind, and I like to think that Olivia will always be with me.”

Regina wasn’t sure what to say to that—she only gave him a watery smile and fled, knowing she looked like a fool but unable to do anything more.

* * *

 

_2 Years Before the Curse_

The Queen’s guards had wounded her and then dragged her in the cell to die.  They hadn’t even had the decency to put them in a cell together; instead, they’d shoved Robin into the cell next door, and not even been kind enough to put his bleeding wife within reach.  Instead, Marian was sprawled six or seven feet away, too far for Robin to even grab her hands while she lay bleeding out and struggling for air.

“Take care of Roland,” Marian whispered hoarsely, and Robin nodded frantically, trying to choke back his tears for her sake.

“I will.  I promise,” he replied fiercely, all the while wondering how in the world he was going to keep that oath. 

He’d screwed up.  They’d been so overconfident, and it had brought them here, where Marian was going to die if someone didn’t give her help quickly…and where Robin would undoubtedly be executed soon after.  The Evil Queen, after all, was not known for granting mercy to thieves, even those with small children at home.  Worse yet, this was Marian’s first job since Roland’s birth.  Their precious boy was less than two years old, and both of his parents had been caught by the Evil Queen’s guards due to _his_ carelessness.  Robin hadn’t believed that the Evil Queen could reach the summer palace so quickly, and the reward offered for stealing the Janus Stone from her would have been enough to feed the people of Sherwood for over a year.  _Maleficent_ wanted the Stone—rumor said in order to keep it away from Queen Cora, who would use it to control all manner of fell creatures—and the Merry Men had hardly been in a position to refuse the Mistress of All Evil, particularly after what had happened with Will Scarlet and that damned mirror.

“I love you,” Marian said next, her voice growing ever quieter.

“And I will _always_ love you,” Robin swore around the lump in his throat.  “Until my dying day.”

He knew that day was not far away, and even if it were, there was nothing that would ever heal the whole in his heart that even the _thought_ of losing Marian was already beginning to cause.

“Goodbye, Robin,” his wife whispered, and she was gone before he could say more.

The guards left him in the cell next to his dead wife for nearly a week, ‘awaiting the Queen’s pleasure’, they said, and forcing Robin to watch as Marian slowly began to decompose.  By the time the captain of the Queen’s guards, the legendary Huntsman, showed up, he’d cried every tear he had to cry and felt like the shell of the man he had once been, broken and lonely and beyond hoping a miracle could wake her up.

_I had two stolen years with her,_ he tried to tell himself as the Huntsman slid a key into the first of three locks (Robin had picked them all at least twice, until the guards grew smart enough to chain him to the back wall).  _And Roland will live on as proof of our love.  He may barely remember either of us, but perhaps John and the others will tell him stories of us so that he can know us through that._   Listlessly, Robin looked up at the Huntsman, unable to stop himself from asking:

“Is it finally time?”  He was ready to die.  Looking at Marian’s so-still face for the last six days, beautiful even in death, had made sure of that.

“No,” the other man replied with what seemed to be regret.  “Her Majesty has a special death planned for you.  You’re to be the…entertainment at next week’s fair.”

“She’s going to use me to further intimidate her people, you mean,” Robin said grimly.  He wasn’t sure why that could still anger him, but it could.  He wasn’t even _from_ this kingdom, and he still hated the horrible queen who ruled over her people with an iron fist.  Perhaps she just reminded him of his own corrupt and venal prince, only crueler.

“That is her intention, yes,” the captain of her guards replied, stepping into the cell.

“Then why are you here?” Robin asked as the Huntsman crouched to unlock his shackles.  “And why in the middle of the night?”

He’d barely bothered to mark the passage of time, but it _was_ dark outside.  Near midnight, if Robin’s reading of the few stars he could see outside the barred window was correct.

“You are not the only one who hates the queen,” was the unexpected and soft reply.  “I’m setting you free.”

Robin twisted to stare at the Huntsman, but the black-clad man only shushed him and helped him to his feet.  Robin felt weak from a week without food and barely enough water to live on, but the thought of freedom gave him strength.  He was halfway to the door before he hesitated, turning to look back over his left shoulder at the motionless corpse in the cell next to him, the husk that had once been the love of his life.

“We must go,” the Huntsman hissed urgently.

“Marian…”

“You can do nothing for her, but live in her memory.  Now come, before the guards I have relieved grow suspicious.”

He was right, even if the thought burned.  And Robin couldn’t even ask the Huntsman to make sure his beloved’s body was taken care of; the man was already risking too much by freeing him, and Robin was certain that the Evil Queen would have plans for their bodies, if only to put them on display to terrify the peasantry.  So, he cast one last look at his wife, memorizing her features and swearing to himself that he would let her live on through Roland.  _I will never forget,_ Robin swore silently, and then allowed the Huntsman to lead him to freedom.

* * *

 

“She doesn’t really know me,” Rumplestiltskin said sadly, standing with an arm wrapped around Belle in the doorway to his living room and watching their daughter sleep.  Gabrielle— _Renee!_ —had fallen asleep in front of _The Little Mermaid_ while her parents reacquainted themselves with one another.

“Oh, Rumple,” his wife whispered, and he felt her arm around his waist tighten.  “She always liked Gold…I think she knows more than we give her credit for, even if it’s not on a conscious level.”

“You do?”

Belle nodded.  “She never liked Tony—Gaston—or any of the other men Lacey tried to date.  Only you.”

Hearing that warmed his little black heart in ways Rumplestiltskin hadn’t known were still possible, and he managed to give his wife a slightly watery and very crooked smile.  He’d tried so hard not to think on how much he missed both of them in the months that had passed since he woke up, but the emptiness of the damn pink mansion had only grown with time.  Now, however, having them both here was something of a miracle.  Despite how it had happened, despite the terror of that fire and his growing rage with Cora (because there was no doubt in his mind, none at all, that Cora was responsible for this fire; not in this town and not with the triumphantly acid way she’d treated Lacey immediately afterwards), he was so very happy to have them home with him that Rumplestiltskin could burst.

_Kill her,_ the curse whispered in his mind for the thousandth time. 

_In time,_ Rumplestiltskin promised it, watching with a smile as Belle woke their daughter up.  It was bath time, and he’d already dispatched Dove to the store.  Dove wouldn’t be able to do a complete shopping this evening, but he’d be able to pick up some necessities for both of them.  The rest could wait until tomorrow.

_Kill her now!_ The dark voice he knew so well howled, and Rumplestiltskin stepped on its rage with an effort.

He couldn’t afford to kill Cora.  Not yet.  Doing so would deprive the Savior of an enemy to focus upon, and the mob of a villain to go after when the curse finally broke.  Under other circumstances, Rumplestiltskin would have had no problems filling both roles himself—not if it got the job done and the curse broken—but he had a family to protect, now.  Cora had wanted revenge, and she had made this curse _so_ much worse than it had to be.  Every little vindictive action had an associated price, and that price was Cora’s to pay.  He’s see her do that before he killed her, before he watched the life drain out of her eyes in revenge for what she had done to him and for what she had tried to do to his family. He _would_ kill her, but Rumplestiltskin wanted to let Cora taste the bitterness of defeat, first.  And then he could enjoy her death.

However, those dark thoughts faded as he followed Belle up the stairs, listening to his daughter protest sleepily that she _wasn’t_ tired.  She was still Renee, because he had no way to wake her up; a child of three wasn’t emotionally mature enough for a kiss of True Love to work in this context, even that of a parent.  But Belle was right.  Renee was very much Gabrielle, from her sleepy smile to the pouty face she put on at the thought of a bath.  Apparently she was at the age where bath time was evil time, and a pang tore through Rumplestiltskin’s heart as he thought of how much he had missed.

Yet he knew that today’s little accident would have been nothing compared to what Cora would have done if she knew about Belle and Gabrielle.  She would have made them suffer far worse fates than they already had if she knew how much they meant to Rumplestiltskin.  As painful as the time apart had been, at least it had kept his family safe.

“I’ll go childproof the guest room,” he told Belle as she took the now-cranky three year old into the bathroom.  “Dove should be here soon.”

“Next time, _you_ get the bath, and I get the easy part,” his wife retorted, but she softened her glare with a smile.

Rumplestiltskin just snorted and ducked into the next room, sweeping his eyes around it and quickly starting to pick up anything that might hurt a child.  He was glad that he’d grabbed a trash bag on the way up, since in this world without magic he had to do everything the hard way, and he had no intention of keeping most of the ugly antiques that the curse had decided to furnish this room with.  _Tomorrow, Belle and I will sit down and we’ll draw up a shopping list for Dove_ , he decided, wishing that he could openly take Belle and Gabrielle shopping for every toy and bit of clothes his daughter could handle.  But he couldn’t.  Not yet.  Someday, perhaps when the curse was broken, they’d have that much freedom, but right now he had to maintain the fiction of “Lacey” being an employee.  Oh, there were plenty of people who would assume that they were intimate.  They would probably think, he realized with a grimace, that it was part of what Lacey was being paid for.  But there was no helping that.  Time would let the truth come out, and Rumplestiltskin was nothing if not patient.

He’d finished clearing out the room, and bringing in some extra pillows and blankets, by the time Belle got their daughter cleaned up.  Rumplestiltskin had even found an old undershirt of his that would do for a nightshirt for Renee; it would be big on her, but at least it was something clean.  So, he handed that over and watched with a soft smile as Belle dried off and dressed Renee, carefully combing her hair until it was tangle free.  By then, Renee was bouncing and impatient, and was starting to get curious about this house she had never visited before.

_I doubt she remembers ever spending the night anywhere other than the apartment in the library,_ Rumplestiltskin realized as he trailed Belle into the guest room.  Renee had a tight grip on her mother’s hand, but had insisted on walking herself, and she was looking around with wide eyes.

“This is going to be your room, all right?” Belle said to her with a smile.

“All mine?” Renee asked, and she was smart enough to glance at the man who she knew as Gold.

“For as long as you want it, princess,” he replied solemnly, and was rewarded with a toothy smile.

“Read me a story?” Renee asked him in response, and Rumplestiltskin felt his heart turn into a puddle of goo. 

“Gladly,” he replied, leaning his cane against the wall so that he could pick his daughter up.  The bed was close enough that he could limp there, bad leg and all, and he wanted to be able to hold his little girl.  “I even do voices.”

Her brown eyes—eyes that were painfully similar to the ones he looked at every day in the mirror, ones he had once all but forgotten he had—went wide.  “You do?”

“I do,” Rumplestiltskin promised, sitting on the bed and settling her in.  Belle sat down on their daughter’s other side, looking at him with shining eyes, and Rumplestiltskin had truly forgotten what it was like to be this happy.  “And I’ll even do one better, if you like.  I’ll tell you a _real_ story, one you’re not going to find in any book.”

“Is it a good story?” Renee wanted to know, and Rumplestiltskin reached for his wife’s hand as he tucked the blankets in close to his little girl.

“The best,” he answered.  Fingers squeezed his, and Renee nodded.

“Okay.”

“Then, once upon a time, there was a beautiful young lady who lived in a place called Avonlea.  She was brave and very smart, but her kingdom was under attack by terrible creatures called ogres…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much to everyone who left me a note after the last chapter! I really appreciate hearing from everyone. Now that the fire is over, how do you think that Storybrooke will react to Lacey and Renee moving in with the terrible Mr. Gold? 
> 
> Next up: Chapter Twenty-Four: “In the Crossfire,” in which Emma gets involved in the fire investigation, Henry asks about his birth father, Mary Margaret and David deal with their growing attraction, Cora plots against Emma, and Belle and Rumplestiltskin discuss what has been happening to him—much to Rumplestiltskin’s discomfort. Back in the past, Cora and Regina have a spat, Snow and James come to an understanding, and Rumplestiltskin battles with his own curse in his early days as the Dark One.


	24. In the Crossfire

Emma had spent the morning talking to Errol Forrester about the various things that could have started the fire that almost killed Henry, because she would be damned if she would stay out of it like Cora seemed to assume she would.  The fire department had been going through the rubble since dawn, and although they hadn’t reached any firm conclusions, there was one thing that Forrester seemed sure of: no matter how old the building or how flammable the books, the fire should never have spread that fast.  So far, he said that he’d found six different origin points for the fire, and there might have very well been more.  Forrester was too smart to speculate on how that might have happened (particularly with the thorny D.A. listening on), but Emma got the hint. 

That fire had been set by someone, and _her_ son had been caught in the crossfire.

“What took you so long?” she demanded, turning to watch Regina walk into the Sheriff’s Station as if nothing was wrong.  Emma had texted Regina hours ago, and she figured that the other woman would be more than eager to learn about the fire that had almost taken Henry’s life.

“Some of us do have other jobs to do,” Regina replied with a scowl.

“You’re working today?”

“Does my mother look like someone who embraces the idea of a day off?” the older woman retorted.  “Of course I am.  This is my lunch break, though, so it had better be good.”

“Forrester says the fire was set by someone,” Emma answered bluntly, figuring that would catch Regina’s attention.  Unfortunately, it hardly made her twitch.

“I’m not surprised,” Regina said.

_“What?_ ” Emma gaped.

That finally made Regina sigh, although she looked more frustrated and tired than angry.   “We’ve told you what kind of town this is, Emma,” the mayor’s daughter said.  “I have no doubt my mother was behind that, although you’ll never prove it.”

“What does she have against the library?” she asked, struggling to wrap her mind around the mayor setting—or ordering set—a fire that had endangered her grandson’s life.

“I’m not sure it’s the library she was after,” Regina replied quietly, looking away.

“What—wait a minute, what the hell are you saying?” Emma demanded, reading the defeated look on Regina’s face.  Coldness seized her own heart; Regina _couldn’t_ be saying that…that… “What do you mean?”

“I mean that my mother doesn’t appreciate defiance, okay?” was the sharp response.  “I’ve helped you too much.  I have to distance myself from this, if only to keep Henry safe.  She warned me, but I obviously didn’t get the message until yesterday.”

“You’re saying that your _mother_ tried to have Henry _killed_?” Emma couldn’t believe it.  “What the hell kind of woman tries to burn her own grandson to death?”

“If you need me to answer that, you obviously haven’t been listening,” Regina replied, turning for the door.  “I can’t help you right now, Emma.  You’ve got to do this on your own, but break the damn curse.  It’s the only way any of us are going to be safe.”

Regina walked out before Emma could even _think_ of a response to that, leaving the sheriff blinking in her wake.  It was insane.  It was all insane.  This crazy little town had just utterly jumped off the deep end, and Emma didn’t know how the hell she was going to cope with this.  On one hand, her every instinct told her that she should grab Henry and get the hell out of town, but then what about Regina and David?  They were good parents; it was Cora who was crazy.  _Crazy enough to light a library on fire?_ Emma wondered.

She didn’t know.

* * *

 

_5 Years Before the Curse_

“I see you’re back from visiting Rumple,” her mother said as Regina teleported back into her own rooms. “How is our dear Dark One?”

“Kinder than you are,” Regina shot back without thinking, and Cora laughed softly.

“Don’t pout, darling. It will ruin your complexion.”

Regina glared.  “I don’t care.”

“Do remember the terms of our arrangement before you get impertinent,” Cora replied lightly.  “You behave yourself, and your beloved Daniel lives.  If you do not, he will die an excruciating death, and you will watch.”

“You remind me of it constantly!  How am I supposed to forget that I have no choice?” she snapped, already bent past the breaking point.  Poor Daniel had been dumped back in his old dungeon without so much as a healing spell after Cora tortured him in the forest.  That was a lesson for Regina, her mother had told them both, without even a smile to show how satisfied she was.  Poor Daniel was probably down there now, suffering and alone, all because Regina was too weak to take her mother down.

“Of course you have a choice,” was the purred reply.  “You simply don’t like it.”  Her mother rose gracefully from her chair, coming over to lay a hand on Regina’s shoulder.  She pulled away, or tried to, but Cora’s fingers dug in painfully.  Regina scowled, but her mother continued: “The only way to change your life, Regina, is with power.  Power is freedom, and until you embrace that, you will have neither.”

“You don’t want to give me freedom,” she replied bitterly.

“Of course I do.  I only want what’s best for you, as any mother should.”

“Fine way you have of showing it.”

Cora smiled sadly.  “I have made sure that you will be a queen one day, and when that day comes, you will be able to do whatever you like.  And I will make sure that you will be powerful enough that _no one_ will be able to take it from you, no matter what.”

“I don’t want power, Mama.  I want love.”

“You can have that after you have power, darling.  Otherwise, it’s meaningless.”

* * *

 

Regina hardly slept that night, tossing and turning in the bed beside David and imagining what would have happened if Errol Forrester hadn’t jumped into a fire to save her beloved son.  Now, sitting in her office the day after the fire, she felt no better.  _Mother tried to kill Henry_ , she thought for the thousandth time, the words echoing over and over again in her mind.  Until Cora had threatened him, Regina had thought that her son would be safe because he was Cora’s grandson, and Cora had always wanted her family to follow in her footsteps.   She’d insisted on the Nolans being the perfect little Storybrooke family, and that included Henry—until Cora had flat out told Regina that Henry wasn’t her _blood_ , so he didn’t matter.  And then she had tried to burn the library down with Henry inside, something she did not even deny when Regina cornered her with it the night before.

She wanted to kill her mother.

Had there been a way to do so, Regina thought she might even try.  But Cora was too powerful here in Storybrooke, and she’d just smiled slightly at Regina and reminded her of that while they ‘celebrated’ Henry’s survival in the mayor’s posh home.  David and Henry were oblivious; David because he was cursed to be so, and Henry because even a boy who believed wholeheartedly that his grandmother was the Evil Queen couldn’t quite believe that the same grandmother wanted to kill him.  But Regina knew.

She had to keep Henry safe.  She’d tried so hard, tried so many times to protect Daniel, and in the end her mother had still won.  Defiance had done nothing for her in the Enchanted Forest, and as much as Regina hated herself for the thought, the effect here would be the same.  Cora knew her too well, and there were too many ways for her mother to hurt Henry.  Regina had to keep Henry as her first priority, at least until Emma finally started making enough of a racket to monopolize Cora’s attention.  _Henry_ was more important than breaking any curse, and Regina would protect him with the last breath in her body.  Even if it meant she had to live in a cursed Storybrooke for the rest of her life.

* * *

 

“So,” Henry said around a mouthful of pizza that same evening, “when are you going to tell me about my dad?”

Emma froze.  They’d been eating dinner together in the Sheriff’s Station—Emma was still working late hours to catch up on the paperwork, particularly since she’d spent the morning out of the station talking about the fire—and they’d been talking about the curse.  She’d been trying like hell to change the subject, but if Emma had known that Henry was going to go in this direction, she would have been happy to keep talking about curses, black magic, and evil stepmothers.

“What?” she managed to ask, swallowing hard.

“My real dad.  I mean, I know David’s _actually_ my grandfather, so who’s my real dad?  I get that he’s not someone from the Enchanted Forest,” the ten year old replied bluntly, grabbing another slice of pizza nonchalantly.  “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know about him.”

Emma knew her eyes were wide and spooked, but she couldn’t do a damn thing to get her expression under control.  “Henry, I…”

She had no idea what she was going to say when she trailed off.  She was just out of words.

“It’s okay if you don’t like him anymore,” Henry said.  “I get that not everyone’s parents are married, and not everyone finds their True Love.  I just want to know about him.”

Swallowing again, Emma forced herself to shrug.  “There’s not much to say,” she said quietly.

“You could start with his name.”

“It’s not that simple,” she answered, turning away to study one of the empty jail cells.  Emma hadn’t thought about Neal in years.  She’d been determined _not_ to.  So, how was she supposed to explain that to this boy who had Neal’s brown eyes and Neal’s mischievous grin?  Emma tried so hard not to see Neal in the son he’d left her with.  Usually, she managed just fine, but having Henry ask brought all of that right into the forefront of her mind. 

Henry shrugged.  “Is it ever?”

Emma tried to smile for him, but the attempt failed miserably.  She just didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to answer his questions.  A suspiciously heavy weight had started forming in the vicinity of her heart, something painful that she hadn’t experienced in years.  A moment of silence passed before her kid asked very quietly:

“Does he even know about me?”

She shook her head.  “He broke my heart,” Emma admitted in a whisper, dropping her head to stare at the desk.

She didn’t want to tell Henry that his biological father had sent her to jail.  But what if Henry wanted to contact his father?  What if—

“It’s okay,” Henry said suddenly, and Emma hesitantly looked up at him. 

His brown eyes were full of warmth, and for a moment, they reminded her so very painfully of the first man she’d ever fallen in love with.  Neal had been able to be like that, too; so kind-hearted and so playful.  She’d never understand why he sent her to jail, and Emma thought a part of her heart would always be broken after that betrayal.  She’d trusted him.  Hell, she’d been ready to _marry_ him, to settle down and... _And to give Henry a real family._ The realization hit Emma hard, but she had already been pregnant with Henry when it had all fallen apart.  Had things gone differently, she and Neal might have gone to Tallahassee together, might have raised Henry together, and everything would have been so different.

_He wouldn’t have been caught in a fire that nearly killed him because of some crazy adopted grandmother, that’s for certain,_ Emma thought fiercely, but her musings were cut off when the boy she’d sent away took her hand.

“I get it,” Henry continued with a wry smile.  “But will you promise to tell me about him sometime?  Later, I mean.  It doesn’t have to be now.”

Emma bit her lip and nodded.  “I promise, kid.”

“Good.”

* * *

 

_More than 200 Years Before the Curse_

“You have stains on your boots,” Baelfire pointed out and Rumplestiltskin watched his son’s friend—Morraine, he thought—dart away.  She was afraid of him, and despite Rumplestiltskin’s outward protestations that the other children would get used to him, the darkness inside him knew that would not be the case.  And the curse _liked_ that fear.

“Ah, yes, that.  Uh, we need a new maid,” he said, feeling an odd twinge of guilt within him. But he’d done the right thing.  Hadn’t he?  Anyone knowing about the dagger would be a danger to him.  To them both.

_She needed to die,_ the curse told him, coiling up in his mind, in his soul.  It had all but replaced his own thoughts at this point, and it was impossible to know where Rumplestiltskin ended and the curse began.  Or even if the human that had been Rumplestiltskin still existed at all.  Perhaps he did not; perhaps the curse had completely consumed his soul, and his altered personality was all that remained.  He found himself not really caring for the girl who had been their maid, but his son looked horrified.

“Gods, no!” Bae drew back in terror, and Rumplestiltskin felt his heart clench.  The curse didn’t care, but _he_ did, and even as it seemed to shrug in his mind, he tried to explain:

“She heard us talking about the knife.”

“She was mute!” his son objected.  “She couldn’t tell anyone!”

_Mutes have betrayed people before,_ the curse pointed out, and it sounded rather logical to Rumplestiltskin’s warped mind.  _Sons have betrayed people before.  You should not have told him!_   He shoved the last point aside with an effort; Baelfire would never betray them.  They were each all the other hand in the world, and Rumplestiltskin loved his boy more than anything.  But the curse would not let go of the idea; it growled and clawed at him, weaving darkness through his thoughts and sending a thousand images through his mind of how previous Dark Ones had been betrayed, of sons and daughters taking the dagger and enslaving their parents.

He didn’t know how many of those images were true memories and how many were just the creation of the curse, but they still put him on edge.  To counter that, Rumplestiltskin tried to keep his voice flippant when he replied.  After all, the girl was unimportant.  Her family hadn’t wanted her, and he’d killed her quickly enough, hadn’t he?

“Even mutes can draw a picture,” he said with a shrug, patting his son on the shoulder and heading towards home.  Bae would get over it.  He was a good boy.

But Baelfire didn’t follow right away; instead his son snarled back:

“That dagger has become everything to you, hasn’t it?” the fourteen year old demanded.  “It’s more important than anything else.  That, and _power_.”

He said the last word like it was something evil, and Rumplestiltskin turned in confusion.  _Power is everything,_ the curse whispered.  _You need more.  More power.  More magic.  Without power, you are nothing.  Without power, they can hurt you again!_   With an effort, he tried to seperate his own mind from the whispers, shaking his head and trying to be rational.

“I only want power to protect you,” he explained, not comprehending why Baelfire couldn’t understand that.  “To protect us.  Without it, we’d go back to the life we had before, back to being nothing.  You can’t want that.”

“I don’t want _this_!”

“Bae—” he tried, but his son jerked away, tears shining in brown eyes.

“I bet that you’d choose _it_ if you had to choose between the dagger and me,” the boy said bitterly, and Rumplestiltskin’s shock was finally great enough to drive the curse into silence.  _He can’t truly believe…_ With an effort, he managed to catch his son by the shoulders.

“Baelfire,” he said softly, and waited for the boy to look up at him.  “I love you more than anything.  I did this, I took on this terrible curse, to save you.  And I would give up anything I had to if it would keep you safe.”

“Except power,” was the biter response.

“Even that,” Rumplestiltskin whispered.  “I love you, Bae.  I may have changed, but _that_ never will.  Please believe that.”

A moment of silence passed as Bae bit his lip, but finally the boy nodded.  “I know, Papa.  I just want you back, that’s all.”

Chest tight, Rumplestiltskin pulled his boy close, holding onto him for several long minutes.  Bae hugged him back silently, and for a moment, Rumplestiltskin could fool himself into believing that nothing had changed, and that his attempt to save his son hadn’t driven this insurmountable wedge between them.

_He will never understand,_ the curse whispered in his mind.  _He hates what you are now.  Best to let him go, or kill him to keep the dagger safe._   But that very thought made Rumplestiltskin sick, made the man assert himself over the monster—ever so slightly—and he hugged his boy tighter.  Still, the curse continued: _You cannot go back.  No matter what._

* * *

 

At least Regina had gotten the message, Cora thought behind an outwardly impassive façade.  The family dinner she’d hosted after the fire had made sure of that, although Cora was still not pleased with the outcome.  _Damn that outlaw!_ She had not anticipated that Robin of Locksley would ever cause a problem here in Storybrooke; he’d been content to live out his sad little life with his son, and Cora had not gone out of her way to make him miserable.  She had barely remembered that he existed, or that she’d had his wife killed years before.  Locksley had been utterly unimportant until he’d suddenly rescued three people she wanted dead.

After all, Cora had not been adverse to killing three birds with one stone.  Disposing of Henry—and therefore driving the irritating Miss Swan out of town—might have been her primary goal, but Cora had chosen the library for a reason.  She’d wanted to see the look on Gold’s face when his little whore (who he claimed was nothing, but she suspected was at least a bit more than that to him) burned to a crisp, taking her brat with her.  Cora had been rewarded, and her suspicions confirmed, by the expression of sheer horror he had worn stepping out of the shop, but she had wanted the French girl dead, not frightened.  _I suppose that leaving her destitute and jobless serves as something of a consolation prize,_ Cora told herself, straightening her already immaculate desk.  _I can enjoy that._ The real problem, however, remained Sheriff Swan.

Regina knew her place.  That much was clear.  Her daughter would not try to act out again, not with memories of Daniel fresh in her mind once more, along with a demonstration of her mother’s power so close at hand.  The problem was Eva’s granddaughter, the damn Savior who Rumplestiltskin had woven into the curse.  Because he _had_ , the bastard, and Cora had been fool enough to refuse his deal when he offered to tell her more.  She couldn’t even recall what he’d wanted in exchange now—it had been over twenty-eight years—but she remembered taking a bit of pleasure in denying him at the time.  Now, however, she had cause to regret her own vindictiveness.  _Remember not to do that again,_ Cora told herself dispassionately.  She had allowed a wildcard into her town, and it was proving very difficult to get the Savior to leave.  Killing her was, unfortunately, not a viable option, either, so Cora would have to resort to other tactics.

At times like this, she devoutly missed magic.  Power of any flavor was welcome, of course, and useful, but magic would have given her so many options when it came to dealing with Eva’s obnoxious granddaughter.  What magic she had, the curse, would not act against its little Savior, thanks to Rumple’s airtight construction of the beast.  Cora scowled, but thinking of her former lover gave her an idea.

_For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction._   This world’s laws were not so different from the way Rumplestiltskin taught magic.  Emma’s actions gave her options, didn’t they?   All she had to do was manipulate events, and Cora would be able to overcome the Savior.  Without magic.

Smiling coldly, she reached for the phone.

* * *

 

Mary Margaret heard the shouting before she even came around the corner.  She’d been heading towards Granny’s to catch breakfast before going to school—her finances were in _such_ better shape with Emma splitting the rent, and she could finally afford to treat herself from time to time.  But the loud and angry voices made her completely forget about her appetite and rush over to where Francis Scadlock faced off with his estranged (and recently released from the secret Asylum) wife.  Both looked out of breath, like they’d been shouting for a while, and neither seemed to care about the growing crowd of onlookers.

“You’re barking mad!” Francis Scadlock retorted to whatever the pretty blonde facing him had said, his face red with anger and his words louder than before.  “You make me wonder if the lot of you didn’t actually _belong_ in that bloody secret asylum!”

“Will, how can you say that?” Victoria Scadlock (who claimed her name was Anastaisa, Mary Margaret recalled) replied, looking horrified.  “I’m not crazy.  I’ve _never_ been crazy.  Is she making you say this?”

“No one’s making me say a damn thing,” the _Daily Mirror’s_ editor snorted.  “It’s you who can’t remember what happened. We’ve been over for _years_ , Vicky, and I don’t want to see your ugly face ever again.”

He could have slapped his wife and had her look less shocked; Victoria stared at him like he’d ripped her heart out.  For a long moment, she seemed unable to catch her breath, her eyes wide and full of pain, until she wheeled to look at the entire crowd.

“What is _wrong_ with you people?” she demanded.  “Don’t any of you remember _anything_?”

No one said a word; everyone just stared and looked away when Victoria tried to meet their eyes.  _What_ is _wrong with everyone?_ Mary Margaret wondered.  _Can’t anyone be bothered to help an obviously lonely and frightened woman?_   Finally, she stepped forward, taking Victoria gently by the arm.  The other woman turned to glare at her, but the expression softened when Mary Margaret offered a smile in exchange.  There was defeat behind the anger, though, and Mary Margaret squeezed her arm reassuringly.

“How about I take you to breakfast, Vicky?” she asked quietly.

“Don’t bother,” Francis interjected bitterly. “She’s late for her appointment with Doctor Hopper already.”

“Then how about I walk you there, instead?” Mary Margaret suggested, and Victoria snarled softly.

“Fine.  It’s not like talking to this blockhead is getting me anywhere.”  She glared at her husband.  “Find me when you get your head on straight, Will.”

“I keep telling you that my name isn’t—”

“Give it up, Scadlock,” a new voice interjected, and Mary Margaret turned to beam at David Nolan as he stepped out of the crowd.  “She’s leaving.  So leave her alone.”

“How is this _my_ fault?” the editor demanded, but Mary Margaret ignored whatever else he said, leading Victoria up the stairs to Archie’s office as gently as she could.  There was something seriously wrong with the other woman, and it seemed worse than the amnesia that Leroy believed it was.  Hopefully Archie could help her, because Mary Margaret had no idea what to do with her.

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, Mary Margaret finally settled into a booth at Granny’s having just enough time to get food before having to head out to class.  She managed to catch Ruby’s eye, and the waitress hurried towards her, only to be beaten by someone else.

“Is this seat taken?” David Nolan asked with a smile.

Mary Margaret felt herself flush slightly, although she wasn’t sure why.  She knew that she shouldn’t be attracted to this man—and she _wasn’t!_ —but there was something about David that drew her in.  He was nothing like Jefferson or any of the other men she’d ever dated; he was kind, and Mary Margaret could talk to him for hours.  They’d caught themselves doing that more than once, usually when David came to pick Henry up from the loft, but Mary Margaret knew they could only be friends.  David was married, after all, and Regina was nothing like her horrible mother.  Regina was a lovely woman, one who seemed trying to befriend Mary Margaret, too, and Mary Margaret would not do this to her.

“By you,” she replied with an answering grin before she could stop herself.

David lowered himself into the seat just in time for Ruby to come over and take their orders, and then asked: “Is Vicky Scadlock okay?  She looked pretty confused.”

“Archie says that she’s having a harder time than anyone else who was locked up in that terrible place.  She seems to have replaced her memories with some fantasy about fairy tale characters and a whole ‘nother world as a way of coping,” she replied with a sigh.  “He’s going to try to help her sort things out.”

“That’s good, because her jerk of a husband doesn’t seem terribly interested in doing that.”

“Yeah.”  Francis Scadlock didn’t seem like a bad man, but he was one of the mayor’s closest toadies, and who you were friends with said a lot about people, in Mary Margaret’s opinion.  “He probably figured that his life didn’t have room for a crazy wife, and was glad to be rid of her.”

“I take it there’s no news on why anyone was down there, other than Beauregard being locked up for putting them there?” David asked, and Mary Margaret shook her head.

“Nothing I’ve heard, but you’re the one married to the mayor’s assistant.  And daughter.”

He laughed.  “Regina’s staying far away from this one, and from me, it seems,” David said lightly, and Mary Margaret found herself taking his hand before she could stop herself.

“Oh, no.  Is something wrong?”

“You know, I have no idea.  Regina and I have had our problems, but we seem to be better friends than ever, now…just not in love at all.  It’s not just her, either.  I feel the same way.  We talked about it last night, and, well, it’s complicated.”

Her heart did _not_ leap at that thought.  It didn’t.

* * *

 

_5 Years Before the Curse_

They’d been on the run for two days when they ran into Red, made a horrendous faux pas in regards to who the dangerous werewolf in her village was, and then wound up taking the other young woman along with them while they worked to stay ahead of Cora’s soldiers.  Finally, when the black guards in the south of the kingdom had obviously been notified of their presence, the three of them settled down to hide in the woods, building a campsite that was so far off the beaten path that no one would find them.  After their first night together, the three worked out a bit of a pattern, and right now Red was off hunting while David built a fire to cook whatever she brought back.  Snow wasn’t terribly good at hunting or fires, but she was learning quickly, the fascinated look on her face just made David smile.

“You’re awfully good at this, for a prince,” she said after a moment of listening to the new fire crackle.  “Roughing it, I mean.”

David shrugged, trying to come up with an excuse.  “It’s a useful skill to have.”

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, Charming?”

“I do have a name,” he pointed out, knowing he oughtn’t.  “You even know it.”

Now it was Snow’s turn to shrug.  “You were just so different when I met you…James doesn’t seem to fit.  Not the way I know you now.”

The way she knew him was via long distance courtship, courier-delivered letters, and a few days in a whirlwind of finding love at first sight and feeling it grow into something more.  Their marriage was designed to be political, designed to merge two kingdoms together like some sort of business transaction, but it had ceased to be a convenience the moment Snow’s older stepsister showed up and asked for his help rescuing her.  What were they now? David wasn’t sure.  He knew that he was in love with Snow, that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever encountered, and had the kindest soul besides.  But the rest was a mystery.

“I, uh…well, what if I told you that there’s a reason for that difference?” David asked before he could stop himself.

“I could have guessed that,” she replied with a grin.

“James was my twin brother.”

A moment of stunned silence passed before Snow yelped: _“What?”_

“Identical, of course,” he added with a cheeky shrug.

“But…but King George never mentioned having two sons,” Snow said, obviously confused.  “And why wouldn’t he?  I’m sure Cora would have thought that was _great_ news; then she could have married each of us to one of you and had everything.”

Hearing the bitterness in Snow’s voice made David reach out to take her hand.  “It’s not quite that simple,” he explained.  “It’s…well, I grew up away from the palace.  No one knew about me, until my brother died.  I didn’t ever know him, but I gather he was a little…”

“Arrogant?  Conceited?” his love supplied immediately.  “Utterly full of himself?”

“I was going to say obnoxious, but yes,” he smiled back, having heard at length from George about how badly James’ second meeting with both princesses went, and how he was absolutely _not_ to repeat the same mistakes.  Instinct, however, told David that it wasn’t time to tell her the complete truth, that neither he nor his brother were actually George’s sons.  There were plenty of tales out there about princes who had been hidden away for their own safety, and although he felt a bit guilty for letting her believe that, it was probably safest.  George wouldn’t thank David for having said this much, but Snow at least deserved to know that he wasn’t the idiot that had turned her off so thoroughly the first time.

“I knew it,” she finally said.

“You did?”

Shrugging eloquently, she gave him a little smile.  “Well, I knew there was something different about you, anyway.  I don’t think I could ever have fallen in love with a man like James.”

“What about a man like me?” David asked without thinking.

Snow leaned in to kiss him lightly.  “I think I already have.”

* * *

 

Coming home from the shop to find Belle and his daughter there was something akin to a miracle.  Even Gold had dreamed more than once of returning to the pink mansion to find a scene like this: Belle with Renee on her lap, sitting on the couch with their daughter absolutely engrossed in the fairytale she was reading her.  Just looking at them made his heart fill near to bursting, made a strange feeling of light and love push back even the darkness lurking within him.  Renee might not have understood that Rumplestiltskin was her father, but he _could_ carve out a place for himself in her life despite that.  Explaining to her that he actually was her father might prove risky; an excited three year old was likely to share that knowledge with all and sundry.  But he could still be there for her, and he _would_ , Rumplestiltskin promised himself. 

_I chose power over a child once.  I will never,_ ever _do that again._   It was a vow he had made a thousand times, and would make a thousand more, but Rumplestiltskin meant it.  He would do everything he could, move mountains and destroy worlds—if that was what it took—to keep his family safe.  _That_ was a useful outlet for his darkness, and Rumplestiltskin felt the curse coiling in his mind, quieter here without magic but still an irrefutable part of him.  It was not fond of _love,_ did not like the way he felt for his family, but the curse understood determination and it understood violence.  It would help protect his family, provided he kept it fed along the way.

The delicate balance between love and his darkness was one he’d struggled with for a long time, that he’d finally discovered after losing Bae and had clung to ever since.  When Belle looked up at him with a radiant smile, however, it helped push the curse further down, because the way her eyes were shining made his heart skip a beat.

“Hey,” his wife said, and Rumplestiltskin limped around the back of the couch to kiss the top of her head.

“Hey yourself,” he breathed, and felt his chest tighten as Renee looked up at him with his own big brown eyes.  “And hello to you, too.”

His daughter gave him a big smile, and then hesitated before asking: “Are you gonna be my Daddy?”

The question hit hard enough to make Rumplestiltskin stagger back a step; it was Belle who gasped:

“What—What gives you that idea, sweetie?”

“We move in,” Renee answered solemnly, by which both her parents realized the little girl meant that she understood—probably from Lacey and Belle’s stories—that was what happened when people moved in together.  They became family.

“Moved,” Belle corrected the child, obviously automatically, as her wide eyes found Rumplestiltskin’s.  They’d talked about this, had discussed the risks of telling Renee too much before she remembered she was Gabrielle…but looking at his daughter’s hopeful eyes absolutely did Rumplestiltskin in.

Leaning his cane against the back of the couch, he reached out for the three year old (who wasn’t really three; she’d been that age for so long that some extra development was bound to happen, and he rather suspected that a side effect of the curse would be extra-early maturity for most of the children who had been cursed).  Belle handed her over immediately, and Rumplestiltskin hefted his daughter into his arms so that he could look her in the eye.

“Would you like that?” he asked softly, a little hesitantly.  Renee had always liked Gold—and Gold, bless his armored little heart, had adored her—but this was something he’d been entirely unprepared for.

But Renee just nodded.

“Well, then,” Rumplestiltskin replied with a smile.  “I will be.”

Small arms wrapped around his neck, and in that moment, Rumplestiltskin didn’t care what dangers Cora could pose; he had his family together again and he would not let them go.  _Now all I have to do is get the curse broken and find Bae._ But he could not change that now.  Now, he just held his daughter close and tried to find a little peace.

* * *

 

A few hours after dinner, with Renee finally asleep, Rumplestiltskin and Belle finally made it to the room that had become theirs.  They’d both been so desperate the night before, so relieved and so in love that they’d barely bothered with words—a name here, a kiss there, and they’d utterly lost themselves in one another.  It had been twenty-eight years since they’d knowingly been together, and even though their cursed selves had been in love, and neither had been terribly aware of time passing, both Belle and Rumplestiltskin had felt the need to make up for lost time.  Partially exhausted from her ordeal in the fire and partially high on emotion, Belle felt like she’d experienced the previous night in something of a dream.  Their clothes had wound up in various piles on the floor, and she wasn’t sure that Rumple’s suit would ever be wearable again.  She was certain that her clothes weren’t; she’d torn _something_ in her rush to get them off, and Belle still didn’t care what.  That morning had been time for serious conversation, for tending to the child that the curse had thankfully left with her, and then for Rumple to head to work.  Now that their second night in the pink mansion was approaching, she wanted to show him how much she had missed _him_.

“Dinner was delicious,” she told him, feeling a little guilty.  But she couldn’t help turning it into a bit of a tease: “I wasn’t sure if you’d still be able to cook now that you woke up.”

Her husband chuckled.  “I _could_ cook back in the Enchanted Forest, thank you very much.  I just used magic to do it in the Dark Castle because I couldn’t be bothered.”

“And because I was a terrible cook,” Belle agreed with a giggle.  No one ever taught ladies to cook, after all; that was something that servants did.  Her first few attempts had been hardly edible, and her then-cranky employer had decreed that his magic would handle the food from that moment forward after a particularly burned and lumpy attempt at beef stew. 

“Lacey wasn’t particularly talented on that front, either,” Rumplestiltskin pointed out with a smile, hanging his suit jacket up in the closet they now shared.

“No, Lacey was more the microwave, pasta, and ready-made meal kind of girl,” she said, pausing to admire her husband.  Oh, she missed the silk and leather he’d worn in the Enchanted Forest—particularly the leather pants, come to think of it—but Belle had to admit that this world’s dark suits also looked fabulous on him.  Stepping forward, she kissed him lightly.  “Gold was always the gourmet.”

 That made him chuckle, and brought up that self-conscious half smile Belle had always loved.  “Well, I’m glad to be of service.”

Neither of them mentioned how sad it was that Gold had been the one who cooked himself beautiful and tasty meals every night, the lonely bachelor who ate and drank without anyone there to share it with him.  Lacey had been there, from time to time, but their stolen moments had been few and far between.  Gold’s life had been perfect, on the surface: he had power, immense wealth, immaculate taste, and the skills to make his life even more comfortable, but Cora’s design had left him utterly alone.   Belle knew without asking that the curse had not intended to allow them to come together, and she knew Rumple hadn’t, either.  _But I’m glad we did,_ she thought.  _Even if Rumple worries about us, I’m glad he wasn’t completely alone._

“I think I’m going to have to find a way to repay you,” Belle replied, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck as he tugged his tie free.  “You’re cooking for us, working during the day, sending Dove off to buy things…”

Her smile was nothing if not suggestive, but her infuriating husband misinterpreted what she was saying.  “Sweetheart, you don’t have to repay me—”

Belle kissed him to shut his protests up.  “I had something a little more personal in mind,” she told him bluntly, still reveling in being able to kiss him.

Of course, she’d always been able to kiss this face, or at least the one time he’d worn it for her, for those two lovely months in Amorveria.  So, Belle didn’t feel as odd as she might have; although the two faces had long since merged in her mind, she knew the difference.  And she _liked_ this human face of his, despite Rumplestiltskin’s silly worry that she wouldn’t.  He looked older than her here, but he was still handsome in a slender and sharp-edged kind of way.  She loved him no matter what he looked like, but the feel of human hands against her skin was one she had missed.

“Oh.  Well, then.”

That seemed all he was able to say, but Belle knew it wasn’t from lack of desire.  She could read that in his eyes easily enough; human or reptilian, they were the same underneath the outward veneer: warm and loving and sometimes so uncertain.  So, she smiled against his lips and started working on the buttons of his shirt, determined to take things slower than their desperate lovemaking of the night before.  Rumplestiltskin kissed her next, moving to unzip her dress as he did so, and Belle shivered appreciatively. 

“I love you,” she whispered, shrugging out of the dress.  It was one that had been in the back of his shop—she still hadn’t gone shopping and bought clothes more in keeping with Lacey’s habits—but was mercifully easy to get off.

He pulled back to look at her, his warm eyes filling with love and awe.  “And I love you.”

“Good,” Belle grinned, and she felt Rumplestiltskin’s soft laugh as he pulled her close.  Gold’s touch had been able to light Lacey on fire, and Rumplestiltskin’s worked the same effect on her, just tenfold.  Lacey had never understood why she was so drawn to Gold, or why no one else saw in him what she did, but Belle knew.  And Belle loved him all the more for it.

One of them finally tossed his shirt and aside, and they fell onto the bed together, still wrapped in one another’s arms and with her on top.  Belle started kissing her way down his chest, reaching for his belt as she did so.  She kept her eyes on his face, a watching his expression soften.  He’d loosened his grip enough to let her move, but Belle sought out his left hand with her right, needing to hold onto him to prove to herself this wasn’t a dream.  Fingers squeezed hers, and Belle smiled.  The fingers of her other hand moved down his right side as Rumplestiltskin quivered; she knew how ticklish he was and was and had no problems taking advantage of that fact.  She planted a kiss on his sternum and kept working her way downwards, but Belle stopped when her lips hit a raised area of skin.  Rumplestiltskin tensed—and not in a good way.

Belle’s eyes snapped downwards as she sat up.  She hadn’t noticed the welts last night; they’d been too desperate for one another and too lonely, and Rumple had gotten out of the shower before she’d woken up.  But now she could see them, raised but fading red marks against pale skin.   They started on his stomach and disappeared below his belt, and she looked up at him in horror.

“Rumple?” Belle asked quietly, completely forgetting about sex.

He sat up abruptly.  “I told you that I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Cora.”  The name grated out from between gritted teeth, and Belle had never hated someone as much as she hated the Evil Queen in that moment.

Her husband didn’t answer; he just looked away and closed his eyes.  Belle shifted closer to him, still holding his left hand in her right, and reached out to touch his face.  He twitched, and then leaned into her touch.  The twitch, however, told her a horrible story that Belle wasn’t sure she wanted to know, much though she needed to.  Had Lacey ever seen marks like this, she wondered, searching her memory?  No, Belle didn’t think so.  Lacey had known Cora was hurting him, but Gold always seemed to wait until the marks faded to let Lacey see anything.

_Twenty-eight years.  This has been going on for_ twenty-eight _years._   For the first time in her life, Belle really wanted to murder someone.  But she throttled back her fury.  She could see from the tense lines in his shoulders that Rumplestiltskin clearly did not want to talk about this, but she could also tell that he wasn’t dealing with it well.  Not at all.

“Oh, Rumple,” she whispered, and was so glad when he didn’t pull away.  “It’s worse than Gold ever let Lacey know, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he admitted softly.

“Why can’t you fight her?” Belle had to ask.  “This…”

Rumplestiltskin shuddered.  “Because her second caveat makes it so I _can’t_ ,” he whispered raggedly.  “Literally.  The first brings me to her bed.  The second makes me submit.”

“But why does she hurt you?”  It made no sense.  Belle knew that Cora had been Rumple’s student once, so many years ago, and that they’d had a falling out.  But they’d worked together, on and off, to see that the Dark Curse was cast, although that was more a case of Rumplestiltskin goading Cora when required and holding her back when not.  Rumple had been very wary of giving her so much power, and had told Belle a hundred times how dangerous Cora could be to their family, but he’d never explained why.

“Because she can,” he replied bitterly.

“That’s not an answer.”

A shaky sigh tore out of him in response, and Belle pulled him close, wrapping her arms around him and grateful for the way Rumplestiltskin melted into her, his own arms slowly returning the embrace.  “It’s about power,” he explained, although Belle heard the note in his voice that always warned her he was leaving something out even as her fingers stroked his hair comfortingly.  “And she rather enjoys it.”

“Oh.”  Those last five words made Belle swallow hard, and made her disregard her instinct that said there was something more going on here.  She could ask later; for now, Rumple needed her, and she wouldn’t let him down.   Still, she had to ask: “How bad?”

“Not badly enough that I don’t want you,” he said softly, bringing his head up, and Belle looked deeply into his brown eyes, seeing uncertainty and conflict there, but most of all love.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered.

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “It’s not new.”

“Will it?” Belle pressed, pinning him with a look that allowed for no argument.

“A little,” Rumplestiltskin admitted, his gaze skittering away from hers.

“Then I’m not—”

“Belle, please,” he cut her off in a whisper.  “I love you.  I want _you_.  And…and it helps me not think of her.  Not think of everything.”  Brown eyes met blue.  “I trust you.”

She swallowed.  “Are you sure?”

“Utterly.”

Rumplestiltskin kissed her again, and Belle let herself lose herself in his embrace.  He needed this, and she probably did, too; even if it wasn’t the healthiest option.  It wasn’t the worst thing they could do, either, and if Belle detected a hint of desperation in her husband’s touch, she was able to soothe that away.  He was hurt worse than Lacey had ever guessed, but tonight was not the time to attack that.  First, she needed to prove to him that she _was_ there for him, that he wasn’t alone.  Later, Belle could weasel the rest of the truth out of him.  She had time, and she wasn’t going to let him face this alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry Neal/Baelfire fans; this isn’t the only time you’ll see him. However, that flashback will be important as we move forward in the story, so don’t forget it!
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Twenty-Five: “Looking,” in which something important is recovered from the fire, Cora thwarts Emma, romantic feelings stir between David and Mary Margaret (and Regina and Errol), and Cora learns Lacey is living with Gold. Back in the past, Zelena comes to the Enchanted Forest, and Snow and Charming return to George’s kingdom.


	25. Looking

Dove delivered the blue and gold chest the next day, having snagged it from the fire department without offering much in the way of explanation, and Rumplestiltskin very consciously chose not to ask if his all-around handyman had simply stolen the chest.  Whatever had driven Dove to do so, his instincts were spot on: not only did his employer want the chest, but Rumplestiltskin (or Gold, as Dove still thought of him) wanted its miraculously unburnt status kept quiet.   _Very_ quiet.  If Cora heard that one single chest had survived without so much as getting scorched, she’d rightly assume that the item was magical, or at least enchanted against damage.  She would have been right, too, and although she probably couldn’t have opened the chest, Rumplestiltskin still didn’t want it falling in her hands.

After calling him, Dove delivered the chest to the house, where it was waiting when Rumplestiltskin came home from the shop early.  Although he’d managed to forget about the chest in between waking up, Belle still being Lacey, and the fire, he was now extremely glad to see that it had survived.  He beat Belle and Gabrielle—trying to call her Renee, at least within his own mind, was something of a losing battle—home by a few minutes.  They returned with Dove in tow, with Belle and Dove both dumping their newest purchases in the front room to join the others that had clearly been dropped off earlier.

Rumplestiltskin offered Dove one of Gold’s rare smiles.  “Thank you, Dove,” he said with a nod.

“Glad to help, boss,” was the easy reply; Dove was a man of few words, and he had been the only one who knew that Belle (or Lacey, technically) was living with Gold until today.  Oh, others would figure it out quickly enough, but Dove was the only one who Rumplestiltskin actually trusted with the hint that Lacey was far more than a live-in maid.  Dove’s loyalty, however, was beyond reproach.  He wasn’t just Gold’s all-around troubleshooter; he had also served Rumplestiltskin in the same capacity back in the Enchanted Forest, although Dove obviously did not remember that.  So, Rumplestiltskin had no worries that Dove would suddenly turn elsewhere when his original personality started to assert itself.

Even back home, Dove had been one of the very few people whom Rumplestiltskin trusted with knowledge that his wife even existed.  It was rather fitting that he did the same here.

The tall man left the family alone with another brusque nod; Belle gave him a smile and a kiss on the cheek before he departed, obviously remembering him, too.  Back in the Enchanted Forest, Dove had been a strangely long-lived shapeshifter.  He’d originally been a man, though he’d been cursed into dove form by the sorcerer whom Rumplestiltskin had taken the Dark Castle off of centuries earlier.  The Dark One had not discovered Dove’s existence until he’d been in the castle for a long time, and he’d only turned him back into human form (temporarily, it turned out) on a whim. The enchantment on Dove was powerful, and it had taken Rumplestiltskin years to discover how to break it.  By then, Dove had already become his jack of all trades, and was quite content with being able to _choose_ between his human and avian forms.  So, Rumplestiltskin had left control of his form in Dove’s hands, and had never regretted the loyalty that bought him.

Dove had always been good with Gabrielle, too.  She’d had Dove wrapped around her little finger back home, and it looked like Renee was already fond of him here in Storybrooke, even after only having known him for two days.  But Rumplestiltskin was glad to see it; huge shapeshifter or no, Dove had always been good with children.  He’d been the only person Rumplestiltskin had trusted with Gabrielle’s existence in the Enchanted Forest, and cursed or not, Rumplestiltskin knew he could trust him here.

“Up!” Renee toddled over to him to demand.

Inwardly cursing his bad leg, Rumplestiltskin leaned his cane against the wall and bent to pick his three year old up.  He could balance her on his left hip well enough, provided he was careful, but it was a technique he’d long ago perfected with Bae.  He’d just never thought he’d need to use it again, or at least not after becoming the Dark One.  Still, the grim irony inherent in that thought vanished when Renee wrapped her arms around his neck.  It was amazing how quickly Renee had embraced him as a part of her life; after two days in his home, she already seemed to have decided that she belonged.

“Did you buy anything interesting?” he asked with a smile.

“Lots!” she declared, and Rumplestiltskin chuckled as he glanced Belle’s way.

“I fear we may have put a serious dent in your bank account,” his wife said, blushing a little.

“Sweetheart, do you have any idea how rich I am?”

“Um.  No?”  Belle shrugged, bending to pick up a bag of dolls and other toys.  “I guess I never asked.”

Retrieving his cane, Rumplestiltskin limped over to kiss his wife on the cheek.  “Let’s just say that I don’t need to spin gold in this world,” he murmured.  “Besides, I _did_ tell you to buy whatever you wanted.”

“I think we went a little overboard,” she admitted.

“No such thing.  Did you find a new crocodile?”

“We did.  The last one that the Wonderful Toymaker had, actually,” Belle replied, even as Renee piped up:

“This one’s bigger!”

“And better?” he asked his daughter.

She nodded enthusiastically.  “Uh huh.”

“That’s wonderful, princess,” Rumplestiltskin replied, and then settled Renee down on the couch and turned on the television.  Renee’s new favorite movie was _Aladdin_ , and like any three year old, she could watch her favorites a hundred times in a row before she got sick of them, so he pushed play and let the movie pick up where it had left off the day before.  After all, it wasn’t like he had to worry about _Belle’s_ daughter receiving an insufficient education; she’d undoubtedly be reading long before anyone else her age.  She’d always been bright, and Rumplestiltskin wasn’t worried about television changing that.

Leaning over, he kissed her on the forehead and turned back to Belle once Renee was engrossed. “Did you see what else Dove brought by?”

“No, I…” Turning made her trail off. “The chest!  I’d completely forgotten—but it was in my apartment all along, wasn’t it?”

“And it didn’t burn, of course,” Rumplestiltskin replied, coming over to stand next to his wife.  _It damn well better not have, with all the protections I wove around it._

Belle turned to him with a glowing smile.  “Should we open it?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss her cheek.   “Go on.”

The chest was keyed to open for either one of them, an intricate act of blood magic that had taken weeks to assemble, so Belle crouched to open press her hand against what looked like a lock on the front.  It wasn’t, and no keys or lock picking would have opened it, either.  Even if Cora _had_ gotten ahold of the chest, she would never have been able to pry it open without magic.  Still, Rumplestiltskin was glad not to have to take that risk, because inside that chest were the few items so valuable to them that neither Rumplestiltskin nor Belle wanted to trust the curse to bring them over.  No, they’d depended upon his magic for that.  And because they’d known that Cora would probably not put them together, Rumplestiltskin had tied the chest to Belle, to make sure that it would follow _her_.  After all, Cora was bound to watch him closely and ignore her, and the tactic had worked.

He felt the slight _snap_ of magic in the air, and noticed how Renee twitched slightly, obviously feeling it but not knowing what that slight tickle was.  The chest clicked open after a second or two, and Belle lifted the top to reveal the precious possessions they had decided they could not do without.  Their chipped cup sat on top…right next to a glowing purple vial of True Love potion.

* * *

 

That same morning, two days after the fire—two blessedly Keith Law-free days—Cora walked into the sheriff’s station with that same former deputy on her heels.  Emma had been talking to Ruby, who really _was_ interested in stopping working for her grandmother (maybe), but the spooked look on the waitress’ face warned her that Cora had come in even though Emma’s back was to the door.  Keith was smirking, but Emma didn’t care; she’d made her decision, and she wasn’t going to change her mind no matter how much Cora tried to bully her.  The fact that Keith had obviously waited until he was sober to go running to the mayor— _Such a pity that he didn’t interrupt her little dinner party!—_ was a bit worrisome, because Emma was sure that a sober Keith was a lying Keith.

Hell, he lied when he was drunk, too.  At least the jerk was consistent.

She’d heard that a few of the firefighters found Keith passed out in the gutter the night she’d fired him, and had been kind enough to haul him home and pour him into his own bed.  Knowing Keith, he’d spent most of the next morning puking, and then he must have gone to Cora.  Why it had taken him a whole day to show up with her was a mystery, but Emma supposed that Keith was not exactly at the top of Cora’s list of priorities.  Not that she could blame the older woman for that.  Cora was a bitch and an autocrat, but she wasn’t stupid, and probably didn’t like Keith any more than Emma did.

“Madam Mayor,” Emma greeted her with a smile, feeling magnanimous now that she was on the hunt for a new deputy. Or two, maybe.  She’d checked out the city budget the evening before, and apparently she actually had funding for three deputies.  The books even indicated that Graham had possessed three deputies in his early days as sheriff, but one had died in some accident (Daniel Hari, the dead husband who Mary Margaret almost never talked about), and the other was on a leave of absence (Gary Rathbone).  That meant Emma could definitely hire one, maybe two, _competent_ people, and that made her feel pretty good.

“I’ll keep this short, Miss Swan,” Cora replied imperiously.  “You’re not authorized to fire Deputy Law, so he’s reinstated.  Effective immediately.”

“The hell I can’t.”  Emma was on her feet and facing Cora before she even realized she wanted to move, but Ruby had backed up a step or two when Cora’s eyes flashed.  “I’m the sheriff.  I can hire or—”

“You can _hire_ , dear.  That’s what the city charter says.  It says nothing about firing.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.  It’s implied,” Emma snorted.

“But not explicitly stated,” Cora replied with a smug smile.  “And, more importantly, the City Council decided that you do not have such authority at yesterday’s meeting.”

“They what?”  There was no way Cora could act that fast or could have the City Council wrapped _that_ tightly around her finger.  “I want to see that in writing.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” was the purred response, and Cora held out a folder in a perfectly-manicured hand. 

Snatching it from her, Emma flipped the folder open and read the single sheet of paper inside with a sinking heart.  Cora really _did_ have all her bases covered, didn’t she?  The paper was a Finding by the Storybrooke City Council that although the sheriff could hire a qualified applicant in accordance with the City Charter, any firings would have to be approved by the City Council itself.  The motion had passed by a slim margin, only two votes, but it had passed.  The appropriate signatures were there…and that meant Emma was stuck.  With Keith.

“This is ridiculous,” she said around the sinking feeling in her stomach.

“Welcome to Storybrooke, Miss Swan,” Cora replied congenially, but her eyes were flashing.  “We’re a small town, and we _do_ care about one another.  That means we can’t have a newcomer replacing our trusted police force with her own toadies.”

“That’s not what I’m doing!”

Cora smiled acidly.  “Well, it certainly isn’t now.”  She turned to Keith.  “Congratulations, Deputy Law.  Do please let me know if the Sheriff tries to do anything else illegal.  I’m sure that the City Council would be happy to replace her.”

“My pleasure,” Keith replied, throwing a nasty look at Emma.

All she could do was glare back at her deputy while Cora sauntered out.

* * *

 

The third day after the fire—December 15th—found Rumplestiltskin in his shop once more.  As much has he would have preferred to just close the pawnshop entirely and spend all of his time with Belle and Gabrielle, he knew that he couldn’t; appearances had to be maintained, and besides, the shop was his connection to the outside world.  No one came there unless they needed something, but he had already noticed several individuals expressing interest in items that had belonged to them before the curse.  It was a small thing, but important: one of the dwarves—the one most recently released from the asylum, Grumpy—kept coming back to stare at the drinking steins, David Nolan had been by to look at the unicorn mobile, and there were others. 

What surprised him most, however, was that Regina hadn’t been by since the fire.  Her boy had been caught in the library with Belle, Rumplestiltskin knew, and Regina was likely both shaken and furious, but that usually brought her to him.  She certainly couldn’t turn to Cora—not when her mother’s actions had nearly killed her son—but he’d not come to him, either.  That set him on edge when he headed out to collect rents that afternoon, deciding that he’d do so early and then head home.  Belle was still only a mediocre cook, even with Lacey’s knowledge to back her, and any time spent at home with his family was far more pleasant than staying in the shop.

* * *

 

There was something about watching the two of them that reminded Emma of two dangerous animals circling one another, but for the life of her, she couldn’t’ figure out which was predator and which was prey.  The mayor and the pawnbroker had met on the sidewalk outside the sheriff’s station, and although Emma could see them through the window, she couldn’t hear what they were saying.  Gold, however, seemed utterly unfazed by Cora’s threatening smile, unlike everyone else in this odd little town.  Even Regina knuckled under when her mother pressed.  _Everyone_ was afraid of the mayor.

Except Gold.  What was it about the shady pawnbroker that frightened people?  Emma had only met him twice, back when she’d made that deal with him and when he’d suggested she put herself in for sheriff, and she’d meant to ask Regina about Gold after both encounters but never had.  Now, watching Gold smile at Cora coolly, she doubled up on that mental note.  Henry thought Gold was ‘the Beast’ from his book, but that meant nothing to Emma.  She wanted to know what this smooth-talking pawnbroker was really up to.

* * *

 

“A live-in maid?” Cora was asking, amusement evident in her tone.  “Really, Gold?  That’s a terribly slender pretext, even for you.”

Rumplestiltskin let his cold smile color his quiet chuckle.  “Oh, I assure you, dear.  I’m getting my money’s worth.”

Those words would travel, he knew, but he kept his aloof expression in place.  People would think that Gold had hired Lacey French to be much more than a maid; his cursed self was almost as easy to think the worst of as Rumplestiltskin himself was.  They would think poor Lacey his concubine, or worse.  As distasteful as that assumption was, however, it would keep Belle and Gabrielle safe.  So, he didn’t care if people in Storybrooke thought him a monster.  _I_ am _a monster_ , _anyway.  What does it matter if they come to the right conclusions for all the wrong reasons?_

“Oh, come now.” Cora smiled, stepping in close, her voice now low and dangerous.  “We both know you’re not _that_ cold-blooded.”

“Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think.”  Rumplestiltskin shrugged, ignoring the insinuation in her voice.  It was a very Gold-like thing to say, slippery and evasive, but suspicion glinted in Cora’s eyes, anyway.  A shiver ran down Rumplestiltskin’s spine.  He had to be careful.

“I think I know you quite well,” she purred, reaching out to toy with the front of his suit jacket, brushing aside imaginary dust.  Rumplestiltskin burned to slap her hand away, but a part of him was as paralyzed as Gold would have been.  Cora would make him pay for such a blatant act of defiance later, and he desperately wanted to go _home_ to his family that evening.

“You know how I love a good mystery,” he replied with a sharp smile, but then his heart sank as Cora returned to the topic he was trying so valiantly to avoid.

“And here I thought you would have uncovered all of your new maid’s mysteries already,” she said, each word heavy with irony.  And then she smiled.  “Do tell me that you’re going to make her get rid of the brat.  I can’t imagine you putting up with a squalling bastard in your lovely home for long.”

The tendrils of the curse reached out for him as Cora spoke, and Rumplestiltskin stiffened as he felt them go to work.  Had he _not_ known who he was, _Gold_ might well have succumbed to the pressure.  Cora’s power over all of Storybrooke might have actually forced him to comply.  But maybe not.  The curse _was_ weakening—he could feel that now, and it felt like victory—and even Gold might have successfully fought against forcing his lover to give up her precious child.  But that didn’t matter.  Nor did the pleasant images of Cora’s head ripped off of her shoulders and bouncing down the street running through his mind.  For once, the sliver of a soul inside him was in complete agreement with his curse: Cora needed to _die_ , both to satisfy the raging need for vengeance and to protect his family.  But no.  Not now.  For now what mattered was that not even the power of the Dark Curse could force him to obey her will.  Not anymore.

“What, and deal with Miss French squalling instead?” Rumplestiltskin scoffed dismissively.  “I’d rather deal with the child than that.”

Cora scowled, but she couldn’t use one of her caveats, and she obviously knew it.  One could make him come to her and the other could govern his physical actions, but the latter—the ‘now’—was short lived.  Cora had found that out years earlier when she’d tried to send Gold in search of a certain dagger.  Rumplestiltskin’s alter ego had proven surprisingly obstinate, and Cora’s hold could not last long enough to force him to find and deliver it.  Protecting that dagger had been the one imperative that Rumplestiltskin had concentrated on imbuing in his memory-less self as the curse cloud engulfed him, and it had worked, much to Cora’s displeasure.

Thwarting her, however, always came at a price.

“Let’s discuss that,” she said coldly, unnecessarily smoothing out his lapels.  Her touch made him shiver.  “Tonight, dear.”

* * *

 

_14 Years Before the Curse_

Zelena had waited almost an hour for this audience, but she didn’t mind.  Her mother was a _queen,_ after all, and was undoubtedly busy.  Zelena wished she’d known about Queen Cora sooner, but until the Wizard had told her about her _real_ mother, she’d had no way to know.  Her drunk of an adopted father had certainly never had the courage to tell Zelena that she was descended from royalty, but wouldn’t he be envious of her now?  Zelena smoothed her dress out one last time, making sure that she looked her best.  She was going to impress her mother.  She knew it.

Finally, the herald announced her, and Zelena strode into the throne room, trying not to gawk.  Even the Wizard’s palace had not been so luxurious; she didn’t think anywhere in Oz was!  The two figures seated on the thrones were majestic and so very regal looking, both dressed in clothing that would have cost over a year of her adopted father’s wages.  _The beautiful woman must be my mother,_ she thought, striding forward with her head held high.  _She is so regal.  I take after her.  I know it._

Sweeping a graceful curtsey, Zelena kept her head down, waiting for her mother to address her.  Surely Queen Cora knew about her!  Or maybe she’d only wondered what had happened when someone stole her child away.  Because Zelena knew she must have been stolen away.  Nothing else could explain why she’d been given up, and her mother was sure to recognize her.  Much to her surprise, it was the king—her stepfather—who spoke up kindly, while her mother looked on with detached aloofness.

“And who are you, My Lady?”

“My name is Zelena,” she said with a smile, looking up to meet those welcoming eyes.  “I’ve come from Oz to—”

A twitch of her mother’s fingers cut her off; Zelena felt magic race out and shock took her breath away.  No matter that everyone in the room—guards, heralds, and even the king—were frozen.  She wasn’t alone!  She had inherited her magic from her mother.  The Wizard had told her that her mother had married a king, not that Cora was a witch.  A sorceress.  Just like her.  _See, Papa, it_ isn’t _unnatural,_ Zelena thought spitefully, victory surging through her bones.  She was her mother’s daughter, and pride made her straighten and finish strongly:

“I’ve come to find my mother.”

“Of course you have,” Cora replied, rising from her throne and stepping gracefully off the dais.  “But whatever made you think that a royal audience was the time to approach me?”

The censure in her mother’s tone made Zelena flinch.  “I—I couldn’t speak to you another time.  There was no other way.  They wouldn’t let me in.”

“Are you _trying_ to ruin me, you silly girl?”

“No!”  The very thought horrified her, and Zelena stared.  “I only wanted—I thought—I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

Calculation whipped across Cora’s features, but settled on a smile that warmed Zelena’s heart.  “Of course I am, dear.  But you can’t simply barge in and tell my husband the king that I have a child he did not know about.”

“Of course not,” Zelena agreed quickly, too stung by the rebuke to notice the self-centered insincerity in Cora’s voice.  “I’m sorry.”

Cora reached her side and patted her arm, and Zelena felt a smile tugging on her own lips.  “I can see that.  I don’t doubt that you’ll be a dutiful daughter, Zelena, but we must act with caution.  I can allow nothing to damage my power base.  If that happens, I will not be able to help you.  Do you understand?”

“I think I do,” she replied eagerly.  _She wants to help me!_   Zelena could already imagine herself bedecked in jewels, with some handsome prince twirling her on the dance floor.  She would make her mother proud.  She knew it.  “My adopted family, they never understood me,” she volunteered.  “My magic—”

“You have magic?”  Suddenly, Cora looked very interested.

“Yes.”  Seeing her mother pleased made Zelena glow happily.

“Then I know exactly what to do with you,” her mother said with another smile.  “We must keep your identity secret for now— _our_ secret—but I can send you to someone so that you might learn to use your magic.”

“You won’t teach me yourself?”  She tried to hide her disappointment, but it was hard.

“Darling, I am Queen.  My husband depends upon me to help manage the kingdom,” Cora pointed out, and Zelena made herself nod.  Of course.  Her mother was undoubtedly too busy.  But then Cora added: “Besides, I can send you to the most powerful sorcerer in the Enchanted Forest.  He taught me, and I know he will teach you, too.”

“He will?”  _Mother is going to send me to her teacher!_ Zelena thought excitedly, happiness like she’d never felt warming her soul.  She would do everything she could to make Cora proud.

“I am sure he will.”  There was a twinkle in Cora’s eyes, and Zelena imagined her mother was as happy to be reunited with her as she was.  “Just tell Rumplestiltskin that you are my first born daughter.  I _know_ he will be delighted to teach you.”

* * *

 

Renee had been in bed for hours by the time the front door opened, but Belle was still awake.  Although she’d been curled up on the couch reading a book, she was on her feet the instant she heard a key turn in the lock, _The Count of Monte Cristo_ completely forgotten.  She met her husband in the front hall as he closed the front door behind himself, leaning more heavily than usual on his cane.  Belle’s heart went out to him; she could see the tension in his shoulders and in the way his hands were trying to shake, just the way she’d seen Gold fighting back pain and fear a hundred-plus times.

“Rumple,” she breathed, and at least he walked straight into her arms and didn’t try to pull away like Gold sometimes did to Lacey. 

“Oh, Belle,” he whispered, and she could hear the catch in his voice. 

Holding him tightly, Belle came up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek.  Fury made her heart pound in her ears, but now wasn’t the time for that.  Lacey had always known that Cora hurt Gold, but she had never realized how bad it was.  Gold hadn’t wanted to tell her, and then Rumplestiltskin had stayed away to keep her and their daughter safe, but Belle was no fool.  She knew that Cora was hurting him worse and worse as time went by.  Maybe that was because time was starting to move, or maybe Cora just sensed the curse weakening and wanted to lash out.  Either way, Belle truly wanted someone dead for the first time in her life.  She was usually the forgiving sort, but this was beyond the pale.  How _could_ one human being do that to another?

“Are you all right?” she asked, wishing she knew something more useful to say.

Her husband laughed mirthlessly.  “Better now,” he said quietly, but he didn’t let go of her right away, and Belle felt his shoulders shake.  “I love you.”

“And I love you,” Belle replied fiercely.  “And I’ll be here for you, no matter what that horrible woman does to you.”

“I know.”   Rumplestiltskin’s voice was small and tight, but at least he nodded.  Belle leaned back slightly to cut his face in her right hand, keeping her left arm around him.

“Tell me it won’t be much longer,” she whispered more desperately than she wanted to.  “I can’t bear watching her hurt you.”

He snorted.  “Our Savior’s a bit more stubborn than any of us expected, but the curse is weakening.  We’re getting there, sweetheart.  And even if it takes months more…this is a small price to pay if it gets us to Bae.”

“This _isn’t_ a price for your actions, Rumple,” Belle cut in before he could continue, knowing her husband far too well.  “You don’t deserve this, no matter what mistakes you have made.  Don’t think like that.  Do you hear me?  You _do not_ deserve this.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and when he apologized like that, Belle knew he was worn out and hurting so badly.  So, she just took his left hand in her right.

“Let’s get you upstairs, okay?  Maybe then you’ll tell me about what happened.”

Rumplestiltskin’s expression closed off as he limped forward, and she thought she detected a certain stiffness in his motions that was not normal.  “I don’t want to talk about it, sweetheart.”

“I can’t help you if I don’t know, Rumple.”

“I don’t need help!”  The words came out with force that seemed to surprise him as much as they did Belle, but she could see him desperately crawling inside his shell even as he opened his mouth to apologize for the outburst.  She cut him off with a look.

“Rumple.” 

He sighed, turning away to stare at the kitchen.  “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she said softly, stepping forward so that her right shoulder brushed his left.  Belle burned to wrap an arm around his waist, but knowing Cora, that would hurt him, so she settled with leaning her head lightly against his shoulder and not letting go of his hand.  “Will you trust me?”

“Of course I will.”  And at least that made him finally look back at her.

“Then let me help you.”

Suddenly, she was in his arms again, and Belle could feel Rumplestiltskin’s face buried in her hair.  His cane clattered to the floor, and his grip was desperately tight.  But she didn’t complain.  She just let him cling to her, wrapping her arms around him in exchange and holding him close. 

“I’ll try,” he whispered, and Belle could hear the pain in his voice.  “It’s just hard.  I’m just…”

“Scared,” she finished for him.  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.  You’d have to be inhuman not to be—and _don’t_ tell me you’re a monster.  You’re not.”

She could hear his watery laugh against her neck.  “It hurts,” Rumplestiltskin admitted.  “Everything just…hurts.”

Stroking his hair and holding him close, Belle made no mention of her own desire to see Cora dead.  Mentioning it now was meaningless, but the same woman who had nearly killed Belle and her daughter was torturing the man she loved.  Cora had to be stopped, and more than that, Belle wanted revenge.  It was such an alien feeling to her, to feel this strong and hot burn for vengeance, but she wasn’t going to stand by and let Cora hurt Rumplestiltskin.  Not any longer than she had to.  They’d get the curse broken, and then they’d stop her.  Together.

* * *

 

Inconclusive.  Emma stared at the report in front of her—the one Errol Forrester had snuck her a copy of since the mayor didn’t seem to think that the investigation was the sheriff’s business.  Despite the fact that there was some evidence that the doors had been locked (the report said ‘some’ because what remained of the doors had seemed to be locked in the immediate aftermath of the fire, but when the photographer had gone around the day after, what remained of them hadn’t been locked at all), apparently there was ‘nothing the slightest bit suspect’ about the fire.  Despite the four different point sources for the fire that could definitely be identified, plus two others the firefighters suspected.  It was _ridiculous_ , and stank of a cover up, but if the D.A. wasn’t willing to press charges, which he wasn’t, and Emma didn’t have any evidence pointing to any one in particular, there was nothing she could do.

Errol had obviously felt that there was something fishy about the fire he’d so brazenly jumped into, but his conclusions seemed to have been watered down by the district attorney’s office, too.  The only good thing about the entire mess was that it had at least cleared Lacey French of any wrongdoing, which meant that the town would finally have to pay for all of her burned belongings.  Cora would hate that, so Emma supposed it was something of a victory.

Still, the whitewashed investigation was a steaming pile of crap, and Emma felt angrier about _that_ than she did about having to rehire Keith.  Cora really did like her power games, and Emma was starting to think that there really was something very _wrong_ with this town.  Something more than she’d thought before.

* * *

 

_4 ½ Years Before the Curse_

Two months after Regina helped Snow escape Cora, she and David finally arrived at King George’s palace.  They’d been on the run for that entire time, sometimes barely ahead of Cora’s henchmen.  They’d saved one another time and again, and had Cora’s Huntsman/Captain of the Guard deliberately avoid tracking them at least twice.  Snow was so grateful for the Huntsman letting them go, and she so wished that she could thank him, but the Huntsman had faded back into the trees both times before she could get a word in edgewise, leading the hunt away from her.  Regina had warned her that Cora had the Huntsman’s heart, so the only guess Snow had was that her stepmother had ordered him to _find_ her, and had not been specific enough that the Huntsman had to bring Snow back after doing so.  Having had her heart ripped out and having been commanded by Cora, Snow knew how the Huntsman must feel, and she pitied him.

_Perhaps someday we can help him in return,_ she thought as she followed David into the council chamber.  His father, King George, was waiting for them, and though Snow felt that she looked like anything but her best after two months on the run, she strode into the room with her head held high.  Dressed like a bandit though she might be, Snow knew she was still a princess—and technically, now that her beloved father was dead, a queen.

“Ah, my son returns!” George turned to them with a smile that was only skin deep.  Snow had been in politics practically since birth, and she could read even a seasoned politician.  George greeted David with pleasure, but he felt little affection for this second son of his.  _I wonder why he sent David away?_   Snow knew she might never be able to ask; David had sworn her to secrecy on the subject, but she hoped someday to know the answer.

“Hello, Father,” David replied, and the same stiffness was in him.  He clearly wasn’t sure what to think of George, either.  “Please allow me to re-introduce—”

“Princess Snow.”  Stepping forward, George took her hand, dirty and unkempt though it was and kissed the back lightly. 

“Your Majesty.”  Managing a proper curtsey when wearing a bandit’s ragged outfit was hard, but Snow did her best.  “Thank you for taking me in.  I owe you my life.”

“Indeed you do,” the king replied with a smug smile.  His sharp eyes, however, studied Snow closely.  “Your stepmother has declared you are guilty of treason, treachery, and murder.  She says you committed regicide.”

Snow stiffened, but she had spent months mourning her beloved father and had learned to move past it.  Now she wanted revenge on the woman who had killed him.  “My stepmother is a sorceress,” she retorted.  “She poisoned my father and blamed me.”

“Good!” George praised her.  “You say that very convincingly.  Stick to that story and we’ll have no problems making the people of both of our kingdoms believe it.”

“It’s true!”

“Princess, I don’t care who killed your father.  I care that you—and my son—are going to inherit that throne and combine our kingdoms,” the king replied with a shrug.  “Your claims of innocence are enough for me.”

He didn’t believe her.  Snow stared incredulously at George for a long moment, and then turned helplessly to David.  He looked less surprised than she felt—maybe he was used to George’s cold-blooded outlook on the world—but Snow just didn’t know what to say.  She’d never had a king doubt her like this, and she certainly hadn’t expected him not to _care_ if she was innocent or not.  But he really didn’t, did he?  _And he’s right.  It doesn’t matter._ Taking a deep breath, Snow steeled herself against the thousand accusations that she knew would eventually come her way.  _What matters is saving my kingdom from Cora,_ Snow decided, and was so deep in her thoughts that she didn’t notice that David had moved to her side until he took her hand.

“Father, perhaps we should give the princess some rooms and time to rest before we start making strategic plans,” he suggested quietly.

“Of course.  You are welcome in our home, Princess.  We will begin planning your wedding after you feel better.”

“Planning my what?” Snow demanded.

“Did you think I would help you for free?” George asked bluntly.  “Hardly.  Political alliances are not made for reasons of mutual liking.  They are made for reasons of mutual benefit.  You need your kingdom back.  I have an army, and I want an alliance.”

“Of course you do,” she replied, looking her future father-in-law in the eye.  “And so do I.  I will sign a betrothal contract if you like, but I will not marry until my kingdom is retaken.”

That seemed to bring George up short, and he looked at her appraisingly.  “Very wise of you.  I begin to have hopes for intelligent grandchildren.”

Snow sighed.  “I bet you do.”

* * *

 

They thought they were being so subtle, and it would have been rather hilarious if it was not so sad.  Just looking at the pair of them made Regina’s heart ache…both for herself and for her sister.  Mary Margaret Blanchard didn’t know that she was in love with David Nolan, and they were both trying so hard to deny their feelings for one another.  David—bless his silly little heart—thought he _should_ be in love with Regina.  The curse told him that he should be, and even if Regina told him he was absolutely free to pursue Mary Margaret, his sense of honor probably wouldn’t let him.  Not yet.

Even if he did, do-gooding, gentle Mary Margaret probably would tell him no.  She had all of Snow’s heart and none of Snow’s courage…and Cora really had turned her into a mouse.  Just watching her like this _hurt_ , and Regina burned to see her stepsister grab a hold of life by the horns and _do_ something.  Mary Margaret tended to wait for life to kick her in the face instead of fighting back, and Regina hated seeing her like this.  _If this isn’t reason to break the curse, I don’t know what is._

“Really?” Snow’s voice carried as she laughed.  “I didn’t know that about you.”

“Most people don’t,” David replied with an answering chuckle from the next table.  The two idiots had been meeting ‘accidentally’ at 7:15 each day for at least a week, both stopping in before they headed to work.  So far, there was no evidence that either realized that they were doing it on purpose, but they certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves.

“You’re trusting me with your secrets already?” her sister teased Regina so-called husband lightly, grinning.  “That sounds dangerous.”

Then again, maybe Snow _was_ in there somewhere. 

“Regina?” another voice asked, and Regina turned so fast that she almost knocked down the barstool to her right down.  Eyes wide, she faced the handsome firefighter who had rescued her son, not quite knowing what to say or how to even start saying it.  She was undeniably attracted to Errol Forrester, no matter how much she told herself she shouldn’t be.  Regina _knew_ that her mother would lash out if she even suspected that Regina might actually like someone…but she couldn’t help herself.

Nor could she stop the smile that warmed her expression.  “Hi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cora still has too much power, and now she knows about Lacey. What do you think she’ll do about having competition? 
> 
> Next up is Chapter Twenty-Six: “Pieces in Play,” where Emma goes to Gold for help with a restraining order, someone attacks Emma, and Cora threatens to crush someone’s heart. Back in the past, Rumplestiltskin forms some opinions on Zelena, Snow and Charming discuss the future, Belle wonders why her husband insists on keeping her existence a secret, and Cora runs into Will Scarlet and Anastasia.


	26. Pieces in Play

_ 13 Years, 8 Months Before the Curse _

She was crazy.

For a month or so after Zelena had arrived, Rumplestiltskin had dared to hope that his initial visions had been more correct, and that Cora’s firstborn daughter—who his old lover had dropped into his lap, just like that—would cast the curse.  When Zelena had first come to him, her potential had been enormous, and unlike her mother, she’d been so eager to please.  Like Cora, Zelena was a quick study, too.  She was actually quicker than Regina, naturally gifted in ways that Regina wasn’t, particularly when it came to dark magic.  Regina _could_ embrace darkness and rage when she so chose, but her strong ability to love often overrode even the fury she could summon up when thinking of her mother.  Zelena, however, had no such restraints—or any at all.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t worth teaching, however.  Rumplestiltskin was hardly one to let opportunity slip by, and even if Cora _did_ cast the curse—something he was depressingly certain of now that he’d had time to study Zelena’s terrifyingly unstable personality—he was not adverse to having a second wildcard to fall back upon.  Zelena was far easier to manipulate than Regina, too; while he had to work to build up a relationship with Regina, Zelena wanted to jump into one headfirst without so much as dipping her toe in to check the temperature.  Rumplestiltskin had thought he could use that in the beginning, but her clinging started to get _really_ old four months after he started teaching her.  By then, she was baking him meat pies and trying to take over his castle, and Zelena quite obviously fancied herself in love with him.

Rumplestiltskin was having none of that.  He’d had his fill with her mother, and this less-stable but younger version of Cora was _not_ what he would have wanted, even if he had been looking for love—which he wasn’t.  Zelena wasn’t in love with him, anyway; she was in love with his power, in love with the _idea_ of being accepted for who she was.  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t so desperate or so lonely that he’d accept that frenzied imitation of love; he had known love, after all, _real love_ , and he wasn’t such a fool to think that he’d ever find it again.  The one person who had ever really loved him was the son he’d abandoned, and there was no room for anyone else in his heart.  He had no doubt that Zelena would find someone to cling to eventually, but it certainly wouldn’t be him.

“You were teaching someone else today,” she said as soon as he returned to the Dark Castle late one afternoon, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t bother to hide his scowl.  The foolish girl needed somewhere else to live, somewhere that wasn’t _his_ castle.  Zelena was going to drive him mad if she stayed much longer.

“And?” he demanded, wheeling to face her.  Zelena’s face was screwed up in a pout and her arms were crossed; she looked barely ten, not like a talented sorceress in her twenties.

Talented indeed.  Just not long on self-control, unfortunately.

“I thought you were teaching me,” Zelena replied, and Rumplestiltskin gestured airily.

“There’s plenty of me to go around, dearie.  No need to worry.”

“Who is she?”

“Who is who?”

Zelena stepped up closet to him, and his curse could smell the rage on her.  The _envy_.  If she wasn’t careful, with all that power of hers, she was going to get herself in quite the pickle.  “This other student,” Zelena snapped.  “Who is she?”

“My, my, we’re a bit worked up, aren’t we?” Rumplestiltskin giggled before he could stop himself, egged on by his curse and enjoying her discomfort more than a little.  _Contain yourself,_ he told his curse firmly.  _She might yet be useful, and antagonizing her isn’t the best idea._   Still, it was nice to see Zelena a bit out of sorts for once; heavens knew, she was driving him insane already.

“Just tell me!”

Oh, was that a small spot of green growing on her neck?  It wasn’t quite visible to the naked eye, but his magic could just detect it.

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “Your younger sister, of course.”

That brought Zelena up short.  “I have a sister?”

* * *

 

The bell ringing brought Rumplestiltskin out of his reverie, and that was probably a good thing.  He’d been left alone with his thoughts for too long, too lost in the previous evening with Cora.  She’d kept through the night this time, laughing about how his ‘little maid’ would probably not miss him at all.  He’d mouthed off, of course—although not about Belle, since he kept well away from that topic around Cora—and had paid the price for it.  Rumplestiltskin had barely gotten a wink of sleep that night, and had contemplated closing up the shop and going home for the day to rest his aching body.  But he didn’t.  As much as he wanted to, Rumplestiltskin refused to show that kind of weakness.  Even if it was only Cora who knew that he’d given in and run away to the safety of his own home, Rumplestiltskin knew he couldn’t afford to be that weak.

So, he stayed in the shop and pushed through the exhaustion, glad that it at least numbed the pain a bit.  Moving was sheer hell; everything between his legs was burning, and Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure how he was going to go home to Belle like this.  He was fairly sure that being touched right now might make him scream, and how was he going to explain that to her?

“Gold?  Hello?” Emma Swan’s voice drifted in from the front of the shop, and Rumplestiltskin limped out from the back room.  For once, he was glad for his infernal limp; it kept anyone from noticing how badly Cora had hurt him this time.

“Sheriff Swan.  What a pleasant surprise,” he said with a smile, shoving his discomfort aside.  Emma’s arrival was a surprise, and a good one.  Regina _still_ hadn’t come by, so he didn’t know how her task of making the Savior believe was progressing.  Perhaps he could evaluate that for himself.

“Look, I’m, uh, here for your help,” Snow White’s brash daughter told him, and Rumplestiltskin managed not to smile. 

“Is that so?” Rumplestiltskin asked lightly, and then gave a small shrug as he shifted a set of knives around on the counter.  “I’m always glad to do my civic duty, of course.”

That made her roll her eyes; perhaps he’d laid it on a bit too thick.  “Sure you are.”

Rumplestiltskin folded his hands on the countertop and resisted the imp’s desire to wiggle in glee.  “What can I do for you?”

“Regina Nolan says that you’re a lawyer,” Emma said bluntly.  “And a good one.”

“I have my moments.”

“You’d better.  You’re the only one in this screwy little town that doesn’t seem to be afraid of the mayor, and I need that,” she replied, and Rumplestiltskin upped his assessment of her intelligence by a notch or two.  “You afraid to go up against her?”

“I can’t say that I am.”  And _this_ , at least, was interesting.  Even his curse liked the idea of tweaking Cora’s tail, and the Dark One could feel it quivering in his mind, excited and ready to strike back in vengeance for everything she had done to him.

“I need a restraining order lifted.”

 _Boring._ Rumplestiltskin managed—barely—not to sneer.  “Whatever do you need that for?”

“Cora filed one against me as Graham’s medical proxy.  She claims I was responsible for his accident, and for some reason, he won’t say anything against that,” Emma replied, and Rumplestiltskin perked up a bit.  “I want that restraining order lifted.”

It was still a little boring, but Cora would kick and scream and be furious at being thwarted, which would at least keep his attention.  He couldn’t do anything for the unfortunate Huntsman, whose queen had taken away both his heart and now his ability to walk, but perhaps he could help the young Sheriff that seemed fond of the man she’d replaced.  _Helping_ wasn’t always his style—his curse hated it—but Rumplestiltskin could at least amuse himself.

“I could do that,” he mused.  “For a price.”

“What, another favor?” the Savior countered immediately.  “That isn’t very original.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled.  “Actually, I had something more specific in mind,” he replied with a smile.  “Belief.”

“Belief in what?”

“We’ll save that for another day.  All I ask is that when the time comes, you grant me a little faith.”  He met her eyes easily, and watched the Savior contemplate for a moment—but not for long enough.  She wasn’t ready, not yet, and that realization irked Rumplestiltskin far more than he let on.  _Hurry up, Miss Swan.  We’re all waiting on_ you.

“Sure.  Why not?” she shrugged too easily.

Rumplestiltskin bit back the need to shake her.  “Then let’s go pay Judge Herman a visit, shall we?”

* * *

 

_ 4 ½ Years Before the Curse _

“He won’t do it, you know,” Charming said quietly.  The two of them were sharing a quiet dinner in the chambers Snow had been given the day after their arrival in George’s kingdom, and Snow had to admit that she was glad to finally be with her charming prince.  She’d barely seen him that day, and there was a suspicious emptiness in her heart.  He had been deep in George’s planning sessions with their military leaders, discussing how to win her kingdom back, while Snow was stuck being fitted for dresses.

 _I should have been there,_ she thought, annoyed.  The dresses could wait; she was grateful for George’s generosity in providing her with a wardrobe fitted to her station, but she would have preferred to be involved in the war councils.  _Not ignored because I am a princess.  My father raised me to be stronger than George thinks._

Thinking of Leopold made Snow swallow hard, the familiar pain of her beloved father’s death welling up and making her throat tight.  Leopold had killed himself to spare her from doing so, but that did not lessen how horrible she felt.  Cora had tried to make her kill her own _father._  She had forced Snow to fetch the poison for her, had used her heart to turn her against those she loved.  Had Regina not acted to free her—and had Charming not helped—Snow would have been executed months earlier.  The terrible ache had faded some in that time, but not enough, and the only thing that kept Snow going was the desire to avenge her father and win his kingdom back.

_And Charming.  Charming gives me strength._

“Won’t do what?” she asked now, looking at the man that she was slowly coming to accept was the only man she would ever love in her life.

“Allow us to wait to marry until after we have your kingdom back.  His army won’t budge unless we’re married,” Charming told her.

Snow sighed.  She’d expected this, particularly after George’s dismissal of her on grounds that Snow needed to ‘rest’, but she had hoped that the king would agree to her demands.  “Don’t you mean _your_ armies?  You’re the heir to this kingdom.”

“Sometimes I don’t feel like it.”

“Don’t say that,” she replied, reaching out for his hand. 

“Well, I’m just kind of new at this,” Charming said frankly, and Snow felt herself smiling at him.  “I wasn’t raised in a palace, or with any of this.  I just kind of… I’m doing this badly, aren’t I?”

“Not too badly,” she assured him.

“I love you,” he answered seriously, kissing her hand.

 _Father would like him,_ Snow decided.  “I love you, too.”

* * *

 

Emma watched the pair talk over breakfast—they’d given up sitting at other tables and had started sitting with one another that morning, and Emma wasn’t sure how she felt about that.  On one hand, she had never seen Mary Margaret so happy.  Even at home, Mary Margaret was always singing or humming, dancing around the loft and buying flowers with any spare money she managed to scrape together.  Mary Margaret was doing better financially these days; Emma knew that the way she paid half the rent helped with that, but her roommate was still frugal.  Splurging on flowers was a sign that Mary Margaret was finally _enjoying_ life, and Emma was so glad to see that.

But on the other hand, her roommate was now more-or-less seeing the husband of someone who Emma had started thinking of as a friend.  Even if her relationship with Regina was odd—Henry’s adopted mother claimed to be Emma’s step-aunt, after all—Emma didn’t want to see her marriage ruined.  Regina didn’t deserve that, and _Henry_ didn’t deserve to have his adopted parents split up, either.  So, it was with mixed feelings that she watched the two of them fall in love, complete with doe eyed looks and insipid giggles from both of them.   Or, in this case, she _didn’t_ watch them, because Emma headed out of Granny’s without so much as a glance back at the pair.   _I’m not involved in this,_ she told herself for the hundredth time.  _I’m not._

Of course, she ran into Regina while she walked back to the Sheriff’s Station, just steps away from the diner’s front door.

“Hey,” Emma said uneasily, hoping the older woman wouldn’t look through the window and see her husband laughing oh-so-naturally with another woman.  Unfortunately, Regina did just that.

“Well, don’t they look happy,” Regina drawled dryly, but there was something odd in the expression on her face.

“Yeah…” Emma replied awkwardly.  “I think they’re just having breakfast, you know, as friends and—”

“Oh, don’t bother,” the mayor’s daughter shrugged.  “I hope they’re happy.  It’s about damn time.”

Emma stared.  “You can’t possibly believe in what Henry’s book says about the two of them.”

“Can’t believe what I lived, you mean?” Regina countered, rolling her eyes.  “And try not to mention the book here.  My mother is not fond of it.”

“Why not?  It’s just a book.”

“One of these days, you’re going to believe that it’s anything but that, but today obviously isn’t that day.  In the meantime, give this to your mo—roommate.”  Regina held out a paper-wrapped bundle that was about the size of Emma’s two hands combined.  It was tied together with old-fashioned string and heavier than it looked, which made Emma look at the dark-haired woman questioningly.

“What is it?” she asked curiously.

“A necklace.  She may not recognize it yet, but I believe it belonged to her mother.”

* * *

 

The necklace had, of course, mysteriously appeared on Regina’s doorstep that morning with a note that Regina had _not_ included.  Regina might have been steering clear of Gold’s shop, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t put a few more pieces into play, and every little thing that could weaken the curse was a path worth pursuing.  So, he had dug the necklace out of the display case where it lived, polished it carefully, and had Dove drop it off at the Nolans'.  After all, anything that could job Mary Margaret into being a little less of a doormat and a little more Snow White was a good thing.

Besides which, Rumplestiltskin really did prefer to have Cora direct some of her attention elsewhere.

* * *

 

_ 3 Years, 9 Months Before the Curse _

“Why are you so afraid to let people know we are married?” Belle asked him one evening as they lay in bed together.  She had been reading a book and his fingers had been playing idly with her hair as he worked _some_ sort of magic or another.  So near as she could tell, it was a puzzle of sorts, a plethora of glowing threads dancing across the ornate ceiling of their bedroom, but that was hardly important at the moment.  Belle had lost her focus on the book some time ago, contemplating—again—her husband’s near paranoia over allowing anyone to know that he had a wife.

First it had been the Huntsman, but it hadn’t only been him.  Next had been the Hatter, whom Belle had met while Rumplestiltskin’s maid, but now whom Rumple insisted _must not_ know of their relationship.  Then there had been the group of townspeople who had come to the Dark Castle for Rumplestiltskin to rule upon a conflict between two shopkeepers in the town at the bottom of the mountain.  Somehow, Belle had never quite understood that as the lord of the Dark Castle, Rumplestiltskin was _also_ the lord of the town that owed his castle allegiance, and she’d been rather shocked to discover him mediating said dispute.  But he’d still refused to tell _his_ people that she was his wife, and Belle found that more than a little irksome.  The last straw, however, had come when one of his former students came by that morning and he’d snapped at her to hide herself in the library.

She’d spent the day stewing over the issue and had tried to ignore it.  But the question had been eating at her for too long, and Belle had to know.

“What’s that?” Rumplestiltskin asked idly, still twisting a lock of hair through his fingers.

“Why did you make me hide?” Belle turned onto her side to look at him.  “You had me hide from your old student, and you don’t want anyone to know we are married.  Are you ashamed of me?”

“No!” Rumplestiltskin looked shocked, his reptilian eyes wide.  “How could I ever be ashamed of you, sweetheart?”

“You won’t let anyone know about me.”

Belle felt terribly childish and rather insecure when she said that; her voice was tiny and uncertain, and she knew that she was looking at her husband with wide and hurt eyes.  But her expression definitely got the point across even if her words didn’t.  Belle saw guilt flash over Rumplestiltskin’s features and his shocked frown turned into a somewhat broken and frightened look that she knew all too well.  Her husband _always_ seemed to think that she’d leave him if anything even went a little bit wrong in their lives, and even though they had been married for almost a year, Belle still hadn’t broken him of that habit.  It wasn’t as if she was unhappy—far from it!—but having Rumplestiltskin hide her was still far from what she’d envisioned when they’d wed.

“It’s not that I’m ashamed of you—I couldn’t be—it’s just that I have so many enemies,” her husband replied, reaching out to touch her face gently.  “If they knew what you meant to me, they would want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?  Why would anyone want to do that?”

“Because I love you,” Rumplestiltskin answered seriously, his voice soft.  He was so earnest that it made Belle hesitate; she knew he lived in a vastly different world from the one she had been born in, but surely even the Dark One’s enemies would not lash out at his wife?

“But that’s…” she trailed off.

“Villains don’t have know many limits, my love,” he said quietly.  “I should know.”

“There are lines you won’t cross.  _You_ wouldn’t hurt someone’s wife,” Belle retorted.

“Wouldn’t I?”

She shot him a look.  “Rumple, that’s not funny.”

“It’s not meant to be.  I have done some truly terrible things in my life.  You know the man I want to be…not the man I always am.  I have done things that would make you run away from me screaming.”

“There’s nothing that could make me run away from you, Rumplestiltskin,” Belle reassured him, placing her hand over the one on her cheek.  “Your past is your past.  All I ask is that you try to be better.”

Swallowing, her husband nodded, but then shook his head minutely.  “You don’t understand.  What I am… I am the _Dark One_ , Belle.  They cannot stop me without leverage, and you would be that leverage.  They would hurt you for that if nothing else.”

“You truly believe that,” Belle replied slowly, watching his expression carefully.  She didn’t like hiding, but what if Rumple was right?  Could his enemies use her to hurt _him_?  Belle would never allow that to happen, for she knew the fragile man beneath the prickly and armored exterior of the monster, knew his fears, his hopes, and his dreams.  She knew that he used magic to hide behind, to show strength he didn’t always feel he had, and Belle felt it was _her_ job to keep that fragile heart of his safe.

“I know it’s true,” he said firmly.

“Then I’ll trust you.  I just…”  _I’m just lonely.  I love you, Rumple, but being here with only you can be so_ empty _,_ Belle didn’t add. 

“Feel like you’re still a prisoner?”

She blushed.  “Is it that obvious?  I mean…I don’t think I’m your prisoner, Rumple.  I just…I just miss people.  Doing things.  Not hiding.”

Belle often saw those who came to make deals with Rumplestiltskin, of course, but it wasn’t the same.  They either assumed she was his servant or his concubine, and although she didn’t care what they thought of her, it did deprive her of friendships she would have liked to have made.  She hated the isolation of hiding her relationship with him away…and yet Belle was also more happy than she ever had been in her life.  Over the last year, they hadn’t just traveled to Amorveria, though they had visited there a second time, just a few months earlier.  But they’d also gone to Agrabah, the Southern Isles, Fiore, Brabant, and even Firefly Hill.  Rumplestiltskin tended to wear glamours there, and they always used names other than their own, but it _was_ the excitement and adventure she had always craved.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Rumplestiltskin replied immediately.  “I just…I just need you to be safe.  If I lose you…I don’t know what I’d do.”

“You won’t lose me,” Belle promised, turning her head to kiss his hand.  “I will _always_ love you, and no one can change that.”  She kissed his hand again, and then let her free hand slide down her husband’s stomach, towards the waist of the silk pants he was wearing.  “If this is what we have to do to keep _both_ of us safe, it’s what we’ll do.  So long as you make a deal with me.”

“And what’s that?” Rumplestiltskin asked breathlessly, and Belle smiled as she saw a little color entering his cheeks.  She let her fingers tease the scales on his stomach, not quite tickling her very ticklish husband, and giggled a little.

“Distract me, and I’ll stop asking about it.”

Rumplestiltskin grinned.  “That I can do.”

* * *

 

The attack came just outside the Sheriff’s Station.  One minute, Emma was walking out, her head full of what she was going to order at Granny’s for lunch, and the next she heard Ruby yelling:

“ _Look out!”_

Emma threw herself right, but she wasn’t quite fast enough; a body slammed into her own and knocked her right off her feet.  Crying out, Emma crashed right into the doorframe she’d just walked through, bouncing off it hard.  She caught her balance and pushed her assailant back, but the blonde haired woman came at her again, shrieking furiously and clawing at Emma’s face.  Jerking her head out of the way, Emma cracked her head on the doorframe and saw stars.  Before her vision could clear, nails flashed in and pain exploded in her left cheek.  Emma snarled and got her hands up in the way as she ducked down, but her attacker kept frantically clawing at her.

“Vicky!” Ruby shouted again, and suddenly the waitress was there, bodily hauling the screeching blonde away.

“That’s not my name!” Victoria Scadlock howled, and Emma distantly remembered that she claimed her name was Anastasia.  The skinny blonde kept fighting, but Ruby had a good grip on her, and Emma finally managed to straighten and shove away from the doorframe, her face aching and head still trying to spin.

“Anastasia, then, fine.  Whatever your name is, calm down!” Ruby replied, shaking the other woman.  “You just attacked the sheriff.  What is _wrong_ with you?”

“I had to!  I—” Victoria (or Anastasia) cut herself off, going red and clamping her mouth shut.

“You had to?” Emma echoed, bringing herself back on balance. 

But the other woman wouldn’t say a thing after that, even when Emma threatened to arrest her.  In the end, Emma had no choice but to do just that, so she hauled Victoria Scadlock into the sheriff’s station and locked her up.  When she called Editor Francis Scadlock to notify him that his estranged wife had been arrested, his reaction had been typically arrogant.  He didn’t care, and he didn’t care if she _was_ crazy after all.  He just wanted her out of his hair, and he wouldn’t pay for a lawyer, either.

Thanking Ruby for the help—who would have thought that the slender waitress was that strong?—Emma stalked out of the sheriff’s station after another round of unanswered questions with Victoria Scadlock.  She remained stubbornly silent on why she’d attacked Emma, staring at the wall and refusing to say another word.

* * *

 

_ 6 Months Before the Curse _

She was supposed to be getting married tomorrow, but instead, Anastasia was sneaking out of the palace of a man who had promised to make her his queen.  It was supposed to be what every girl wanted: wealth, power, and prestige.  It was certainly what her mother had always wanted for her, and Ana had tried to tell herself over and over again that she _should_ do this.  She could marry the king, become the Red Queen, and make her mother proud.  She could outshine Ella, even; Ella, after all, had only married a prince.  And her real sister, Drizella, hadn’t yet managed to snag _anyone_ when Ana and Will ran away.  She could top them all, finally prove her mother wrong and not be the worthless waste of money that her mother always said she was.

Except she hadn’t, and Will Scarlet was waiting for her.

“Ana!  I thought you weren’t coming,” her love said, jumping out of the wagon with a grin on his face.

“I’m sorry.  Oh, Will, I’m so sorry,” she babbled, jumping into his arms, laughing and crying at the same time.  He held her tight, and Ana clung to him.  “I should never have gone with the king.  I should have come back to you right away.  I love you.”

“An’ I love you,” Will replied.  “I talked to the Rabbit.  We can go back home, if you want.  I mean, if you want t’go with me.”

“Of course I do!  I should never have left,” Ana replied hurriedly, leaning back to kiss him.  She couldn’t understand how Will could still want her, how he could even begin to forgive her for the heartbreak she’d put him through, but somehow he could.

“Well, then.  So long as you promise never to do it again, I _suppose_ you can come back with me,” he replied, and Ana kissed him again.

“I promise.”

Two days later, the White Rabbit dug a hole into the Enchanted Forest for them, and Will Scarlet and Anastasia Tremaine returned to the Enchanted Forest.  They very consciously chose not to return to the kingdom that had once been Ana’s home—she had no desire to see her mother and listen to Lady Tremaine say ‘I told you so’—and headed north instead.  Once they were over the border, they started taking on odd jobs here and there, working to support themselves and hoping to find themselves a place to settle down.  Eventually they wound up on the far end of the northern kingdom, having heard of a town where there were jobs for those who were willing to work.

Unfortunately, Argon turned out to be less cheerful than they had hoped; the town was half-deserted and the residents were terrified.  Oh, there were plenty of jobs to be had, but then again, that was a fact that was always true when a town was half-emptied out because people were too terrified to stay.  Will managed to sign on as a bartender at the local tavern, and Ana started waiting tables there, too.  It was far from the glorious life that her mother had always wanted for her, but it made ends meet and gave them a pretty good life.  They even managed to rent a little house down the road from the tavern for a decent price, and they’d even scraped up the money to get married for real.   Life was finally starting to look up, until Ana came home one night to find a woman outside their home.

She stopped cold.  “Who are you?”

“Anastasia, isn’t it?”  The woman turned to look at her with a friendly smile, but looking at her ornate dress—which had not been so obviously expensive from behind, when hidden by a dark cloak—made Ana draw up short.  “I knew your mother some years ago.”

Ana swallowed.  “Who are you?”

“Queen Cora, of course.  And I do believe that royalty is bowed to where you come from.”

“I… Of course, Your Majesty.”  Ana quickly dropped into a deep curtsey, but doing so did nothing to lessen her confusion.  “May I ask why you are here?”

“Don’t be so polite, Ana.  She’s the bloody Queen of Hearts, the Evil Queen,” Will put in, suddenly standing in the doorway to their little home.  “What d’you think she’s here for?”

Rising from her curtsey, Ana only then noticed the glowing object in Cora’s right hand.  The queen, however, was laughing softly.

“Always defiant, aren’t you, Scarlet?  You should be glad I have a use for you.”

“A _use_ for him?” Ana demanded before Will could get a word in.

“Of course,” Cora purred, her smile small and secretive.  “Why else would I have his heart in my hand?”

“His _what?_ ”  Telling the queen she was crazy was on the tip of Ana’s tongue, but the tormented expression on Will’s face told her that this wasn’t a lie.  So, instead of saying more, she rushed over to her husband’s side, taking his hand in his own as Will glared impotently at Queen Cora.

“His heart, of course.  I have need of a thief, and will in the future.  Your husband now serves me,” Cora replied easily.

“You can’t!”

“Ana.”   The defeat in Will’s voice made her turn to stare helplessly at him, and he smiled crookedly.  “It’s true.  She’s got me heart.  I have to do what she says.”

“Then we’ll get it back!” Ana cried furiously, starting towards Cora, only to have the Evil Queen disappear in a cloud of purple smoke.

* * *

 

“Hey,” Emma said quietly, ducking into Graham’s hospital room.  Her former boss was awake, propped up in the bed and reading the _Daily Mirror._   But he looked up when she came in, putting down the paper to smile at her.  In a flash, Graham went from wan and bored looking to brilliantly alive, and Emma felt her heart skip a beat.

“Hi, Emma.”  Graham was obviously trying to sound casual, but Emma could hear the excitement in his voice.  And the uncertainty.  “I thought…I thought you weren’t coming back.”

“No, that was Cora,” she replied with a shrug, sitting down in the chair at his bedside. “She filed a restraining order against me.  I just got it lifted this morning.”

“How’d you pull that off?” the paralyzed ex-sheriff asked curiously.

“Gold.  He’s amazingly efficient for such a bastard.”  Emma bit her lip, wondering how a conversation with a friend could become so awkward.  Or was he more than a friend?  Emma didn’t know.  They’d kissed, she was definitely attracted to him…and then he’d gotten in an accident, gone into a coma, and was now paralyzed.  Emma had no idea where this was going, or even where she _wanted_ it to, but she had to come see him now that she could.

“I could have told you that,” he replied, smiling easily.

“Any news on your legs?” Emma asked.

He shrugged.  “Still not working, but Whale says I can go home in a week or so.  At least they’ve decided I’m not crazy, and my insurance is going to pay for the damage to Dave’s Fish and Chips.”

“Did you ever remember what caused the accident?”  On impulse, Emma reached out for his hand, squeezing it gently.  Graham gave her a lopsided smile.

“No, not at all.  And thinking about it just makes my head hurt horribly.”

Emma squeezed his hand again.  “Well, then don’t.  I’m sure that it will come to you eventually.”

“I doubt it,” Graham said slowly.  “I mean, it never has before.  My blackouts…well, they always stay blackouts.”

“You mean this has happened before?”

“A couple of times over the years.  I can never remember what happens,” he admitted.

“Graham, that’s serious!  Have you talked to Whale about it?” Emma demanded.

“No, and I’m not going to.  He can’t help.  It’s always been this way, so long as I can remember.  I have some meds for it.  I’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will, dear, particularly once Miss Swan leaves you alone,” a new voice said, and Emma twisted to look at Cora, her heart plummeting. 

“Madam Mayor.  What are _you_ doing here?” she snarled before she could stop herself. 

“Visiting an old friend, of course.”  Cora’s smile could have slain a poisonous snake with its toxicity.  “And I thought _you_ were not permitted to be here.  You make a very poor sheriff if you begin ignoring the laws that you don’t agree with.”

“You should check on the town records more often,” Emma retorted.  “That restraining order was lifted this morning.”

Oh, watching fury flick across Cora’s face, feeling the slight taste of victory, was absolutely sweet.  Emma knew she shouldn’t revel in it, but the mayor was _such_ a bitch.  She was probably the nastiest piece of work that Emma had ever met, and that was saying a lot.  Even Graham looked downright annoyed to see her, and so far as Emma knew, Graham was friendly towards everyone.

“I’m glad she’s here,” Graham piped up, and Emma felt his fingers squeeze hers.  “ _And_ glad she’s Sheriff.”

Cora scowled.  “Don’t be too happy about it.  _She’s_ the one who let loose a half dozen psychopaths so that they could terrorize the town.”

“You what?” Graham asked, and Emma saw Cora’s eyes gleaming triumphantly.

“ _I_ uncovered a hidden prison underneath the hospital,” Emma told Graham, but not before she paused to glare at Cora.  “And everyone who had been locked away in there—without so much as a trial—was certified as just fine by doctors.”

“Which is, of course, why one of them attacked you today.”

Emma snorted.  “Don’t you just have an answer for everything?  But until you can pin that on me, _Madam Mayor_ , why don’t you get the hell out?”

* * *

 

The evening before she attacked the sheriff, Anastasia—or Victoria Scadlock, as the fools here seemed to think she was named—found herself escorted into the mayor’s office by her husband.   _It’s not Will’s fault,_ Ana told herself for the hundredth time. _He doesn’t know who he is.  It’s this damn curse, the one everyone said was coming back in the Enchanted Forest._ Ana didn’t know why the curse hadn’t affected her, or why she’d woken up in that horrible asylum with her own memories intact.  The two weeks since her release had taught Ana a few important things, first of which was that _no one_ remembered who they were.  Her mother was here, but Lady Tremaine thought her name was Victoria and that Will’s name was Francis.  Ella was here, and although she hadn’t seen Druzilla yet, Ana was willing to bet that her sister was around somewhere.  Everyone else she knew was.

But none of them remembered, so they didn’t matter.  Except Queen Cora.  _She_ remembered, quite obviously, because the Evil Queen who had cast the curse.  _After she ripped Will’s heart out, and he’s_ still _doing her bidding,_ Ana thought angrily.

“What do you want?” she asked the queen who called herself a mayor, scowling.

“I want you to sit down, dear,” Cora replied, gesturing at Will.

Hands landed on Ana’s shoulders before she could move, shoving her down into the chair facing Cora.  Ana grunted as she hit, knowing that she’d hit hard enough to cause bruises, but complaining wouldn’t get her anywhere, so she bit her tongue.  Will didn’t say another word after that; he just backed off and scowled.  Ana watched him for a moment, her heart twisting painfully in her chest.  _Oh, Will._ The scowl was so like the man she loved, but the silence wasn’t.  The silence was all this _Francis Scadlock_ that Queen Cora had created.  Will would have been snapping out something sarcastic by now.

“Now what?” she demanded.

Cora sat back, crossing her legs and smiling.  “I want you to attack our good sheriff.”

“Why would I do that?  She’s the only decent person in this town.”  Ana hadn’t figured out who Emma Swan actually was, but she knew that the sheriff was actually honest.  She’d freed them all from the asylum, after all, and Ana thought that was worth something.  _And the Evil Queen doesn’t seem able to control her the way she can my poor Will._

“Because if you don’t, I’m going to crush your husband’s heart.”

“You’ll _what?_ ”  That made Ana twist to look at Will again, but he was all Francis right now and didn’t even look like he was listening.

“You heard me, Anastasia.  You will do what I say, or your beloved husband will die.  Understood?” Cora’s tone would probably have been the same if she was ordering an insignificant servant about; she sounded completely blasé and uncaring. 

Ana wanted to argue, but she wasn’t a fool.  “I understand,” she grated out.

“You will tell no one about this.  No matter what happens after you attack the sheriff, you will certainly not tell anyone you have done so at my…request,” Cora continued, smiling slightly. 

“And then what?”

“Then I will take care of things.  You have my word that—so long as both of you behave yourselves and remain loyal to me—I will ensure neither of you are harmed in any permanent way.  If you obey me, however, I will make it worth your while.  I might even give your _beloved_ husband his memories back.”

Ana swallowed hard.  She didn’t want to hurt anyone, but what did this sheriff mean to her?  Emma Swan was no one important, and Will was everything to Anastasia.  She only had a split second to decide, but it really was no decision at all.  Will was the center of her life, and Anastasia would do whatever it took to save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few people have asked if Daniel Hari is Regina’s Daniel, and the answer is yes, that is the same person. According to Storybrooke’s public records, he is deceased. And for everyone who is curious about Daniel’s fate in the Enchanted Forest, I promise that it will be revealed! 
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Twenty-Seven: “A Perfect Fit,” in which David helps Mary Margaret out of a sticky situation, Henry asks questions about True Love, and Moe French goes to Emma because he’s worried about his daughter. Back in the past, disaster comes at Snow and Charming’s engagement announcement and Rumplestiltskin gets a few hairs for a certain potion.


	27. A Perfect Fit

“We shouldn’t do this,” Mary Margaret said quietly, but she put her bag into David’s truck anyway when he opened the door for her.

They were planning on going for a picnic by the toll bridge, and her old car had broken down again.  Under other circumstances, Mary Margaret would have driven herself, but it was a very long walk and David had offered to take her.  She knew that she should have said no—driving out there together was hardly subtle—but who could complain if two friends wanted to go bird watch together?  That was _all_ they were doing.  There was nothing romantic between them.  They were just friends.  

“I told Regina,” David said abruptly, and her head snapped around so fast that Mary Margaret thought that her neck might break. 

“You _what_?” she gasped.  They hadn’t even talked to each _other_ about what they were doing; they weren’t technically in a relationship because neither of them would let themselves be in one.  Mary Margaret was just _drawn_ to David, as he was to her, and they’d started meeting—innocently!—for breakfast at Granny’s.  She couldn’t believe that she’d never really sat down with him before.  Being around David was like coming home, like finding the perfect puzzle piece that fit in just right.  Mary Margaret knew that she was in love with him like she knew her own name, but David had told his _wife_ about this?

“She asked,” he replied honestly.  “Actually, she guessed.”

“How?”

David shrugged.  “She said she’s seen us together at Granny’s.  And that…and that she just wants me to be happy…even if it’s not with her.”

“I…I’m not sure what to say to that,” Mary Margaret stuttered, blinking hard.  She had to lean on David’s truck for balance; her head was spinning wildly.  Regina Nolan had really said _that_?  Mary Margaret didn’t know the mayor’s daughter well, but Regina seemed to be the take-no-prisoners type, not the forgiving of a cheating husband type.

“Look, our marriage has been on the rocks for a while now.  We tried to patch things up for Henry’s sake, and I _care_ about Regina a lot.  But I’m not in love with her,” he said, and Mary Margaret hated herself for the way her heart leapt. 

“David…” she started to whisper, only to have whatever she was going to say interrupted by a very unwelcome visitor.

“Mary Margaret!” a jovial voice shouted, and a cold chill swept over her.  Her voice went tiny as she answered:

“Jefferson.”

“I was wondering where you’d gone off to. I haven’t seen you in weeks,” her ex-boyfriend said with a dazzling smile, but seeing him grin like that only brought back bad memories.  She’d thought she was in love with him once, but it hadn’t lasted long at all, and these days, Mary Margaret knew better.  Jefferson might have had money and might have treated her like a princess when everything was going right, but what he wanted from her had been complete and absolute submission, and no matter how afraid of him she’d been, Mary Margaret wasn’t ready to give that.

_You can stand up to the bastard,_ a voice inside her head said, one that sounded suspiciously like Emma.  It made her square her shoulders and take a deep breath, drawing on strength she didn’t know she had.

“That’s because I told you not to come back, and you were smart enough not to do it,” she retorted.

“Now, don’t be like that,” Jefferson replied, stepping close to her.  Instinct took over; Mary Margaret flinched.  “You know I don’t like it.”

“I don’t care,” she said as boldly as she could, but she felt so trapped, with the open truck door behind her and Jefferson in front of her—

“Look, why don’t you come with me, and we’ll go _talk_ someplace private.”

“She said no, Jefferson,” a strong voice suddenly said from her left, and then David was in the picture, staring the other man down.

Jefferson scoffed at him.  “Do you want something, Nolan?”

“Yeah, for you to leave her alone,” David replied without backing down an inch.  “Get lost.  If she wants to see you, she’ll let you know.”

“And I don’t.  In case you didn’t get the message last time,” Mary Margaret said, her voice stronger.  Just knowing David was next to her gave her strength, and Jefferson seemed to notice that.  So, she pulled her chin up and looked her former boyfriend in the eye, all the while wondering what she’d ever seen in him.

“We’ll see each other again,” Jefferson promised, but it rang emptily, and he turned and walked away when Mary Margaret crossed her arms.  She and David watched him go in silence, and Mary Margaret swore that she could feel some sort of _spark_ in the air, something between them that hadn’t been there before.

She didn’t know what it was, but it felt so right that even her nagging conscience went quiet.

* * *

 

_4 Years, 3 Months Before the Curse_

Apparently, announcing a royal engagement took a lot of work.  Regina arrived late for the gala, but it was still in full swing several hours after starting.  She hadn’t intended to come at all, but in the end, the thought of _not_ congratulating Snow on a day like this was more than she could stand.  Regina hadn’t seen her sister in half a year, not since her mother had forced her to abandon Snow and David while they fled, and she desperately needed to tell Snow that she still cared.  Cora might have wanted her stepdaughter dead—and was busy announcing to the world that Snow was a murderer while she shoved Regina into Snow’s place—but Regina still loved her stepsister, no matter what face Cora forced her to show the world.

And force her Cora did.  Her mother had grown increasingly threatening towards Daniel, going so far as to order him tortured twice when Regina would not immediately knuckle under.  She tried to remain strong, but it was so very hard, and seeing Daniel in pain always broke her.  So, she had been the perfectly behaved princess for the last six months, right up until she’d snuck out to see her sister one last time.

“Snow!” Regina whispered, slipping out from behind the tapestry that had hidden her when she teleported in.  She had no idea what kind of reception she would receive here in King George’s palace; after all, George was readying for war against her mother, and for all Regina knew, George would want to hold her as a hostage.  Not that it would work for long if he tried.

“Regina?” Whirling around, Snow didn’t even pause before she threw herself into her sister’s arms.  “Oh, Regina, it’s so _wonderful_ to see you!  I had hoped you could come, but I wasn’t sure you could get away.”

Regina hugged her tightly.  “Mother doesn’t know I’m here, and I can’t stay long, but I had to see you.”

“However long you can be here is wonderful,” Snow replied.  “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Regina admitted, smiling at her sister’s enthusiasm.  And she _had_ missed Snow more than she could express.  “Everything is so quiet without you.”

“And lonely.  I can see it on your face,” was the perceptive answer, and Regina shrugged. 

“We all do what we have to.”  _And I have to save Daniel._

But her magic still wasn’t up to the task.  Regina had tried to take her mother on, just once—and that had brought about the second time Daniel was tortured, which had taught Regina a lesson she would never forget.  Her mother was a cruel and hateful woman, and Regina wanted nothing more than to be free of her…but not at the cost of Daniel’s life.  _Magic isn’t the only thing that comes at a price,_ she thought unhappily.  _So does freedom._

Snow just squeezed her arm compassionately, waving her prince over as she did.  “Charming!  Regina is here.”

“We’re so glad to see you.”  Prince James approached quickly, and Regina couldn’t detect any reservations within his smile.  Then again, he _had_ worked rather well with Regina to rescue Snow, and Regina rather liked him, particularly now that he was going to become her brother in law instead of a potential husband.  _Serves you right, Mother,_ she thought vindictively.  _They’re going to be happy despite your best efforts._

“I’m glad to be here,” Regina replied, smiling widely.  “I can’t stay long—Mother will notice—but I wanted to congratulate you both.  You deserve every bit of happiness you can get.”

Snow hugged her one armed, and her smile was absolutely radiant.  “Thank you.  Are you sure you can’t stay?”

“I can’t.”  But she _wanted_ to, so badly, and the mere thought made her feel guilty.  Regina would have given everything to leave her mother’s toxic kingdom and stay here with Snow.  Snow was the only family she really had, and she missed her so much.  But she couldn’t leave Daniel.  Even though Regina had barely seen him over the last decade, he was still her True Love.  She had still married him, even if her mother had destroyed that marriage.  The next word was a whisper, barely audible.  “Daniel…”

“Who?” James asked, but Snow squeezed her gently. 

“I’m sorry.  I know—” she started to say, only to be cut off by a _twang_.

Regina knew that noise, knew what it had to be, but her mind wrapped itself around the truth just a little too slowly.  But the prince twisted impossibly fast, and even as Regina started to react, he jumped in between Snow and the incoming crossbow bolt.  It hit him high in the right side of the chest and he fell with a cry, but Regina’s eyes did not follow him as Snow dove to her love’s side.  Her gaze didn’t track King George as he rushed towards his heir, either; no, she was watching the crossbowman as he tried to disappear into the now-screaming crowd.  He was dressed fancily enough to be taken for a nobleman, but he obviously wasn’t—or if he was, he wasn’t one acting of his own volition.

 Her hands came up, purple light flashing between them, and the innocuous crossbowman was picked up off his feet and slammed into the far wall.  Her magic played over him quickly as guards rushed to take the crossbow the man had dropped, and Regina received her answer before anyone else really realized what had happened.

“This is your doing!” a furious voice said from her left, and Regina wheeled to face King George, her hands coming down and her concentration breaking.  The crossbowman dropped like a rock, bouncing off the floor and yelping in pain.  Royal guards leapt on him immediately, but Regina only watched that out of the corner of her eye.  Her attention was consumed by the angry king striding up to her, his lined face pinched with fury.

“My doing?” Regina demanded, scowling at him. “How is this _my_ doing?  He just tried to kill my sister!”

“We all know what your mother is, ‘Princess’ Regina,” George retorted.  “And you appear to be nothing if not her _worthy_ successor.  Arrest her!”

“No!” Snow shouted even as guards rushed towards Regina and she started wondering how many of them she’d have to hurt before she could escape.  She _could_ just teleport away, but that would be an admission of guilt, and Regina wasn’t about to let them pin this on her. 

“This isn’t your concern, Princess,” George snapped, and Snow looked up to glare at him from where she cradled her prince’s head in her lap.  His dark blue doublet was stained darker blue with blood already, and Regina could see the color leeching out of his face.  Threads of magic surrounded him, and she cocked her head to look at the prince, dropping her senses down beyond the visual level and letting the truth swirl around her.  _Poison,_ she realized.  _Thorough, and not too fast-acting.  Mother._

“She can heal him!” Snow snapped, glaring at her prospective father in law.  “Now, do you want that or not?”

The prince was already groaning; Regina couldn’t tell what kind of poison had been used, but even as she ignored George’s fury and knelt by her sister’s side, she knew it was bad.

“Fine,” George snapped, and then turned back to his guards.  “The party is over.  Get everyone out of here.”

Regina didn’t pay attention as the guards cleared the ballroom.  Instead, she placed her hands a few inches above the wound—narrowly avoiding the still-protruding crossbow bolt—and sucked in a deep breath.  Casting a quick spell to help make sense of the tangled threads of magic (poison layered with more poisons, a subtle-but-curable-curse, and yet another poison), Regina bit her lip briefly.  This was bad.  This was so bad.  _Mother, what have you done?_   There was no question that the poison was meant for Snow, but knowing Cora, she would be just as happy to harm the prince who had chosen Snow over Regina.

“Regina?” Snow asked quietly, breaking her out of her reverie.  Regina blinked.

“I can’t fix this,” she whispered.

“ _What?”_   Her sister looked horrified, eyes wide and broken and suddenly terrified.  “No, you have to.  Regina, I can’t lose him.  I _love_ him.  Please, I’ll do anything—”

“Don’t say that.  Don’t _ever_ say that.” Regina cut her off quickly.  “I can’t fix this, but I know someone who can.”

* * *

 

“Mom, can I ask you something?”

Regina turned to look at him, and Henry tried to return his adopted mother’s smile.  They were alone at home since David was off with Mary Margaret—a choice that Henry wholly approved of, even if it meant that his adopted father was sneaking around behind Regina’s back.  It was _True Love,_ though, and that was more important than stupid things like marriages that the curse had come up with.  His grandparents belonged together, and Henry was so glad to know that his _real_ grandparents were so much better than Cora.  Regina wasn’t like her mother—she must have taken after her father, who he was named after—but he was really happy to have grandparents who weren’t evil.

“Of course you can, honey,” she replied easily, and Henry screwed his courage up.

“What happened to the stableboy?” he asked curiously.  “The one you were in love with.  Is he here in Storybrooke somewhere?”

Immediately, his mother’s face closed over, much worse than Emma’s did when he’d asked Emma about his birth father.  But Henry remembered the story in his book, and Regina had actually _married_ the stableboy before Cora forced them apart.  Didn’t that make the stableboy his adopted father?  Regina, however, just looked sad.

“Why are you asking that?” she said softly.

“Wouldn’t he be family, too?  I know that the Evil Queen took him away, but if he’s here somewhere, even if he doesn’t remember you, True Love should overcome that.  Look at Dad and Miss Blanchard.  They don’t remember each other, but they’re still in love.”

“I’m afraid that it’s not that simple, Henry.”

“Why not?  It should be.  If he’s here—wait a minute.  Does Grandma have him prisoner?  _Still_?”  Henry asked all three questions before he could stop himself, and then went on: “That’s horrible!”

“My mother always treated Daniel horribly,” Regina replied, her voice low and broken.  “She never thought he was good enough for me, no matter how much we loved one another.”

“But it’s True Love.   The Book says so.  How can she think that’s not enough?”

Regina snorted.  “You’ve met your grandmother, Henry.  Do you really think she believes anything is more important than power?”

“No,” he replied glumly, wishing he could say otherwise.  But Cora _was_ the Evil Queen, and her motto pretty much was that ‘love is weakness’.  Henry had read that a hundred times, but looking at his mother’s mournful expression really made the truth slam home.  Those stories were real, and they didn’t all have happy endings, even the ones back in the Enchanted Forest.  Sometimes good people were hurt, and sometimes the Evil Queen really did win.  _But not this time,_ Henry promised himself.  _Emma will bring back the happy endings, and when she defeats the Evil Queen, Mom can have hers, too._

“It’s okay,” Regina said, squeezing his shoulder.  “We’ll get the curse broken, and then everything will go back to the way it should be.”

* * *

 

_4 Years, 3 Months Before the Curse_

“Rumplestiltskin.”

It was George who made the call, a proud king who refused to let someone else do his dirty work for him.  Regina stood to one side of the king as Rumplestiltskin appeared in a cloud of dark red smoke, her expression somewhere between broken and murderous.  Next to her, her younger sister sat on the bed with her prince, only having eyes for the oh-so-charming man she’d fallen in love with.  It would have been a picturesque scene if the prince Rumplestiltskin needed had not been so busy dying.  _Now that could really put a cramp in my plans,_ he thought dispassionately.  _The boy wasn’t one of triplets, after all, and George has already wasted the first one.  There’s no taking it back if this one dies, too._ But none of those concerns showed on his face; Rumplestiltskin just turned to face the king, his magic sweeping over the prince’s prone form and identifying the poison used while he did so.

“You called, dearie?”

George glared; he was not a king to be trifled with, and Rumplestiltskin had allowed the monarch space for his ego in the past because he’d needed him, but now the shoe was on the other foot.  George had his second son, his last chance, and that charming prince was now busy expiring on the bed.  It was bound to put George in a foul mood, but the Dark One didn’t particularly care what kind of mood the petty little king was in.  _Just kill him,_ his curse whispered.  _Your plans will go more smoothly if he’s dead.  You need the prince, not him._

“I need you to save my son.  Quickly,” George said, and at least the ornery old man had always been direct.  Rumplestiltskin did like that about him.

_Make Charming the king today, and all obstacles will be swept out of their way. You’ll have that precious_ True Love _you think is worth so much,_ the demon within him continued, and Rumplestiltskin paused to consider the words as he turned showily to look at David, twirling his fingers as he did so.  It was worth the thought.  Trading one for the other _would_ be possible.  That would meet the price of such magic it would take to thwart Cora’s ham-handed attempt to kill her future stepson-in-law.  But no.  _No,_ he told his curse firmly.  _Get back in your box.  George is useful._

_For now._

With an effort, he turned his mind back to the present.  He had plenty of practice shoving the curse of the Dark One aside, almost three centuries of it, and he knew how to shut it up.  Its opinion wasn’t welcome, particularly now when he was so close. 

“Do you now?” he drawled, pausing to giggle a bit.  The madder they thought him, the more likely they were to underestimate him.  “It _does_ look like you have a problem here, now, doesn’t it?”

“He’s been poisoned,” George said unnecessarily.  “Fix it.  What’s your price?”

“Ah, but I don’t want anything from _you_ , Your Majesty,” Rumplestiltskin told him with a little wiggle, enjoying the horrified look that crossed George’s face.  Oh, he didn’t love this second son, but he was happy enough with the way David had fallen in love with just the right princess. The boy was smart—and would turn out to be a better leader than his dead brother had been—and George might not feel affection for him, but he needed him.

“You can’t let it end like this,” the king snarled.  “I—”

“I said that I didn’t want anything from _you,_ dearie.  Not that I didn’t want anything at all,” he cut in.  “I can heal him, of course.  For a price.”

“Name it,” George repeated, and Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes.

Killing the king was starting to look like a more and more appetizing.  His curse was cackling within his mind.

“Well, only _you_ can help your love, Princess,” he said directly, turning to look at Snow White.  She had been bent over the prince, with his head in her lap, probably not paying attention to the exchange between the Dark One and the king at all.  Now she looked up, her beautiful eyes wide and frightened.

“Me?” she asked.  “What can I do?”

Of course, Regina interrupted.  “Rumple, now isn’t the time to—”

“Oh, hush.  Don’t you need to run home before mother dearest realizes you’ve come to visit her least favorite stepdaughter?” Rumplestiltskin cut her off.

“My mother is my concern,” Regina snapped peevishly.  “Unless you’re involved with her again, that is.”

Oh, that was _just_ what he wanted his student to say in front of people he’d need to continue using.  The comment did, however, make Rumplestiltskin twist to glare at Regina.  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped.  “And do go home, dearie, before your mother decides to take her thwarted fury out on someone _you_ love.”

It was a low blow, but it worked.  Glaring, Regina reached out to squeeze Snow’s shoulder one last time, whispering something that sounded like _Be careful what you promise_ , and then she was gone, undoubtedly worrying about her precious stableboy.  Once, Rumplestiltskin had actually contemplated using Regina’s True Love for Daniel to put his safety valve on the Curse to End All Curses, but he’d seen early on where that would go.  She loved him truly enough, but her mother would never let them have a child.  Cora would have killed such a grandchild at birth, even though Rumplestiltskin _could_ have given the lovers the opportunity to create one, and that would have broken Regina forever.  No, he needed something else, and Regina would have to remain his wildcard.  That left Snow White and her Prince Charming.

Not watching Regina as she vanished in a swirl of purple smoke, Rumplestiltskin just studied the princess.  “You really are the fairest of them all, aren’t you?” he murmured, stepping forward to run his fingers through her long dark locks.  “You’ll do quite nicely.”

“Do what?” Snow White demanded, slapping his hand away.  Oh, and she was brave, too!

Rumplestiltskin giggled.  “A hair.  I can heal your beloved prince, but for that I need a hair.  Or three.”

“ _My_ hair?”

“Of course.”

“But why?” the princess asked, confusion screwing her pretty face up at all the wrong angles.

“Well, that’s my concern, isn’t it?” he countered, magic sweeping over the prone and moaning prince again.  There wasn’t much time left, so Rumplestiltskin skipped the rest of the questions and tightened his fingers, tearing a few strands of hair away from Snow White’s head.  “There.  You haven’t any use for them any longer, do you?”

She was a quick one, this princess.  Rumplestiltskin began to have hope for his Savior, after all.  “Fine.  Heal him.”

“Your wish is my command,” he murmured, sketching her a courtly bow. 

Then, without further ado, Rumplestiltskin turned to the mostly-unconscious prince, letting his magic sweep out to untangle the threads he had identified during the conversation.  His right hand swirled in the air, banishing the trio of hairs to a bottle in his favorite tower in the Dark Castle and summoning a separate bottle at the same time.  Stepping forward and sweeping a hand over Charming, he untangled the bulk of the threads and assessed the two different poisons racing through his veins.  _Five minutes.  Maybe less_ , he assessed coolly.  It was plenty of time, but George was impatient.

“Can you do it?” the king pressed.

“My dear George, have you _ever_ known of something I cannot do?” Rumplestiltskin replied with a smile, not even bothering to look at him.

“Then do it!”

_Get rid of him.  It would be so much easier!_ Rumplestiltskin masked his annoyance with his ever-present darker self with another giggle, ignoring the king’s distress.

Swirling the bottle in his hand, Rumplestiltskin combined the catch-all antidote he’d summoned with some more particular magic, and then reached down with his open hand.  Quickly, he yanked the crossbow bolt out, making Charming cry out in pain and Snow shout angrily.  She made to grab his wrist, but Rumplestiltskin danced out of her reach and aligned the now-dripping crossbow bolt with the open bottle.  One drop, two drops, and then three drops of poisoned blood dripped in, and then he cast the bolt aside without bothering to look where it landed. It clattered to the floor somewhere; he didn’t care where.  A final twitch of his wrist swirled the potion together, and then he stepped back forward to touch the bottle to Charming’s lips.

The prince was barely conscious, but he could swallow well enough, and Rumplestiltskin tipped the entire mixture down his throat as George and Snow both watched with wide eyes.  Banishing the bottle in a cloud of green smoke—the color of both poisons Cora had used—Rumplestiltskin turned his attention to the bleeding wound in the prince’s chest.  His right hand glowed blue, and the wound slowly knitted itself shut, the internal injuries closing first and then finally the torn doublet following suit.  Charming’s eyes fluttered open, and Rumplestiltskin let himself giggle, covering his relief with his well-known mania.

_There.  Back on track,_ he told his curse a bit peevishly.  _Down, you._

“Enjoy your little war,” he told a suddenly very relieved George, and then disappeared in a cloud of blue smoke.

* * *

 

Emma had never met the florist, though she knew what he looked like.  Enough to recognize him and nod a greeting on the street, anyway.  She was pretty sure that someone had pointed him out at some point—Henry, maybe?—but Emma certainly didn’t know him well enough to know what possibly could have brought him to the sheriff’s station.  So, she looked up at him with raised eyebrows, swallowing her last bite of a pastrami sandwich and wiping her mouth off with a napkin.  Back in the right hand cell, Victoria Scadlock remained stubbornly silent; she’d barely said thank you when Emma delivered her lunch, and Emma still wasn’t sure what she should do with the young woman other than bring her up on charges.  Still, Victoria was hardly her problem right now, not with the heavyset man standing in front of her so nervously.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, um, I need.  Well…” Moe French trailed off, and Emma gestured at the chair on the other side of the desk.

“You want to sit down?” she asked as nicely as she could manage, watching the florist shift uneasily from foot to foot.

“Thank you,” Moe replied, plopping down into the chair and toying nervously with his scarf.

“So…” Emma said slowly.  “What can I do for you?  Are you here to report a crime?”

“Yes.  I mean, no.  Or, I don’t think so,” the older man replied, and then gave her a helpless look.  “I don’t know.”

“But there’s a problem.”

Moe nodded hesitantly.  “Yes.  It’s…my daughter.”

“Lacey?” Emma asked.  “The librarian?”

“Yes.”  Now, Moe seemed to gather steam once he started talking, and he continued rapidly.  “She’s in trouble.  So much trouble.  And I don’t know how to help her.  We don’t talk much these days, and that’s probably my fault.  I fear I drove her right to that monster, and now she’s in so much danger.”

“Whoa, what do you mean, _danger_?” Emma asked, perking up.  Moe didn’t sound like a foolishly worried parent; he sounded like someone in actual desperate fear for his beloved daughter’s life.  She’d never bothered to learn much about the relationship—or non-relationship—between Lacey French and her father, but now she wished that she had.

“Gold.  That monster is going to hurt her, I know it,” was the immediate response.  “She’s his…his _kept_ woman or something.  He’s got her locked up in that house of his like she’s his servant, and I can’t imagine what he’s doing to her.”

That made Emma blink.  “I thought she’d taken a job as his live-in maid.” 

“Do you really believe that?” Moe burst out.

Honestly, Emma hadn’t bothered to look into where the librarian went after the fire, or at least hadn’t thought anything of it beyond overhearing that conversation between Cora and Gold.  Gold had sounded rather cold-blooded about having hired Lacey French as a live-in maid, but really, Emma had figured that was better than the alternative of him being _pleased_ to have her.  Gold was certainly a creepy man, and undoubtedly powerful, but he didn’t strike Emma as an abuser of young women.  _I think_.  All she could do was shrug.

“I don’t know what to believe, really,” she said honestly.  “And I haven’t seen any evidence of a crime being committed.”

“My Lacey’s a good girl.  She wouldn’t…she wouldn’t take up with someone like Gold if he wasn’t forcing her,” the florist insisted, and Emma sighed.

“I can look into it, if you want,” she told him, knowing he wouldn’t go away unless she offered.

“Please.  I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m worried for her.”

Emma gave him a smile, and then ushered Moe French out of the sheriff’s station, making a mental note to ask Regina what she knew about Lacey French.  Or maybe Mary Margaret.  Mary Margaret might be the right one to ask; she seemed to know most of the down-on-their-luck people in Storybrooke because she traveled in circles that Regina barely even knew existed.  Still, Emma hadn’t ever heard anyone say anything much about Lacey French, aside from expressing pity for her over the loss of her job at the library.  She had a cute little girl, Emma remembered, though no one seemed to know who had actually fathered Renee.

Well, at least looking into this was more interesting than jumping when Cora said jump.  Emma _had_ wanted to corner Gold and figure out what the shady pawnbroker was up to, so this was a chance to do just that, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Twenty-Eight: “What Matters Most,” where Emma asks Graham for help, David and Regina have a heart to heart, and Emma hunts down Lacey French for answers regarding her employment with Mr. Gold. Back in the past, Belle takes Gabrielle out to play with the children in town and disaster strikes.


	28. What Matters Most

Finding Lacey French when the library was closed turned out to be harder than Emma expected.  In the end, after three days of trying to run into her without going to Gold’s house—given that she wanted to ask about the man, Emma didn’t feel right doing it there, particularly if that hulking henchman of his was around—she just about gave up.  However, a chance comment to Graham when she was driving him home from the hospital turned up Lacey French’s cell phone number, which she hadn’t known that the former sheriff had.

“We went to school together,” Graham replied with a shrug as she helped him out of the car and back into the wheelchair the hospital had given him.  “She used to come to me when Keith was being too much of a pain.”

“Stalking her, you mean,” Emma supplied, having already encountered her deputy’s unhealthy obsession with the former librarian.

“Yeah.”  Graham grimaced.  “Pretty much.  Thanks.”

Emma’d finished wrestling him into the wheelchair, damn glad that Graham lived on the first floor of his apartment building.  He didn’t look any happier with the arrangement than she was—it had to be humiliating to have someone helping like this—but Graham dredged up a smile for her, anyway.  “Everything okay?” Emma asked.

“Yeah.  I was just thinking that I managed to get you to come back to my place after all,” her old boss quipped, and Emma snorted out a laugh.

“Don’t get too excited,” she retorted, but she grinned despite herself.  It was great to see Graham coming back to himself after so long in the hospital, and Emma had _missed_ him when Cora had forced her to stay away with that damn restraining order.

“Hard to do that from the wheelchair,” he replied dryly, then gestured at his front door.  “C’mon.  Let’s go find Lacey’s cell number.  I know I have it somewhere, even though my phone was destroyed in the accident.”

“If your organizational system at home is anything like the one you _didn’t_ use in the office, it’s going to take us years to find it,” Emma joked back, and Graham laughed.

“No, I’ve got an old fashioned phone book, actually.”

“Really?  I didn’t think anyone had those these days.”

Graham shrugged.  “Guess I’m just an old fashioned kind of guy.”

“I kind of like that,” Emma admitted, and they shared another smile as she wheeled him up the front walk.

* * *

 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” David asked quietly, and Regina bit back the desire to groan.  He’d come to her office to see her during lunch— _not_ the place she really wanted to have this conversation!—and now he was getting cold feet.

 _Can’t you just go fall in love with Mary Margaret and be done with it?_ she wanted to demand.  Sometimes just looking at David Nolan made Regina want to tear her hair out.  _Why did Mother have to make you_ so _much less decisive in this world?_   But those thoughts weren’t particularly fair to her cursed ‘husband’.  David’s own actual sense of honor was undoubtedly getting in the way here, and although Regina appreciated his care for her feelings, she really wished he would just listen to her and go romance another woman.

“I’m sure, David,” she replied as levelly as she could.  “Look…we both know that we haven’t been okay in this marriage for a long time.  We’re friends, and I like being your friend, but we both know that you need something more.  If that something is Mary Margaret, then I’m okay with that.  Really.”

“But what if I…” he trailed off, and Regina tried not to grimace.

“What if you fall in love with her?” she asked gently.

David nodded miserably.  “It’s one thing to have an affair that’s only physical, but you’re my _wife_ , Regina.”

“Do you remember why we got married?” she asked, wishing she could lay the whole truth in front of him, but David Nolan wasn’t the type to believe in a mythical curse that made them all miserable.  Not yet, and maybe not ever.  _Damn this curse._

“Uh, you know, it’s funny, but…I can’t.”

Of course he couldn’t remember.  The curse didn’t care for people looking too hard at their pasts.  Then things might fall apart.  “My mother wanted it.  We didn’t.  And we tried to make it work, first for ourselves and then for Henry, but we’re not in love.  We never have been,” Regina told him, reaching out to squeeze his hand.  Whatever had happened, Regina was a lot closer to her brother in law now than she ever had been before, and she didn’t want him hurting over the vindictive marriage her mother had stuck them in.  “It’s not your fault.  And I want you to be happy.”

“It still feels like I’m betraying you,” David said doggedly.

“Well, you’re not, so stop thinking like that.  Maybe it’s time for both of us to move on.”

Her husband jerked back a little in surprise. “Are you saying you want a divorce?”

Did she ever.  But Regina knew that Cora would object, and her mother was far too willing to hurt Henry for Regina’s comfort level.  Not for the first time, Regina contemplated finding a way to kill her mother—much though she valued family, if Cora was going to force her to choose between her and the rest of Regina’s family, Cora would lose ever time.  But Regina wouldn’t have put it past her mother to insert a caveat in the curse that meant it would _never_ break if someone killed her, so she couldn’t risk it.  And she couldn’t risk her mother hurting Henry if Regina’s attempt failed.  _Just like we can’t risk tipping her off too much.  If David and I get a divorce, she’s going to notice the two of them together, and she’s bound to kill one of them if that happens._   So, all Regina did was sigh.

“Why don’t you figure out if Mary Margaret is someone you want to spend the rest of your life with first?” she asked as reasonably as she could.  “That way you know before we turn Henry’s life upside down.”

“I can do that,” David agreed, squeezing her hand in return. “Thank you, Regina.  I don’t really know what to say, but…thank you.”

Regina smiled back, hating herself and feeling good at the same time.  Hopefully, the curse would be broken by the time he figured out what he wanted, and then there would be no obstacles keeping David and Snow apart.  And maybe then she could find happiness, too.

Somehow.

* * *

 

_1 Year Before the Curse_

After much argument, Belle had convinced her husband that Gabrielle needed contact with other children.  It hadn’t mattered so much when their daughter was tiny, but now that she was aging, she needed to learn to make friends and to deal with people other than her parents.  Rumplestiltskin had always _known_ that, of course; he was a far more experienced parent than Belle was, never panicking over Gabrielle’s many moods or even when the toddler managed to fall down the stairs.  She could see the love and the hard-won practice inherent in every gesture he made towards their child, and Belle knew that Rumplestiltskin—intellectually—understood the need to socialize their daughter.  He was just worried.  Time and again, Rumple had told Belle how many enemies he had and how those enemies would gladly hurt their daughter, and while Belle couldn’t quite wrap her mind around how _anyone_ could harm a child, she understood his point.

Still, they’d been visiting the town at the bottom of his mountain incognito for three months, and nothing had gone wrong yet.  Dove always accompanied them, but since the shapeshifter lived on the outskirts of town, it presented no hardship for him.  Belle was rather fond of the tall, quiet man, particularly when he was in human form (though she also had to enjoy the way he rode around on Gabrielle’s shoulder as a dove, because it made her little girl happier than almost anything else).  Dove was a reassuring presence, particularly when she was amongst strangers.

Not that the townspeople were strangers now.  She’d grown to know them as Paige, a widow who lived in a cottage in the hills not too far away.  Courtesy of the glamour spell that Rumplestiltskin had cast over her, Belle looked like a slightly older woman, taller than she really was and with dark eyes to match her seemingly black hair.  Gabrielle still looked the same; it was hard to explain to a two year old why she had to be a different person.  To her, Belle looked the same as she always had, but to everyone else, the pair was effectively disguised.  It was a bit of Rumple’s paranoia that Belle smiled and embraced; she was pretty sure that no one would have recognized her even without the glamour, but if it made him feel better, she was not going to argue.  And it did let Belle and Gabrielle go down to the town once a week, supposedly so that Widow Paige could do some shopping and let her daughter play with the local children.

Right now, Gabrielle was sitting between two boys, one her age and one just a little older, building a castle out of mud and sticks.  She was going to be an awful mess when they got back to the Dark Castle, but Belle was didn’t begrudge her daughter time spent in the dirt.  It made Gabrielle happy, and that was what mattered.  The two boys, Flynn and Jack, were good kids, as was Jack’s sister Jill.  Belle liked them, and their mothers, and a quick peek over the edge of her book told her that the trio was still doing well.  She wasn’t sure where Jill had gone off to, but someone had said something about the little girl being sick, which probably explained why the twins’ aunt was out here with them today.   Jack and Jill’s family was new to Caerleon, but the children’s Aunt Lunete was not.

“Fools wanted to call on a fairy,” that same aunt was grumbling right now to one of the other women sitting together in the square.  Today was the day when the town’s women got together to knit and do other social things, and they’d welcomed Belle into their little circle despite the fact that she read instead of doing something more traditional.  “My Pierre _told_ them that they should call on the lord, but _no_ , they wanted a fairy.  Said that a fairy would be better with children.”

“Obviously, they haven’t seen him with children,” Gytha, the local midwife piped up.  “Demon they might call him, but he’s kind to the little ones.”

“An’ more fair than a fairy, too,” Dob, the mayor’s wife agreed.  “At least he tells you his price upfront.  Fairies are likely to come back years later, wanting something, and then you’re obligated to listen to them because they helped your babe.”

Smiling into her book, Belle kept her own council.  She’d been so very surprised on her first trip to Caerleon to find that the town’s residents not only tolerated Rumplestiltskin as their lord but actually _respected_ him, but by now she knew that he actually took his duties as their ruler rather seriously.  He always shrugged self-effacingly and said that it was the peasant in him, but Belle knew that it really was the fact that he _cared_ for these people shining through.  Oh, he’d never be some great philanthropist, but Rumple was a better man than he gave himself credit for.  They were his people, and he took care of them.

Still, she didn’t think he’d be happy to learn that a fairy had been on his lands, so Belle planned to keep that little fact to herself.  There was no need to get Rumple worked up over something innocent.

“Idiots,” Jack and Jill’s aunt concluded, gesturing irritably with her head.  “But they got their fairy.”

Jack and Jill’s parents owned the local brewery, which meant their shop—and their home, which was above it—snuggled right up on the square.  Belle looked up idly, just in time to see a fairy fly out of the door.  Jill came skipping out a moment later, looking hale and happy, and that _would_ have taken up all of Belle’s attention if the blue-green dressed fairy hadn’t followed the three year old over. 

The other children oohed and giggled as Jill introduced her new friend: “This is Cyan!  Mamma says she saved me.”

“Hello, children,” the Cyan Fairy said solemnly, and the children chorused a greeting back.  “Are you having fun?”

“Yes!” the group replied, and Belle smiled a bit.  She knew her husband’s feelings about fairies, but clearly some of them were better than others, and apparently the Cyan Fairy was one of the good ones.  Belle even remembered reading a bit about her in one of Rumple’s books on the history of magic; she was one of the older fairies, and had been around almost as long as the Blue Fairy.

A fluttering of wings distracted Belle momentarily; Dove had shapeshifted and was flying away.  But she did not have time to wonder why before the fairy spoke again.

“But there is one amongst you who is different from the others,” Cyan continued, and Belle sat up straight as the fairy flew to hover near Gabrielle.  “Tell me, child, what is your name?”

“Gabrielle,” Belle’s two year old daughter answered solemnly, looking up at the fairy with her father’s big brown eyes.

“Hello, Gabrielle.”  The fairy dipped down, still flying, but now on eye-level with Gabrielle.  “Why is there dark magic on you, child?”

Belle’s heart leapt into her throat, and she was on her feet, book carelessly discarded, and managed to get in before the two year old could answer.  “Gabrielle, come here.”

“Mamma?” Gabrielle twisted to look at her in confusion, but she was a good girl, and started toddling towards Belle even as Belle made a beeline for her daughter.  But Cyan’s head snapped up, calculation tearing through her eyes, and suddenly her wand was out, and fairy magic wrapped around Gabrielle.

Gabrielle was used to magic, so she didn’t complain as sparkling fairy dust lifted her off her feet, but Belle jumped for her, knowing that everything was about to go wrong.  Somehow, the situation had spiraled so far out of control before she could even blink, and this fairy _couldn’t_ be about to take her child away.  Fairies didn’t do that! 

“Let my daughter go!” she demanded, lunging for Gabrielle.  A twitch of Cyan’s wrist sent the child too high for Belle to reach.  “What are you doing?”

“I know the magic on this child,” Cyan replied imperiously.  “And if you have allowed this to happen, you cannot be permitted to keep her.”

“I cannot _what_?  She’s my daughter!”

“She was,” Cyan retorted, already growing smaller in the distance—and with Gabrielle in tow.

“Mamma!” Gabrielle cried, frightened now and struggling against the magic that held her.  Cyan was flying low, either to keep from scaring Gabrielle more or because Gabrielle was fighting her.  And Gabrielle was; the two year old was kicking and screaming as she was magically flown around buildings and over streets, heading away from town and away from the mountain that the Dark Castle resided upon.  Belle rushed after them, running as hard as she could, pushing through the suddenly gaping crowds, and she managed to keep up until Cyan finally reached the town’s outer edge and tried to hoist herself and her stolen charge higher into the air.

“Dratted child!” Belle could hear the fairy snarling, and somehow she got the impression that Gabrielle’s innate magical talents were making it hard for the fairy to fly faster.  Cyan looked like she was trying to fly underwater; her wings were beating harder and harder and she was obviously struggling.  But whatever friction she’d encountered, the fairy finally overcame it with a flick of her wand, and she sped up.

“Let go!” Gabrielle howled, crying and screaming in fear.  _This_ magic wasn’t the magic she knew, and—

Belle suddenly realized what she should have been doing all along, had her panic not seized control of her mind.  Still running, she shouted his name as loudly as she could, fueling the call with all the desperate terror she felt for their child.

_“Rumplestiltskin!”_

* * *

 

There was a distinctive smell of smoke in the house when Rumplestiltskin got home that evening, and had he not heard Renee giggling, he would have quickly grown worried.  As it was, he just coughed and closed the front door behind himself, limping his way into the kitchen.  Their daughter was seated at the table, playing with a set of alphabet blocks, but Belle was busy scraping a pan out into the trash.  Whatever had been in it was burned black, charred beyond recognition and rather crusty looking.  It was certainly the source of the stench, too.

“What happened?” he asked as casually as he could, trying to guess what had been in the pan based on how it smelled when burnt.  Chicken of some sort, maybe?

Belle looked up guiltily, and her blush was adorable.  “A little cooking accident?”

“There’s no need, sweetheart,” Rumplestiltskin said, making his way fully into the kitchen as Renee piped up:

“Mamma burned it!”  She punctuated the announcement by smashing a block into the table, and Rumplestiltskin bit back a laugh until his mind latched onto the word choice.

“‘Mamma’?” he echoed, glancing at Belle.

She shrugged.  “She goes through stages.  I guess this is a new one.”

“Or an old one.”

“Do you think so?” Finally finished with the pan, Belle shoved in into the sink, squirting some dish soap in and filling it with hot water.  “Is that possible?”

“There’s no way to know,” Rumplestiltskin answered honestly, limping over to the trash can and taking it back to where it belonged on the other side of the kitchen.  “Children are remarkably flexible, and she’s the product of True Love—the same True Love that I put on the curse to wake you up.  She might begin to remember, and she might not.”

“So, you’re saying that anything could happen?” his wife smiled over her shoulder at him.  “And you have _no_ idea what to expect, despite being the most powerful sorcerer alive?”

“Pretty much.  Though I’d bet against you learning to cook,” he retorted playfully.

“Hey!”

Rumplestiltskin stepped up next to her, bending to kiss her neck as Renee giggled and smashed a few more blocks together.  “I just call things the way they are, my dear,” he murmured. 

“I bet you do,” she laughed.

“So, what _was_ that, anyway?” Rumplestiltskin asked lightly, gesturing at the soaking pan.

“It started as chicken,” Belle admitted.  “And I fear that I wasted all of it in my mess.”

“Well, then I suppose we’ll just have to order in,” he replied with a shrug, kissing her cheek.  “Worse disasters have happened.  You could have lit the kitchen on fire.”

“I only did that once!” she protested.  “And it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t insisted on keeping _straw_ in the castle kitchen.”

Laughing, Rumplestiltskin wrapped his left arm around his wife’s waist.  “There’s a reason I stopped letting you cook in the Dark Castle, sweetheart.  And given that there’s no magic to put out your fires here, I think you should stick to the microwave.”

Belle shot him a glare, but there was no heat behind it.  Instead, she twisted in his arms to press a quick kiss to his lips.  “Chinese or pizza?”

For a moment, the sheer domesticity of the situation floored Rumplestiltskin; how many months had he spent hoping for moments like this, moments when he could simply _live_ with his wife and child?  He’d not dared hope a day like this might come before the curse was broken, and now he was going to cling to it for all he was worth.  He loved them both so much, and he would do everything he could to prove that every day.  So, he smiled at Belle, letting his eyes drift over to where Renee was still determinedly smashing her blocks together at the table, paying no mind when the A, N, and P went flying off the table.  She only giggled cheerfully and started building a pyramid with the remaining blocks, until she smashed that, too, with a triumphant grin.  Looking back at his wife, he replied:

“I shudder to think of the mess our little one could make of Chinese.  Let’s stick with pizza.”

* * *

 

_1 Year Before the Curse_

_“Rumplestiltskin!”_

The call had cut in on him moments after Dove arrived, still in avian form and clearly distressed.  Since he’d sent the shapeshifter to watch over his wife and daughter in town, Rumplestiltskin had immediately stepped away from his wheel and gathered power to himself, ready for anything.  He’d barely opened his mouth to ask Dove what the problem was when Belle’s desperate voice invaded his mind, sharp and terrified and calling for _him._   Immediately, Rumplestiltskin’s magic swirled around them both, dragging him and Dove both to Belle’s location.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t stop to determine where his wife was, only that she needed him, and he was not going to hesitate.  Not for anything.

Dove bolted upwards the moment they landed in a swirl of purple smoke just outside the town walls, and the power rearing into Rumplestiltskin’s hands sizzled ominously as he took in the scene before him:  Belle, distraught.  Gabrielle, dangling in the air, held up only by a fairy’s magic.  A fairy, Cyan, one of Reul Ghorm’s closest and most close-minded followers.  And she had his _daughter._

 _Kill the fairy,_ his curse whispered.

 _Gladly_ , Rumplestiltskin raged silently, calling spells to mind, sorting through them like lightning to find one that would tear his daughter away from the fairy without harming Gabrielle.  He was furious, and his curse was howling for vengeance, but he was not such a creature of rage and passion that Rumplestiltskin could not be careful.  Not with his daughter at stake.  Bringing a fairy down from flight was hard, and Cyan arched higher into the air the moment she saw him, but he had a plan with a high likelihood of success.  His daughter’s terrified scream, however, dug giant holes in his concentration, and his fury fizzled as worry overrode every other emotion.  Focusing on his anger, Rumplestiltskin brought his hands up—

Only to watch a white, feathered blur crash right into the fairy, who yelped and rolled wildly in midair, her wings flapping desperately as she struggled to maintain altitude.  The impact sent her into a spin, and she almost dropped her wand.  It would have been amusing had Cyan not lost control of Gabrielle at the same time, and a little girl’s piercing scream filled the air as Dove whirled around for another pass. 

“Papa!” Gabrielle screeched as his magic reached out for her, plucking her out of the Cyan Fairy’s grasp even as the fairy brought her wand back around.  But Dove hit the winged flea again, and though Cyan swung her wand in his direction, a blast of magic from Rumplestiltskin knocked her off balance once more, long enough for Dove to get clear and Gabrielle to land in Rumplestiltskin’s arms.  Her arms wrapped around his neck immediately, holding on tight, and Rumplestiltskin felt tears against his neck.

“Papa,” his daughter sobbed, and his anger again warred with his worry for control. 

“Hush, princess, it’s all right,” he soothed her, but his eyes were still on the fairy.

 _Now she knows.  She cannot survive this._ Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure if that thought was his own or belonged to the curse; either way, it was accurate.  For two years he had kept the secret of his daughter’s birth, and now a fairy knew.  _But not for long._   Fury filled his body, sharpened his magic, and made a roaring madness fill his mind.  Cradling his little girl close with his left arm, Rumplestiltskin let his right hand flash out, fire leaping out of his fingers and engulfing the Cyan Fairy.  A second spell, a much quieter and more subtle one, rode the stream of fire towards the fairy, because Rumplestiltskin was angry but not a fool.  He knew a senior fairy would be able to deflect the first attack, but he had no intentions of letting her get away.

None _whatsoever._

“Rumple!” Belle shouted, and suddenly she was at his side.  Her calling him had unlocked the glamour she was wearing, leaving her looking like Belle to anyone who saw her, but that didn’t matter now.

“Take her,” he said quickly, letting the second spell wrap around the fairy and pull her out of the sky.  Belle accepted their daughter, though she had to pry her arms away from Rumplestiltskin’s neck to do so. 

“Don’t go, Papa!” Gabrielle wailed, and Rumplestiltskin shot his little girl a quick smile as he stepped clear of his family. 

“I’ll be right here, Gabi,” he promised, his hands coming up to deflect the incoming attack from Cyan.

Of course the fairy attacked.  She had no choice, what with that second spell hauling her towards the ground at a dizzying rate.  Cyan was quick, however; she managed to catch herself and not crash.  But she wasn’t powerful enough to stop the Dark One in a rage, and he wheeled on her, one spell striking out after another, roaring in on the fairy and hammering her _hard_.  She staggered drunkenly even as Rumplestiltskin shrugged aside Cyan’s attempts to harm him.  Fairy dust was anathema to his curse, but his fury was more powerful, and it ate through the light magic aimed his way.  He’d probably have some issues later, aches and pains he’d not appreciate, but for now he could ignore it.  He could pay that price once his family was safe.

Contemptuously, Rumplestiltskin swatted Cyan’s next attack aside and stepped towards the fairy, snarling.  Cyan threw another attack at him, a swirl of purple dust that Rumplestiltskin teleported away from, and then she tried to make for the sky, jetting upwards with her wings flapping madly.  But Rumplestiltskin was having none of that; he brought his hand up to shoulder height and then snapped it down palm facing the ground and magic mimicking his motion.  Power slammed into Cyan from above, forcing her down, and this time she bounced off the forest floor like a yoyo.  She tried to get up, but he hammered her down again, his hands starting to spark with pure dark magic.

_Threaten my family, will you?  Frighten my daughter?  This is the last thing you will do, fairy._

“Rumple, what are you doing?” Belle asked frantically from his left, and her voice might have been the only thing able to cut through his fury at the moment.

“She has to be stopped.  She’ll tell the others, and then you and Gabrielle will never be safe,” he replied, whirling back to face Cyan.

“But you can’t—”

“Release me, Dark One!” Cyan ordered sharply, struggling a few feet into the air.  One of her wings was bent at an odd angle, and Rumplestiltskin flicked magic at her when she tried to fix it, making black lightning crackle over both of her wings.  Crying out, the fairy tumbled back to the ground.

“There!” Rumplestiltskin giggled, high-pitched and nasty.  “I’ve released you.  Happy?”

“Rumple, surely she won’t endanger us anymore,” Belle whispered desperately, stepping close to him despite the rage whipping around him like a whirlwind.  “You’re not the monster they think you are.  You can make a deal with her.  Can’t you?  Please?”

“She won’t keep it,” he snorted.  “Will you, dear?”

Cyan tried to take off again, and Rumplestiltskin slammed her down a third time, relishing her cry of pain.  _Kill her slowly,_ the curse purred.  _Make her pay._   He’d never reveled in torturing anyone, but now might be the time to start.  This damn fairy had tried to steal his daughter, his little girl—

Gabrielle was still crying, quietly now, her face buried in her mother’s shoulder and thankfully not watching her father butcher a fairy.  Her fear, however, promptly drowned the worst of Rumplestiltskin’s rage, pouring ice cold water on his fury and reminding him that no matter what else he was, he was a father first.  The curse howled impotently in his mind, but looking at his daughter brought the monster out of the man.  For a long moment, he stood transfixed, looking at his crying daughter and wondering how in the world _anyone_ could endanger her, even a fairy who hated everything the Dark One stood for.  As his attention shifted, so did his magic, allowing Cyan time to transform into her human sized self, wand in hand.

“Your spawn cannot be allowed to live,” the fairy finally answered his question loftily, and _those_ words made the father rage, not just the monster.  

“ _What_ did you call her?” Belle demanded.

Cyan’s lips curled up into a sneer.  “She is an abomination.  No Dark One has ever been allowed to breed, and for good reason!”

“Allowed to what?” Belle stepped forward next to him, and had her shout not made Gabrielle whimper quietly, Rumplestiltskin’s wife might have said more.  But their daughter’s tears made Belle soften, and she shushed Gabrielle gently, her eyes travelling to Rumplestiltskin even as Cyan spat:

“You poor deluded girl.  You can still be saved, but the demonspawn must be destroyed.  There is no other way,” the fairy decreed, and even Rumplestiltskin felt his eyes widen at that declaration.  Was Cyan really so foolish?  Had she really just said that in front of _him_?

His gaze met Belle’s.  This fairy wanted their daughter dead.  Belle looked desperately unhappy, near to tears, but her eyes were also full of understanding.  _The demonspawn must be destroyed._   They both knew what would happen if Cyan was allowed to tell the other fairies about their daughter.

“Do what you have to,” Belle said softly, turning away to shield Gabrielle’s gaze.  Belle was the most forgiving person that Rumplestiltskin had ever met, but this was one thing that neither of them could ever excuse.

Even his curse loved Belle in that moment.  _Revel in it,_ the darkness whispered, but Rumplestiltskin pushed that aside.  He would kill Cyan quickly, for his wife’s sake.  For his daughter’s.  Power filled his fingers, and Rumplestiltskin whirled back to face the fairy who had decreed that their daughter had to die.  He had perfected a dozen different ways to kill fairies over the centuries, and Rumplestiltskin called four of them to hand as he pounded magic into Cyan.  One spell after another hit, overwhelming even this most senior of fairies, and then Rumplestiltskin slipped his favorite fairy-killing enchantment through her defenses.

Cyan disappeared in a flash of blue and green light, power arching out from the space where the fairy had been.  A flick of his wrist brought her wand to his hand—Rumplestiltskin was not one to waste an opportunity, after all—but then he turned away from the cloud of fairy dust slowly drifting to the ground.

“Belle?” he asked tentatively, terrified that this—very necessary—killing had lost him the family he had just fought to protect.  He knew that his wife didn’t like his darker side; she had talked him out of killing the Huntsman and would likely try do the same every time she got the chance.  Belle was _good_ where he was dark, and he hoped like hell that their daughter would turn out like her mother, not like him.  But Rumplestiltskin didn’t know what he would do if he lost them.  “Sweetheart?”

She turned back to face him, and there were indeed tears streaking down her face.

“I had to,” he whispered helplessly.  “Please understand.  She would have told the other fairies, and they would never have stopped trying to take Gabrielle.  I couldn’t—I couldn’t let them take her.”

He would have babbled onwards if Belle hadn’t cut him off, nodding rapidly.  “I know,” she whispered, stepping forward instead of running away from him like Rumplestiltskin had expected.  “It’s all right.  You did what you had to.”

Suddenly, his wife and his daughter were in his arms, and Rumplestiltskin held them both tightly.  Emotion welled up in his throat, too thick to allow him to speak, so he just wrapped his arms around them and held on.  Rumplestiltskin had rarely been so terrified in his life as he had been in those moments, both in watching a fairy try to steal his beloved daughter and then worrying his own actions—and his furious curse—would make his family leave.

“I love you,” Rumplestiltskin whispered.

“And we love you,” Belle replied. 

Small hands reached out for him, and Rumplestiltskin felt his daughter shift to cling to both of her parents.  Her touch combined with Belle’s to quiet the raging of his thwarted curse; it was furious for having been denied a messy and slow death for an enemy, but Rumplestiltskin could not care.  His family was safe.  That was all that mattered.

* * *

 

Emma finally managed to get a hold of Lacey French the day after Graham gave her the former librarian’s number.  She’d had to leave a message, which meant Lacey called her back the next morning, complete with a laughing apology about how Renee had gotten ahold of her phone and somehow turned the ringer off.  The story rang true, so Emma didn’t argue; instead, she asked Lacey if she would be willing to meet Emma for lunch the next day.  Of course, that created a problem in and of itself, but eventually Lacey was able to talk Ruby into babysitting so that they could eat at Granny’s without a three year old interruption.  Emma tried to hide how relieved she was when Lacey dropped her daughter off with the waitress; she was barely managing to be a (sort of) mother to a ten year old, and had no idea how she’d cope with a kid a lot younger than that.  Lacey, however, seemed perfectly serene about motherhood, despite being a handful of years younger than Emma.

“So,” the displaced librarian began cheerfully, “what did you want to talk about?”

Emma had thought long and hard about how to approach this conversation, and in the end she’d decided to go with being blunt.  “You,” she replied.  “I know things can’t be easy for you since the library burned down, and a lot of people are worried about you.”

“You mean they’re worried about me working for Mr. Gold,” Lacey answered just as frankly, meeting Emma’s eyes.  There was an odd sort of confidence in the former librarian’s blue eyes, and a directness that Emma hadn’t expected.

“Kind of, yeah,” the sheriff admitted.  “It’s…out of character for him, and he’s not the type to offer up charity.  So, people are worried.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that,” the brunette pointed out.  “Who are these ‘people’?”

“Your father, for one.”  Man, Emma really was starting to feel uncomfortable.  Lacey hardly seemed abused, despite what Moe French seemed to fear.  But maybe Moe was on to something, and if Lacey was in trouble, Emma wanted to help.

That made the former librarian snort.  “Oh, you mean the man who kicked me out and told me not to come back unless I put my daughter up for adoption?  I’m glad he’s so worried about us now, but it’s a little bit late for that.  If he wanted to take care of me, he should have done it during the first three years of Renee’s life.”

 _It might have been nice if Moe had mentioned that, too, in his crusade to get me to help his daughter,_ the sheriff thought a bit testily, wishing the florist was there to have this suddenly awkward conversation instead of her.  Damn him.

“He said the two of you weren’t talking, but that he’s worried he, uh, drove you to Gold.” Emma shrugged, watching Lacey’s body language as much as she paid attention to her actual words.  Lacey didn’t exhibit any of the traits most battered women did; she wasn’t apologizing for Gold, she wasn’t frightened, and she was straightforward as hell.  Her blue eyes were clear and determined, even a little angry, but then again, if Emma had been in her shoes, she might have been angry, too.  After all, Emma knew what it was like to be young, pregnant, and afraid.  She _didn’t_ know what it was like to have your only family abandon you because you were going to have a child, but she had enough imagination to know how much it had to hurt.

“My father didn’t drive me anywhere,” Lacey said shortly.  “Gold offered me a job because I worked for him before.  I _accepted_ it because he’s a better man than people give him credit for, and I know that _he_ won’t demand I give up my daughter, which is more credit than I can give my father."

Emma blinked.  Now _there_ was the sign she was looking for, the odd excuse that was out of place with the situation.  “Are you saying that you and Gold aren’t involved in anyway?”

“I’m saying that it’s none of your business if we are,” was the immediate response, and Emma felt her suspicions increase tenfold.

Unbidden, the memory of Gold scoffing at Cora’s barely-veiled insinuation that part of Lacey’s job was to provide sexual favors came to mind.  But the pawnbroker hadn’t denied it, and that set Emma’s teeth on edge.  And now Lacey wasn’t exactly saying no, either, which Emma knew was the same as a giant, neon yellow ‘YES’ printed on the wall behind Granny’s bar.  She’d known that the pawnbroker was a slimy bastard, but this was a bit much.  Again, she thought of a few more oblique ways to bring up the topic, but in the end, Emma again opted for being blunt.

“You know that it’s illegal to pay someone for sex, right?” she asked.

Lacey actually laughed.  “Is that what you think is happening?” she said incredulously.  “Sheriff, whatever you think is going on between Gold and I, I promise you that you’re wrong.  And that I’m exactly where I want to be.  I’m _happy._ ”

“Are you sure about that?” Emma pressed.  But she knew what answer she’d get.  Lacey was clever, but not quite clever enough; the younger woman hadn’t denied sleeping with Gold and she was definitely desperate enough to pretend she wanted to.  However, Emma knew that she couldn’t actually do anything as sheriff unless someone made a complaint, and Moe French’s worries weren’t enough to start a real investigation.

“Quite,” Lacey replied predictably.

Still, Emma had to try one more tact.  “Let me know if you need anything, okay?  Even if it’s just a change of pace.  Or job.”

“I will,” the younger woman promised, rising to collect her child from Ruby.  But Emma knew that she wouldn’t call. 

It was…weird, though.  Lacey French had never struck Emma as the bold and decisive type.  She was smart, sure, but she was also quiet and a little bit mousy.  Emma was quite sure that Gold could eat that attitude of hers for breakfast, and that Lacey’s present determination was probably manufactured.  She hadn’t lied, not exactly, but Emma knew Lacey wasn’t telling the whole truth, either.  _Except when it comes to her wanting to hang onto Renee._ That _was truthful as hell,_ Emma thought to herself.  And it was something she could understand.  Emma had given Henry up to give him his best chance; Lacey was willing to work for the town’s shadiest man if it got her daughter the care she wanted Renee to have. 

Still, she was going to keep an eye on the situation.  Even if she couldn’t do anything official yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how do you think Rumplestiltskin’s stance on protecting his children is going to change after this little event? And how far will Emma dig into the Lacey/Gold issue? 
> 
> Next up is Chapter Twenty-Nine: "Love and Revenge," where Henry makes assumptions, Regina confronts Gold about Lacey, and Emma gets stuck in the middle. Back in the past, Charming receives an unexpected visitor, and Regina intervenes in another one of her mother's plans.
> 
> For anyone interested, you can also now find me on tumblr under [To See How The Story Ends](http://toseehowthestoryends.tumblr.com).


	29. Love and Revenge

Well, that wasn’t a sight that Storybrooke saw every day.

Emma almost ran into the pair leaving the Sheriff’s Station, and Cora’s smile immediately put her on edge.  Regina stood slightly to her mother’s left, scowling as her mother smirked, but aside from their expressions, mother and daughter seemed to match perfectly.  They both wore immaculate gray suits, with their dark hair styled just so; if Emma didn’t know better, she would have thought that Regina was trying to emulate her mother.  They really _did_ look alike, like powerful women who went after what they wanted and didn’t look back.  The difference, Emma supposed, lay in _what_ they were after.  _And in now they chase those goals._

“Sheriff Swan,” the mayor purred.  “I was just looking for you.”

“Were you?” Emma asked, now thoroughly on her guard.  So far, she’d managed to avoid getting dragged into any of Cora’s little jobs, but she knew that her luck wasn’t going to hold forever.  Graham was a good man, and he’d still been sucked in, despite his personal inclinations.  Since Emma didn’t believe any of the nonsense about Cora having Graham’s heart, no matter what Henry said, she instead understood that the mayor was both smart and ruthless, and would undoubtedly find a way to force Emma to her will if Emma wasn’t careful.

“Of course I was.  I just happened to run into poor Moe French inside Granny’s, and he’s terribly worried for his daughter.”  The mayor paused, looking at Emma with raised eyebrows and clearly waiting for her to get the hint.

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” she replied dryly.

“Well, then what are you going to do about it?” Cora demanded.

“Excuse me?”

“I asked what you were going to do about it, _Sheriff_ ,” was the cold response.  “A respectable business owner is concerned about his daughter’s safety, and you’re prancing about town with my grandson.  Why don’t you do your job instead of trying to steal my daughter’s son?”

“Mother,” Regina protested, but Cora shot her a glare and she fell silent.  There was a subtext there that Emma was missing, but she could hardly ask with Regina’s mother present.

“I talked to Lacey,” Emma retorted defensively, glaring back at the mayor.  “So, unless you know something _helpful_ , that’s all I can do unless she complains about Gold.”

Cora might be able to cow her daughter, but Emma was another story, and she faced the older woman squarely, daring her to order her to do something illegal.  Emma would have relished that, but unfortunately, Cora was not so stupid. 

“You really no nothing about this little town you’re supposed to _protect_ , do you?” Cora replied acidly, but there was a smirk behind the vitriol that worried Emma.  “Mark my words, dear.  Gold will hurt Lacey terribly before this is over, and if you do nothing, it will be on your head.”

* * *

 

_4 Years, 4 Months Before the Curse_

The pathetic little lovebirds had George in their corner.  But of course the ambitious son of a bitch would back Snow over Cora; he wanted his nitwitted son to inherit two kingdoms, and he didn’t want to wait for Cora to die to accomplish that.  Had George been a little more patient, he could have wed James to Regina, but no, he preferred war.  _If it’s war he wants, war he shall have,_ Cora seethed, standing in the clearing and trying not to pace.  She had put up with this foolishness for over a year.  She had turned a blind eye while George sheltered her traitorous stepdaughter, only striking out at Snow and not at George or his kingdom.  _Or his precious boy._ She hadn’t tried to harm James, either, and that little kindness was far more than George had earned.

Cora had actually contemplated killing George for some time, although she’d eventually decided against it.  For now.  While she was certain that his untested son would not prove nearly as ruthless or as intelligent as his father, now was just not the time.  James be easy for Regina to control after they married, and perhaps then Cora would act to make him king.  But not before.  First, she wanted to rub George’s nose in his failure.  George had backed the wrong contender, and Cora was going to make sure that her fellow monarch knew that before she disposed of him.

“You called, dearie?” a high-pitched voice came from behind her, and Cora turned, smiling as her onetime lover—the only man she had ever actually loved—appeared in a swirl of red smoke.  She hadn’t been certain that he would come, but she knew that she could make this worth his while, and had infused that confidence in her call.

“I did,” she purred, stepping towards him and relishing how her ornate dress swished around her.  Cora had come so far from the first days Rumplestiltskin had known her, and she would not falter now.

He giggled, all sharp edges and darkness and so very desirable.  It was all Cora could to do keep her hands off of him; his dark core had always been what drew her in, and watching him embrace it gave her the chills.  “And what did you want?  My patience is limited, particularly when it comes to you.”

“Still sore, Rumple?” Cora asked gently, stopping an arms’ length away from him.  “Perhaps someday you will forgive me.”

“Not before you have your vengeance, though, hmm?” he tittered, and she loved how well he could read her.  What did Rumplestiltskin care for Eva’s daughter, anyway?  He would help her.  He always had, even when he was angered by her betrayal.

“You know me too well,” she smiled.

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “ _That’s_ not hard,” he snapped, and yes, he was clearly still sore.  Part of Cora treasured that, treasured knowing that she’d hurt him so deeply because he still cared for her.  He’d come around eventually, or she’d find a way to get his dagger and then get what she wanted despite his objections.  “What do you want?”

“A curse,” Cora replied, ignoring Rumple’s temper.  He wouldn’t lash out at her.  If he had ever been going to do that, it would have been years ago.  “The most horrible curse that you have.”

“Ooooh.  Now we’re talking.  Want to destroy your little stepdaughter, do you?”

“Of course.”

Scaled and clawed hands rubbed together, and Cora felt excitement rise within her.  Her own knowledge of magic and curses was extensive, but nothing could compare to Rumplestiltskin’s centuries of study.  She didn’t want to settle for a sleeping curse or an aging curse; both were too mundane and not nearly horrible enough to suit her needs.  Cora didn’t even want to turn Snow into something nasty; no, that would be too easy for the little brat.  She’d contemplated turning Snow to stone, or trapping her inside a mirror as she had the foolish genie, but she was certain that Rumple had something better.

“And how _terrible_ of a curse are you looking for, _Your Majesty?_ ” the imp asked, twirling his hands excitedly.  She always loved it when he gleefully embraced his inner darkness, and Cora found herself smiling unrestrainedly for the first time in years.

“The worst you have, of course.”

Blackened teeth flashed in a feral grin.  “It’s going to cost you.”

“It always does.”  She met his reptilian eyes easily and repeated the question Rumplestiltskin had asked a few minutes earlier.  “What do you want?”

“A favor,” he replied immediately.  “Of my choosing.  _When_ I choose.  No exceptions.”

Cora was no fool, and she weighed the pros and cons of offering him a carte blanche carefully.  Rumplestiltskin was clever, cleverer than anyone she had ever known, and _he_ could see the future.  It was very possible that he was already aware of the situation in which he would use such favor, and odds were good that it wasn’t a time Cora would like to grant him one.  She had to balance that against her present desire for vengeance, decide which was more important to her.  She _could_ brew up a sleeping curse for Snow without Rumple’s help, and then be free of any future demands of his.  Or she could take a chance.

But in the end, Cora wanted more.  She always did.

“Agreed.  Provided your curse measures up.”

“A Nightmare Curse,” the Dark One volunteered immediately, and Cora perked up.  She had hoped he would come up with something deliciously nasty, but _that_ …

“You have the recipe?” she demanded a little breathlessly.

Rumplestiltskin smiled.  “Of course I do.  Do we have a deal?”

“We do.”

* * *

 

Somehow, Emma had wound up eating dinner with the Nolans.  Again.  She hated imposing like this, despite the fact that David and Regina told her repeatedly that she wasn’t.  But refusing their invitations was always hard, particularly when Mary Margaret was grading class projects this evening and not very good company.  Besides, having multiple friends rather nice, even if the entire idea was kind of new and startling.  Common sense said that Emma shouldn’t befriend the adopted parents of her child, but since when did anything in Storybrooke make sense?

“Where’s David, anyway?” she asked Regina as she helped the other woman put a salad together.  Emma had been regulated to chopping vegetables, which was about the limit of her cooking prowess, but she was all right with that.  It freed Henry up to do the homework both of his mothers wanted him concentrating on.

“Working a bit late at the animal shelter.  He still hasn’t found someone to take on Graham’s volunteer shifts, so he covers the evening feedings before he goes home,” Regina replied with a shrug.  Then she smiled.  “That’s why I drafted you to help with dinner.”

“I bet he’s more useful than I am,” she snorted.

“Not really,” Henry replied, looking up from his English homework.   “Dad’s not really good with cooking.”

“Well, I’m not, either, kid.”

“I can tell.”  Henry grinned, and then pushed his textbook aside, replacing it immediately with the fairy tale book.  Biting back a groan, Emma racked her mind for a conversation topic that _didn’t_ involve the curse, and finally landed on the one that had occupied her morning.  Somehow, she managed to get in before Henry started in about some fairy tale character or another, asking Regina:

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask you something, particularly after your mother brought it up so nicely this morning,” she started, and waited for Regina to nod before continuing.  “What’s the deal with Lacey French?  Everyone talks about what a nice girl she is, and how horrible it is for her to be working for Gold, but no one seems to have any actual information.”

“She’s Belle from _Beauty and the Beast,_ ” Henry piped up immediately, and Emma gave Regina a look.

Regina just smiled crookedly.  “I don’t really know her, honestly.  I know she worked for Gold in his shop a few years ago, but that’s it.  I have no idea what would make him hire her, particularly as a live-in maid.  He’s not usually into charity.”

“There seemed to be something between them when I saw them at the hospital the day Ashley gave birth,” Emma contemplated. 

“I don’t know.  Honestly, I’d be surprised if there was.  Gold isn’t…well, he’s not exactly what I’d call a ladies’ man,” she said dryly.

“You can say that again,” Emma snorted, only for Henry to interject again.

“He’s the Beast, Emma,” the ten year old said solemnly.  “Don’t you see it?  He hired her because the curse is weakening, and because they’re True Love.  It _has_ to work out for them.  They’re each other’s happy endings.”

There were times when she really wanted to strangle the kid, but at least Regina got in before Emma could say something she could regret.

“I don’t know that story, Henry, but I do know Gold.  And I’d be very surprised if he’s your Beast,” the older woman said, only to prompt their son into rolling his eyes.

“You only know _Gold_ , not the Beast.”

And wasn’t that just the way that Henry saw the world?  Emma managed not to groan, but barely.  She loved the kid, she really did, but did _every_ answer have to be rooted in that damn Book?  She was too frustrated to notice the calculating look on Regina’s face, however, particularly once Regina changed the subject.

* * *

 

“What _is_ your game, anyway?” Regina demanded, striding into the shop the next day as if she owned the place.  She wasn’t big on subtlety, this former student of his, but sometimes Rumplestiltskin felt that Regina had made an art out of rudeness.

“You’re going to have to be more specific when you ask what game I’m playing,” he told her with a thin smile.  “There are so many to choose from.”

That made her snort with amusement, but Regina sobered quickly.  “Lacey French.  Why hire her?”  She paused to glare at him.  “And _don’t_ tell me it was out of the goodness of your heart.  I’m not convinced you have one of those.”

“Oh, I’m hurt,” Rumplestiltskin replied, putting a hand over his heart with a hint of his old flair.  “Do you really think so little of me, Regina?”

“You know I do,” she shot back, and Rumplestiltskin bit back a smile.  Yes, sometimes it was good to exchange barbs with an old friend.  Regina had steered clear of the shop for too long, and although he’d never admit it, particularly not where she could hear him, he’d started to miss her.

“Well, I do believe that’s a bit of the pot calling the kettle black, my dear ‘Dark Princess’.  Don’t you?”

Regina snorted.  “Are you this much of a smart ass with my mother?” she asked, and then shook her head.  “Don’t answer that.  And don’t change the subject.”

“I didn’t know I had,” he answered, letting his lips twitch into a slight smirk.

“Bullshit,” his former student retorted, but her tone was almost cheerful.  Her eyes, however, were worried.  _For me?  My, this is a little new.  Cora must be frightening her with her threats; Regina is trying to protect everyone she’s ever cared about, now._   “Back to my point.  Why _did_ you hire the sweet little librarian?  Everyone seems to think you’re screwing her, but we both know she’s not your type.”

Rumplestiltskin almost laughed aloud, and in the end let himself chuckle ever so slightly.  “What _do_ you think is my type, anyway?” he had to ask, curious.

“My mother.”

_That_ made his amusement vanish in a heartbeat and a scowl cross his face.  “Whatever you think is between your mother and I, Regina, rest assured that it’s nothing of what you think.”

“Sure it isn’t,” she said dryly, and then looked him straight in the eye.  “So?  Are you going to answer my question or not?”

“No, I’m not,” Rumplestiltskin replied honestly, figuring that Regina deserved that much.  She trusted him, after all, even when she shouldn’t.  “I have my reasons.”

“I’m not in the mood for games, Rumple.”

“What a coincidence.  Neither am I.”

Regina glared; Rumplestiltskin met her gaze levelly, waiting for the inevitable explosion.  Regina had never been long on patience, and it never took much to set her off.  Rumplestiltskin was half looking forward to it; with Regina avoiding him due to her fear that Cora would figure too much out, he’d had few opportunities to pit his wits against someone else smart and snarky.  But the expected outburst never came.  Instead, Regina just sighed and looked away.

“Try to be careful,” she said heavily.  “If you hurt the girl, there’s nothing anyone can do to protect you once the curse breaks.”

“I’m not that kind of monster.”  Twice in one afternoon, Regina had managed to poor ice water on his good temper.  Why was it that people always assumed he was some despoiler of fair maidens? _If I was some ravisher of young women,_ you _would never have been safe with me_ , Rumplestiltskin almost added, but managed to stop himself in time.

“I know that,” his student replied heavily, surprising Rumplestiltskin.  “Just…be careful, okay?”

“I always am,” he said seriously, and Regina nodded once, choppily, before turning to leave the shop.  Rumplestiltskin watched her go silently, leaning against the counter and wondering, not for the first time, how Regina had gone from student to something approaching a friend.  She’d almost been his daughter, a fact he’d mulled over more than once, and something in him sometimes almost wished she’d been.

“That went well,” another voice cut into his thoughts, and Rumplestiltskin turned, a smile tugging on his lips.

“About as well as can be expected, I think,” he replied, watching Belle slip out of the back room.  She and Renee had come to visit him for lunch, and their daughter was finally down for her afternoon nap on the bed in the back. 

“Do you trust her?” his wife asked.

“As much as I trust anyone.  Excepting you, of course.”  Coming around the corner, Rumplestiltskin met by the cash register, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek.  If anyone asked, Lacey was there to help do inventory in the shop, but in truth, Belle had just come because, even though they were finally able to live together, they could hardly bear to be apart.

She smiled, turning her head to kiss him on the lips. “Of course.”

“Why do you ask?”

“You could tell Regina about us,” Belle suggested.  “It might make everything easier.”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head.  “Cora has too much of a hold on her.  Back home it was Daniel, and here it’s Henry.  Or even Mary Margaret or David.  Cora won’t hesitate to threaten any of them, and she’ll make good on those threats, as you already found.”

“You really think that she burned down the library to hurt Henry?  He’s _ten_.  And he’s her grandson!”

“Morality isn’t really something that Cora considers within her decision making processes, sweetheart,” he reminded her.  “She has no heart, remember?”

“I remember,” Belle said quietly, throwing him a worried look.  Rumplestiltskin tried to ignore it, but she took his hand, anyway.  Her next words were a whisper: “I just hate the way they all think that you’re somehow forcing me.”

“I _am_ a monster.  It’s not exactly a surprise.”

“You’re not a monster.  Don’t say that.”

“Belle…”

“No,” she cut him off firmly, her eyes fierce.  “You’re not.  I’ve seen you at your worst, remember?  I know what you are, Rumplestiltskin, and I know that you would never force me.  Or anyone.”

Stepping close to him, Belle kissed him gently before Rumplestiltskin could object, and he allowed his eyes to close and his body to relax.  He _was_ a monster, but at least he’d never been that kind of monster.  Belle was right about that, if nothing else.  Rumplestiltskin would never have forced her, no matter what had happened between them.  He still wasn’t sure how in the world he had managed to earn the love he was still certain he did not deserve, but Rumplestiltskin did know that Belle loved him.  She was his light, the one thing that kept him grounded amongst his darkness, and he loved her more than words could express.

* * *

 

_4 Years Before the Curse_

David had never seen a fairy before, so he watched in awe as the fairy woman flew through the open window to his chambers in George’s castle.  She was so small, barely bigger than his hand, clad in a sparkling blue dress and with dainty wings almost like those of a dragonfly.  The fairy was beautiful in an ethereal and maternal kind of way, but she was so alien that David found himself staring, unable to even dredge up any words of greeting.  Finally, she smiled and said:

“Greetings, Prince James.  I am the Blue Fairy.”

Somehow, David managed to keep his jaw from dropping. He’d heard of the Blue Fairy, of course; everyone had.  She was the oldest and most powerful fairy in all of the Enchanted Forest, a legend.  And now she was here, visiting a shepherd-turned-prince who still felt like he was an imposter…even after a year as a prince.

“I’m honored to meet you,” he replied, bowing.

The Blue Fairy smiled.  “And I have long wanted to meet you.  Has Princess Snow told you that I am her family’s patron fairy?”

“No, she didn’t mention that.”  David’s adopted family had once possessed a patron fairy, but she’d died mysteriously and George didn’t seem overly concerned by that.  The very idea of a royal family having an assigned fairy to call upon was still hard for David to wrap his mind around, though.  He supposed that he’d been a peasant for too long for it to make sense.

“I’m not surprised.  Snow is modest, and the last year has been very hard for her, following her father’s tragic death.”

That was putting things mildly.  David remembered how many nightmares Snow had when they’d been on the run, how she’d whispered time and again how she should have saved her father somehow.  King Leopold had spared Snow from having to commit patricide by drinking the poison himself, but Cora forcing Snow to take a part in her father’s death had traumatized David’s love greatly.  She spoke of it rarely, now, but David knew that the wound in her heart would never fully heal.  _Just like mine wouldn’t if someone forced me to kill my mother,_ he thought to himself, and then turned his mind back to the fairy with an effort.  Thankfully, she was waiting patiently.

“Were you looking for her?” he asked.  “I can get her—”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Blue cut him off, something flashing through her eyes that David couldn’t quite read.  “I came to see you.”

“Me?”

“Of course.”  Her laugh was light and gentle, but there seemed to be a bit of tension in her that he would not have expected out of the world’s oldest fairy.  “You have proven yourself to be consort worthy of our brave princess, and I wanted to give you a gift.”

David blinked.  “A gift?  I didn’t know fairies did that.”

“Of course we do, although it’s very rare.  Here.”  A wave of her wand created a glittering swirl of purple fairy dust, and when it vanished, a beautiful, jeweled comb lay on the polished wood table to David’s right.  The comb was silver and covered in deep purple amethysts and dark blue sapphires, beautiful and easily valuable enough to feed a peasant family for years.  It was worthy of the greatest of queens, simple and yet elegant, and David knew even George would approve of it.

“It’s beautiful,” he said honestly, not sure what else to say. 

“And enchanted,” the Blue Fairy replied.  “This comb will protect the wearer from all manner of darkness, provided she is pure of heart.”

“Which Snow definitely is,” David agreed.  She’d been hurt desperately by her father’s death, but David was sure there was nothing that could harm the innate goodness within Snow White.

“Of course,” the fairy agreed.  “Give it to your love, and protect her in my name.”

“Thank you,” he finally remembered to say, and was rewarded by a motherly smile.

“You are _most_ welcome, Prince James,” Blue said, rising higher in the air and flying towards the window.  “I will see you again soon.”

David watched her go, noticing that the fairy disappeared after she was past the window frame instead of flying away like he would have expected her to.  He’d always been taught that fairies had some abode within the clouds, something unreachable and mythical.  Perhaps that was just a story, but he couldn’t imagine the Blue Fairy going to some home here in the Enchanted Forest like any other mortal.  He would have thought that she had to fly _up_ to leave, but what did he know?  He was probably thinking like a peasant again, making foolish assumptions about things a real prince would know.

Shrugging, David turned to look at the comb.  It was one of those that doubled as a hairpiece; noblewomen wore them here at George’s court, and it would certainly outshine any of the others David had ever seen.  Snow wasn’t as vain or as obsessed with jewels as many of those women, but she _did_ like to look her best, so David expected she would like it.  Even if she didn’t, the fact that the Blue Fairy had enchanted it to protect her was plenty of reason to wear the comb, particularly after the Evil Queen’s last attempt to kill Snow.  Just thinking about that made David rub his shoulder reflexively; he didn’t regret jumping in the way of that crossbow bolt—not for a single second—but the poison had nearly killed him.  Cora hated Snow, and they all knew that the Evil Queen wasn’t done trying to hurt her.  Anything that stood in her way was a good thing, then.

The door opened just as he reached for the jeweled comb, and David turned to watch Regina stride in.  He’d known that she was visiting again (quietly and not for long, so as to not let Cora notice), but he’d expected his prospective sister-in-law to spend all of her time with Snow.  It wasn’t that David didn’t like Regina, because he did, but he hadn’t been expecting to see her in his chambers.

“What’s that?” Regina asked before David could ask why she’d come in.

“A gift for Snow.  The Blue Fairy just left it for her,” he answered, picking the comb up to show it to Regina.   She was a woman, and a princess besides.  She’d probably appreciate it a lot more than he did.

An odd expression crossed Regina’s face, compelling David to add:

“She said it’s enchanted to protect Snow from dark magic.”

“Oh, it’s enchanted all right.”  Without warning, Regina’s hand came up, glowing red. She waved it over the comb, and much to David’s surprise, the tips of its teeth started smoking and blazing a dangerously dark red.  The entire comb suddenly felt heavy and _dirty_ , and David dropped it in surprise, only to find it hovering in midair a foot beneath his hand when Regina caught it with magic.  Snow’s stepsister smiled darkly.  “Just not with anything good.”

“What are you talking about?  The Blue Fairy—”

Regina cut him off with a snort, laughing bitterly.  “If the Blue Fairy gave you this, David, she’s a _lot_ darker than anyone thinks, because _this_ is dark magic.  Very dark magic.”

“I thought that fairies didn’t do that,” he objected.

“They don’t.”  Regina’s fingers twitched, and the comb started turning a slow circle in the air.  “This is my mother’s magic.  It’s some curse, though I can’t identify exactly what.”

Suddenly, everything made sense.  The little tensions, the tick in ‘Blue’s’ face when he had mentioned Snow, her eagerness to be gone before Snow—who knew the Blue Fairy—could arrive.  They all added up to only one possible conclusion, and David felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head.  “You think that was your mother impersonating the Blue Fairy.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Regina replied with a shrug.  “She hates Snow because she hated her mother, and Mother’s always been good at holding a grudge.  She didn’t like the fact that you saved Snow last time, so I imagine she thought it would be particularly delicious to use you to hurt her.”

“I’m not letting that happen,” David said immediately.

“Neither am I.”

Their eyes met, and for the first time, David felt truly close to Snow’s sister.  He’d had his misgivings in the beginning, particularly given how little his adopted father trusted Regina.  George expected Regina to turn out just like Cora: a ruthless sorceress with power who was not afraid to hurt whomever she pleased.  Of course, David disagreed with George on many things, but he _had_ wondered if Snow’s childhood love for her elder stepsister was blinding her to the truth.  But this was twice now that Regina had interfered with her mother’s plans to hurt Snow, and David realized that Snow’s trust was entirely justified.

He wasn’t a fool.  David knew that he stood very little chance of stopping Cora by himself.  She had powerful magic, and even with all of George’s armies at their disposal, Cora would be hard to beat.  But with Regina on their side, perhaps they’d be able to do actually beat her.

* * *

 

Sometimes, his mom was entirely too easy to manipulate. 

Henry _had_ planned everything carefully, though, so it wasn’t a surprise when things worked out.  After all, if Mary Margaret and his (grand)dad could start seeing one another, Regina deserved a bit of happiness, too.  Cora had done too good of a job denying her daughter a happy ending in the Enchanted Forest, but Henry’s grandmother had less power here.  There, she’d been able to lock Daniel away and control Regina through him, but here she couldn’t do that.  To be honest, Henry hadexpected to find Daniel in the asylum, but when that hadn’t happened, he’d started searching for his adopted mother’s True Love.   He’d started to lose hope when Regina refused to volunteer any information on him, until he’d remembered the man who had jumped in the fire to save him, Lacey, and Renee.

_Then_ Henry remembered how his mother and Mr. Forrester had started to look at one another, and Henry knew True Love when he saw it.  Regina might have been trying to be careful, too keep Cora from knowing, but Henry could see it.  He was the grandchild of Snow White and Prince Charming.  He _knew_ , and that meant he needed to help the two of them out a little bit.  Of course, Daniel couldn’t possibly remember who he was.  As far as he knew, he was just Errol Forrester.  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t fall in love all over again, and Henry could make that happen.

He started subtly, hanging out at the fire station and making friends with Mr. Forrester under the guise of doing a project for class.  It wasn’t exactly a hardship—he liked the firefighter—and besides, Daniel was sort of his adopted father, anyway.  Henry wanted to get to know him, and Mr. Forrester was brave and true, even if he didn’t remember anything about who he’d once been.  He was also very interested in Regina, although he tried really hard not to let on that he was.  But the firefighter perked up when Henry mentioned his adopted mother, and it was easy to get him to go to Granny’s with Henry so that Henry could ‘interview’ him about being a firefighter.  Of course, the fact that he’d arranged to meet Regina there at the same time wasn’t important.  Not at all.

“Henry, what’s this?” Regina asked, interrupting Henry’s question about how you could safely run into a burning building to rescue people.

He looked up with a grin, trying not to laugh at Mr. Forrester’s surprised expression.

“Homework,” he answered (mostly) honestly.  “Mr. Forrester is helping me with a school project.”

“I see.  And did you forget our lunch date?” his mother asked pointedly, and Henry knew he had to play this one carefully.  _Regina_ wasn’t under the curse, so he had to be clever.

“Nope.  I thought you could join us,” he said as innocently as he could manage, noticing how the firefighter smiled.

“I don’t bite, I promise,” Forrester said to Regina, whose lips twitched into a smile.

“I didn’t think you did,” she assured him, slipping into a chair next to Henry.  He hadn’t sat in a booth for a reason, though, and sure enough, Ruby sauntered up before anyone could say another word.

“Hey, Henry, Emma just called for you,” she said right on cue, and he gave her a big smile.  “She was wondering if you could drop by the Sheriff’s Station.”

“Thanks!” Henry replied, and then turned to Regina.  “Do you mind, Mom? I bet it’ll be quick, and I’ll be right back.”

“Someone has a busy social life,” she replied dryly, and then made a shooing gesture.  “Go on.”

“Love you!” Henry told her with a grin, and then darted out, leaving his adopted mother with her True Love.  It was all he could do not to laugh out loud on his way to the Sherriff’s Station, knowing that although Emma didn’t expect him, Henry would easily find a way to stick around and let his mother and Mr. Forrester eat lunch without him.

_Operation Love Bug is a go!_

* * *

 

_4 Years Before the Curse_

“Can she do that?” Snow asked quietly after Regina and Charming were done explaining.

Her sister nodded.  “It’s called a glamour.  It’s a hard spell to master, but once you have, you can make yourself look like almost anyone.  Mother’s always been good at things like that.”

“Right.”  Snow couldn’t remember any other time she’d known of when Cora had disguised herself as someone else, but she wasn’t surprised.  Cora was the woman who had tried to make her kill her own _father_.  Surely even impersonating the Blue Fairy was minor compared to that. 

“Hey,” Charming said softly, reaching out and squeezing her arm.  “We stopped her.  We’ll stop her again, too, how every many times it takes.  Regina and I are here for you.”

Looking at the two people she loved most in the world united made Snow smiled slightly, but she couldn’t shake the cold feeling that filled her soul.  Cora wasn’t going to stop, was she?  _Not until I’m dead,_ Snow knew, and even though Charming and Regina both tried to cheer her up, she couldn’t make herself feel better.  Charming had almost been killed protecting her last time.  He might have been this time, too, had Regina not walked in when she did.  And even if he hadn’t, he would have been put in the same position Snow had: being Cora’s pawn and forced to hurt someone he loved.  Snow wouldn’t wish that on anyone, but particularly not on Charming, who was the sole reason she’d managed to go on after her father’s horrible death. 

And Regina was in danger, too, all because of her.  Because of Snow, Regina had chosen to oppose her mother.  However quietly she might do that, Snow knew that Cora would eventually make her pay the price.  _And Daniel.  How can I forget him?_   Snow had only met Regina’s stableboy once, but she knew how much Regina loved him.  He was in danger, too, and all because of her.

She wasn’t going to let this stand.  She had to do something.

* * *

 

The down side to having jetted out of Granny’s so fast was that Emma didn’t know he was coming and was therefore not alone.  Henry supposed that he should clue her in on his plans—or some of them, anyway—in case Regina asked her what she’d wanted later on.  Henry had been caught in enough lies that he knew better than to leave loose ends like that laying around, but the fact that Emma wasn’t alone inside the Sheriff’s Station put a bit of a cramp in his plans.  He wasn’t able to tell who it was from outside, but once he opened the door, Henry could hear two male voices answering Emma’s rather irritated comment of:

“Look, unless someone actually files a complaint or comes up with some _evidence_ of wrongdoing, I can’t do anything for you.  I told you that before, Mr. French.  It hasn’t changed in the last week.”

Henry’s brow creased thoughtfully as he came into the main room to find Tony Rose there alongside Mr. French.  What were _they_ doing here?  Had something happened in the flower shop?

“I can register a complaint,” Tony was saying.  “I know Lacey, and I know she wouldn’t work for that monster unless she was forced.  I say he kidnapped her and _made_ her stay there.”

“Lacey says otherwise,” Emma countered, looking annoyed.  “ _She_ says she’s there by choice, and that nothing inappropriate is going on.  You’re going to have to do more than voice baseless accusations, Tony.”

Both men scowled, and Mr. French tried again: “Tony is Lacey’s boyfriend.  He would know.”

“Are you?”

Henry’s birth mother was no dummy, and he could see her narrowing her eyes at Tony Rose and using her superpower.  Henry was sure Tony had been Sir Gaston back in their world, and he’d tried to steal Belle away from the Beast there, too.  Things in Storybrooke really were kind of predictable now that time was moving; people seemed to be trying to do the same things they’d been trying to do back home.  Henry just wished that Emma could believe that!

“Of course I am,” Tony snapped, looking proud of himself.

“I’m not sure I believe that.  She certainly didn’t seem very concerned with you when she told me that she’s happy with her job,” Emma retorted.

“She can’t possibly be happy there, Sheriff,” Mr. French protested.  “That—that— _monster_ has to be frightening her into saying such things.”

Sighing, Emma rose.  “Look, I’ll admit that I think the situation is a little strange, and if you come up with any evidence that anything’s wrong, I’ll be happy to investigate.  But my hands are tied.  Until something happens, I can’t do anything for you.  I’m sorry.”

Both men left, still grumbling and unhappy, but Henry just greeted them cheerfully.  Mr. French at least offered him a wan smile, but Tony only scowled at the ten year old.  Not that it bothered Henry; he knew that Tony was a big oaf, just like Sir Gaston had been.  _No wonder why Belle fell in love with the Beast.  At least he appreciated her intelligence!_ Henry tried not to snicker, trying to imagine Lacey French carrying on an intelligent conversation with Tony.   Tony would never have been able to keep up.

“They’re wrong, you know,” he told Emma with that thought still firmly in his mind.  “Gold’s the Beast, so Lacey’s in the right place.”

“Not that again,” his birth mother groaned, turning to look at him tiredly.

“What?  It’s true.”

“The real world doesn’t always work like that, kid.  I know you think that Gold is some ‘Beast’ out of a fairy tale, but he’s a dangerous man,” Emma replied.  “Mr. French has a legitimate concern.  If Lacey was my daughter, I don’t think I’d want her living with Gold, either.”

“That’s just stupid,” Henry said, rolling his eyes.  “Mr. French hasn’t talked to her in years, and besides, Lacey and Gold _belong_ together.  They’re True Love, just like Mary Margaret and Dad!”

“I wish I could believe in that kind of happy ending, but I’m afraid that Lacey and Gold are going to end in disaster.”

Henry shook his head.  “It won’t.  You’ll see.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, Henry can’t be right all the time, and we all know that Errol Forrester is Robin Hood, and not Daniel. But poor Henry doesn’t know that. 
> 
> For anyone who noticed, I accidentally gave the summary for chapter 30 after the previous chapter, so I apologize for teasing people! Next up is the actual Chapter Thirty: “Worth Fighting For,” where Emma confronts Gold about Lacey, Henry tries a new tactic, and Emma and Graham spend some time together. Back in the past, Snow does the wrong thing for the right reasons, Cora prepares her final vengeance for her stepdaughter, and Regina tries to resist her mother.
> 
> If you haven’t come on over to my tumblr yet, please do! I’ll be posting FOTS snippets and other goodies as this story continues. My blog is called [To See How The Story Ends](http://toseehowthestoryends.tumblr.com).


	30. Worth Fighting For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-graphic torture in this chapter.

_4 Years Before the Curse_

“What are you looking at?” Belle asked curiously, noticing how her fiancé—and oh, how excited she was to put that label on him, even in the privacy of her own mind!—was riveted on something small on his worktable.

It was dinner time, and Belle had come to find him, rather than the other way around like it usually was.  She’d been caught up in a book until hunger got the better of her, and by the time Belle had looked at a clock, she’d been shocked to find that Rumplestiltskin hadn’t pried her out of the library already.  Most nights, he was _much_ better at remembering dinner than she was, which was rather a switch since she had to remind him about most meals.  But now that she was his betrothed instead of his maid, her golden imp seemed determined that she should eat properly, which meant he usually came out of his favorite tower to find her.  Except tonight he hadn’t.

“Hmm?” he asked distractedly, his eyes still on the crystal ball before him. 

“I asked what you’re looking at,” Belle repeated, sitting herself down next to him on the bench and bumping his hip with hers.  That finally seemed to break Rumplestiltskin out of his trance, and he glanced at her, smiling.

That smile was enough to make Belle’s heart pound unevenly, enough to take her breath away.  She was still getting used to the fact that he admitted he loved her—that he wanted to marry her!—and somehow being together like this always made everything real.   _It had better be real.  We’re getting married in a week!_

“A brave little princess,” he finally answered with only a hint of a giggle, “who is doing _just_ the wrong thing.”

“What’s happened?” she asked, leaning forward to squint at the images.  Sure enough, there was a dark haired young woman on horseback, riding at a good clip through a forest.  “Who is that?”

“Princess Snow, of course,” Rumplestiltskin replied with a little flourish of his right hand.  “Running away from her _dear_ True Love to protect him.”

Belle’s breath caught in her throat.  “But that’s terrible.  Don’t you need them for the curse?”

The look he gave her said that he couldn’t possibly understand how she wasn’t still furious with him—or hadn’t left already—but Belle was determined to help.  She believed him when he said that a curse was the only way, and when he said that he’d do his best to make sure that no one suffered unduly.  Losing their memories would not be pleasant, but Rumplestiltskin assured her that no one would suffer any worse harm than Cora would be able to subject them to in this world, even those whom she sought revenge upon.  Belle had never met the Queen of Hearts (now starting to be styled the Evil Queen), but she didn’t doubt Rumplestiltskin when he said that Cora would do _something_ dramatic if she was defeated, and controlling exactly what kind of vengeance she could wreak made sense.  Even if she still didn’t like it.

“I do,” Rumplestiltskin said slowly, a slight smile making his lips twitch.  “But this is good.”

“How so?”

“Because True Love has to be fought for.  It’s the most powerful magic of all, but if you’re not willing to fight for it…you will lose everything,” he replied quietly, and Belle found herself smiling.

“Can I tell you that every time you start doubting yourself?” she asked, leaning over to perch her chin on his shoulder. 

“Belle, I—”

She cut him off with a kiss to the cheek.  “I love you, Rumple.  And I know you love me.  I think we’ve fought quite a bit to stay together already, and I’m not going to let you stop just because you think you’re unworthy of me, understand?”

“I do,” he whispered, and Belle smiled as he leaned over to rest his forehead against hers.  They stayed that way for a long moment, his arm snaking around her waist and pulling her close, before she asked:

“So, do you know what’s going to happen?”

“Well, our charming prince will hunt his princess down, but how it will happen, I don’t know,” he said honestly.  “She’ll find some dwarves.  He’ll figure it out.”

“Can you help?  Should you?” she wondered.

“Not unless they ask.  Their love _must_ be strong, and to do that, they’ll have to overcome more than just two of Cora’s attempts to kill Snow.  Or three, I suppose, if you count the charge of patricide…” Rumplestiltskin trailed off whimsically, shrugging. 

“Rumple,” Belle chided him gently, hating the way he could make light of Cora trying to kill her stepdaughter.

He just giggled, but the pitch was a little off; it was the laugh her True Love used when trying to change the subject or pretend he didn’t care about people.  Belle wasn’t sure if he saw Snow and her prince as anything other than tools at this point, but she knew that there was a good man buried somewhere beneath the darkness, and she was determined to bring him out.  _Little by little, if I must,_ she told herself for the hundredth time.  She loved Rumplestiltskin, and she knew he loved her.  For now, that would have to be enough.  Belle couldn’t expect him to fight back the world’s oldest and darkest curse overnight, or even ever, maybe.  But she could help him try.

* * *

 

“Gold?  Are you in here?”

“Well, it is my shop,” Rumplestiltskin muttered, standing up from behind his workbench in the back.  Thankfully, he was alone back there; today, Belle and Renee had been out to do shopping with Dove and then go home.  As much as Rumplestiltskin would have loved to have his wife and daughter in the shop all the time, neither of them were blind to the way half the town was looking at them.  Speaking for himself, Rumplestiltskin really didn’t care _what_ these people thought of him, so long as they didn’t think him weak, but he knew that giving additional grist to the rumor mill was only asking for trouble.

Trouble like Emma Swan, who was standing with her hands on her hips in the showroom when he came limping out from behind the curtain.  So, he put on his most blasé look and asked: “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

“You can tell me what the hell game you’re playing,” she replied, making Rumplestiltskin’s eyebrows go up.  She hadn’t come by often, their Savior, and certainly hadn’t since she’d asked him to get the restraining order keeping her away from the Huntsman lifted.  She didn’t seem to like him much, but Rumplestiltskin was more than willing to watch her from afar.  For now.  Besides, _that_ was a pairing he had not anticipated, and one Rumplestiltskin found fascinating, albeit in a terrifyingly dangerous way.  Graham might like Emma Swan—he might even _love_ her—but Cora still had his heart.  When push came to shove, he wouldn’t be able to fight the matir, and Rumplestiltskin found himself glad that Cora had crippled her pet.  At least then Graham wouldn’t be able to do much to Emma, at least not physically.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific,” he replied casually, not daring to hope that she’d come to talk about the curse.  How much had Regina told her?

“Lacey French,” the sheriff replied immediately, and Rumplestiltskin bit back the need to snarl something nasty.  Or to turn someone into a snail.

_Just kill her,_ his curse whispered.  _That’ll break the curse._   _Then you can get on with doing what you need_ to.  It was tempting, but no.  With an effort, Rumplestiltskin pushed the thought aside.  Doing so would cross a line he had no desire to cross, and bring about repercussions he would not enjoy.  Besides, he needed her to eventually find his son.  He had seen that she would help, and she owed him the favor already.

“Ah, yes, my employee.  It seems everyone is interested in her these days,” he said, allowing a hard edge to enter his voice.  Rumplestiltskin really was starting to get sick of this idiocy.

“Probably because if there’s one thing this entire town agrees on, it’s that you’re bad news.  And that she’s a nice girl who deserves a lot better.”

_She does, but try telling_ her _that,_ he almost said, and quirked a tiny smile at the thought.  But his words were cold.  “And what did she say when you asked her about it?” he demanded.

Perhaps he came off a bit too cold, particularly if he wanted the Savior to trust him, but Rumplestiltskin’s frustration was too high for him to play nicely.

“She said that there’s nothing inappropriate going on between you two, but I know she wasn’t telling the whole truth,” Emma shot back, leaning across the counter to get in his face.  It had been years since anyone other than Cora had dared threaten him, and Cora only did it because she thought he was Gold.  Rumplestiltskin found himself respecting the Savior a little more because she dared to challenge him, and that made a bit of his frustration ease.

“Well, do tell me when you find out what the problem is, Sheriff.  I’d like to know, too.”

“Don’t screw with me, Gold.  If I felt creative enough, there’s a half dozen charges I could arrest you on.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “Of course there are.  That’s why you’re here, fishing for information and not putting me in jail.”  She scowled, but he continued a bit less coldly: “I’m not your enemy, Sheriff.  I’m a businessman and a property owner.  I’m hardly the one pulling the strings around here.”

He was weaving them, after all.  Carefully and meticulously _weaving,_ as had been his art centuries earlier.  Not pulling them.

“And what kind of good _business_ does hiring Lacey French make?” Emma asked, latching onto the wrong part of his statement.

_I’m also her husband,_ he wanted to say, and later would wish he had.  It might have saved them all a great deal of trouble had Emma believed him, but Rumplestiltskin liked playing his cards too closely to try that tact.  So, he just shrugged.  “She’s worked for me before and knows my eccentricities.  It saves me time having to explain things.”

That was an incredibly weak answer, and they both knew it.  Emma even obviously knew he was hiding something, but she couldn’t tell what.  That made the Savior leave in a huff, sans arresting him on any one of those bogus charges she’d claimed to be able to think up.  Watching her go, Rumplestiltskin made a mental note to talk to Regina again.  Emma was stronger than they’d expected, but also more stubborn, and they had to do something to make her believe.  And soon.

* * *

 

_4 Years Before the Curse_

“Did you think I would not notice, Regina?” Cora asked coldly, and Regina whirled away from the horse she had just dismounted, facing her mother as soon as her feet hit the ground.

She _had_ been in a good mood.  Regina had taken herself riding, just to get her mind off of things, but Cora always wanted to ruin any happiness Regina experienced.  _Not that I’m feeling very happy right now.  Daniel’s still a prisoner, Mother refuses to let me see him even though there’s no Leopold to fool, and Snow ran away from George’s kingdom.  Yes, life is wonderful!_   David had gone after Snow just a few days earlier, as soon as he’d noticed she was gone—because she’d waited for Regina to leave before running, of course; Snow was far from stupid—and Regina wished she could have gone with him.  Instead, she was stuck here with her harpy of a mother.

“Notice what, Mother?” she asked as soon as she got a grip on her temper.  Not lashing out at her mother was getting harder and harder.  The only thing stopping her was Daniel.

It had been so long since she’d seen him that Regina was beginning to wonder if he was even alive…except she knew that she would feel it if he died.  He was her True Love, no matter what her mother said, and her heart would know.

“You visiting your _step_ -sister,” Cora snapped, her eyes flashing.  “I thought I taught you better than that.”

“The only thing you’ve taught me is never to give up on those I love,” Regina shot back, her anger getting the better of her common sense.

That response made her mother frown disapprovingly.  “Clearly, I have allowed you to dwell on petty _feelings_ for too long, darling.  I shall have to rectify that, obviously.”

“What are you going to do, rip my heart out?”

“Of course not.  When I am done teaching you, you will do that for yourself.”

Regina rolled her eyes.  “That’s not going to happen.”

“Of course it is.  You _will_ learn, Regina.  You will learn not to depend upon flimsy emotions like _love_ , because love is meaningless.  Love is weakness, because it can force you to do things that you would not otherwise do.”  Cora paused, gesturing imperiously, and suddenly Daniel landed in a heap by her side.  Regina’s True Love was bruised, battered, and thinner than she’d ever seen him; he squinted in the bright light of the barn, half doubled over and looking like he was drugged.

“Daniel!” she gasped, though Regina knew better than to bolt towards him.  Cora would only stop her, and she wasn’t strong enough to make it through her mother’s magic.  Not yet.  But her love was so battered, so abused.  He looked like he was wasting away, and Regina began to fear that Daniel wouldn’t survive many more months in her mother’s hands.  She was not ready to win this fight, but what if now was the only chance Daniel had?

“Regina?” Daniel whispered raggedly.

“Oh, Daniel,” Regina breathed.  “I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t know what she was sorry for, but Regina knew she would be crippled by regret before the day was out.  The look on her mother’s face told her that, told her that Daniel was about to become Cora’s _example_ once more.  This would not be the first time that Cora had hurt Daniel to force Regina into submission.  Although Regina knew in her heart that it would never stop unless someone defeated Cora or she managed to wrest Daniel’s heart away from her mother once and for all, she couldn’t help giving in.  She couldn’t bear to see Daniel suffer like this, and fighting her mother was impossible.

“It’s all right,” her love wheezed weakly.  “It’s all right…”

“No, it isn’t,” Regina replied, squaring her shoulders and shifting her glare to Cora.

“Mother, this has gone on long enough.  I am through learning lessons from you.  _I am not you,_ and I love who I love.  Please, let Daniel go.  I don’t want to fight with you, but I _will_ fight for what I believe in.”

It was now or never, Regina knew.  Despite her uncertainty over if she could defeat her mother or not, she had no choice but to draw the line here.  So, she called magic to her hands and brought her chin up, glaring defiantly at Cora and making her stand.

Purple lightning glowed in Cora’s hands as she spread her arms wide from her body, and Regina felt a whirlwind of power rising around her mother, whipping through the air like a great storm.  The sky outside the barn actually darkened slightly, and a hard chill tore down Regina’s spine as she faced a maelstrom of the likes of which she had never even imagined, but she knew she had no choice.  _Now or never, Regina_ , she told herself, and lashed out with the most powerful spell she knew before her mother could complete her preparations.

The strike took her mother unawares and actually made Cora stumble back two steps, her dark eyes wide with surprise.  But the maelstrom facing Regina never faltered, and Cora’s hands came up again, lightning fast and black with power.  A wall of darkness hit Regina before she could even blink, quicker than she would have thought possible, slamming into her.  The ground rushed up to meet her back; Regina’s head snapped back as she hit, her neck cracking and her head striking the ground hard.  Colors swirled in her eyes, and the roof of the stable twisted wildly as her vision failed.  Another wave of power hit without warning, and then the world went black.

Several seconds passed in sheer nothingness, until Regina awoke to Daniel’s screaming.

* * *

 

“Dad and Mary Margaret are out again,” Henry said happily, perched at the table in the loft and turning a glowing smile on Emma.  But his cheerful declaration made Emma’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

“I’m not sure you should be so happy about that, kid,” she told him, trying not to think of all the casual friends she’d known who got involved with married men.  Mary Margaret was hopelessly in love, and Emma wanted to be happy for her roommate…but she’d never seen this end well.  “Everything’s great right now, but in the end, they’re both going to end up with broken hearts.”

“No, they won’t,” the ten year old replied earnestly.  “They’re True Love, Emma.  They’re _meant_ to be together.  They might not remember that they’re Snow White and Prince Charming, but they are.  The curse is the only thing standing in their way.”

Somehow, she managed to bite back a groan.  “True Love only exists in fairy tales.”  _And so do curses._

“No, it doesn’t!  Don’t you see?  Everyone in this town is from a fairy tale, including you.  True Love is as real as everything else!  It’s the most powerful kind of magic there is.”

“Henry—”

“It’s True Love.  It can’t be wrong,” he insisted.

“True Love isn’t _real_ ,” Emma countered, only to have a third voice interject:

“It is,” Regina said quietly, slipping back into the room.  She’d stepped outside to take a phone call shortly after she arrived to pick Henry up for the evening, but now she was back, her face tight with emotion.  “Believe me, I know it’s real.”

Emma blinked.  Hard.  “Regina, I know you buy into this curse stuff, but _really_?  True Love is just something that Disney came up with to sell more movies.”

Her friend—and supposed step-aunt—sighed.  “Are you _ever_ going to stop being a skeptic?” she snapped, but the flicker of pain in her eyes made Emma think twice before saying something snarky in return.  “I know you didn’t grow up in our world, and I get how that makes it a hell of a lot harder to believe, but Henry’s right.  This is all real, and so is True Love.”

“And how do you know True Love is real?” Emma asked, not wanting to start a fight.  She and Regina were good enough at that already, and snapping at one another really didn’t get them anywhere.  Besides, she was a little curious to see what Regina would say.

She wasn’t expecting the older woman to look away, not answering at all.

“Mom knows because of Daniel,” Henry supplied when the silence stretched on several seconds past comfortable.

“Who’s Daniel?” she asked, looking at their shared son.

“I _showed_ you his story in the book,” the boy reminded Emma with a pointed look.  “He was the stableboy.  Mom’s True Love.  Grandma locked him away because she didn’t like him.”

“What do you mean ‘locked him away’?”

“Just what it sounds like.  Excuse me.”  With that, Regina walked out of the loft, not even bothering to tell Henry that it was time to go home.  But Henry followed anyway, waving goodbye at his birth mother and leaving Emma to think.

_She really believes this stuff,_ the Savior thought to herself, scowling at the door as it closed behind Henry.  The pain on the older woman’s face had been impossible to fake, and Emma had seen old hurts flashing through her eyes despite Regina’s best efforts to hide them.  She _had_ loved this Daniel, that much was clear.  And she’d lost him, obviously, which still ate her up inside.  Emma knew how loss felt, and she could see it echoing in Regina’s every movement.  _And Regina isn’t crazy.  Her mother’s the certifiable one, so if Regina believes in this curse…_

_She_ was crazy to even consider it. 

* * *

 

_4 Years Before the Curse_

“Mother, stop!  Please!”

Cora had defeated Regina without even breaking a sweat, and now it was Daniel who was screaming in pain.  Regina’s fists beat impotently against the magical barrier between herself and her mother, but she might have been fighting a mountain for all the good it did her.  Cora’s magic was just too strong, and now she had turned it on Daniel to teach Regina a lesson.  She did so by completely ignoring her daughter and venting her fury on the innocent stableboy whom she had always hated, making Daniel scream for minute after minute while Regina howled in protest.  Not that Cora seemed to even notice her daughter’s desperation.  She just kept hurting Daniel.

Regina didn’t know how long her mother tortured Daniel for, only that it felt like an eternity.  By the time Cora finally turned to face her, a small, self-satisfied smile playing over her lips.  Daniel lay at her feet, panting and sobbing for air, twitching weakly and shaking spastically.  Regina burned to go to him, wanted to rush to his side and sweep him up in her arms, but the magical barrier in between Regina and her love was too strong.  _Every spell has a weakness,_ an internal voice reminded her, and it sounded suspiciously like Rumplestiltskin.  _Find the right thread._   Forcing herself to take a deep breath, Regina tried to calm her pounding heart and focus on magic, but a whimper from Daniel distracted her, and she felt an invisible fist clench around her heart.

Perhaps Rumple would have been able to be dispassionate enough to focus on magic when someone he loved was being tortured, but Regina was not that type.  She could summon up plenty of emotions to fight with, but finesse was not in the cards right now.  Not when Daniel was being hurt.

“Are you prepared to listen to reason now, darling?” her mother purred, ignoring the suffering man at her feet.

“What do you _want_?” Regina asked brokenly.

“Your obedience.  I have a task for you, and if you refuse to carry it out, your dear Daniel will not survive the day.”

She could beg.  She could plead.  But Cora wouldn’t care.  Regina knew that from experience.  Cora had been using Daniel to control her for years, but it had been a long time since she’d actually threatened to kill him.  However, Regina didn’t dare call her mother’s bluff, because Cora wasn’t bluffing.  She could see that in the cold, heartless eyes focused so unerringly on her face.  Cora was ready to kill Daniel, and she would not hesitate.  So, Regina swallowed hard, cast one last, heartbroken look at her former husband, and said:

“And what do you want me to do?”

“You’re going to give something to Snow for me,” Cora replied in a purr, holding up a polished red apple.  It shone ominously in the stable’s fading light, and Regina did not have to be a sorceress to know that there was something dangerous about that apple.  “And you’ll make sure she eats it. If you do that, I may—”

“I’m not hurting my sister!” Regina interrupted hotly, but the maw of the horrible trap in front of her gaped wide open, waiting to swallow her whole.  She felt herself shaking, and tried again to reach Daniel, only to bounce off of the barrier and stumble back a step.

“Your choice is simple.  Daniel dies, or you give your dear _sister_ this apple.  And you  make sure she eats it,” her mother replied, a hint of nastiness entering her tone.  “Pick who you love more.”

Regina gaped.  How could she choose?  She wanted to crawl into a hole and die, wanted to provoke her mother into killing her or somehow doing this herself, but she knew that wouldn’t happen.  Having been raised by Cora, Regina knew there was no easy way out.  There was no way around making this decision.  Her mother was smirking, because she _knew_ she had won, but Regina could barely breathe through the pain.  She couldn’t choose.  She couldn’t.

“Regina…it’s all right,” Daniel said for the third time, struggling to his knees at Cora’s feet.  “Save your sister.  I’m—”

He cut off in a scream as Cora flicked a hand his way, collapsing back into a heap.

“Stop!” Regina cried, and her mother looked at her, right hand hovering over Daniel ominously.

“Have you made your choice, or should I continue?”

“Anything but this,” she pleaded.  “Please.”

Daniel’s next scream was the only answer she got; Cora withdrew the spell and waited once more.  Regina felt tears starting to trickle down her face, felt like her heart was already in her mother’s hand and crushed to dust.  But she could do it.  If she were sufficiently cold blooded, Regina could just _let_ her mother kill Daniel, and then there would be no way Cora could control her.  Then she would be free.  Her mother would have done it, Regina knew, without even blinking an eye…but Regina had never truly been Cora’s daughter.  Not like that.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered brokenly.

“Because you will learn or you will pay the price.  I am done coddling you, sweetheart.  This is for your own good.”

“For my own—” Regina cut off, gaping.  She was still crying, and felt utterly sick.  Again, she looked at Daniel, and he met her gaze, his eyes full of understanding despite the way sweat plastered blonde hair to his face and pain made his body shake.  He would not blame her, Regina knew.  But she would blame herself.  Sucking in a shuddering breath, she asked: “What’s in the apple?”

She had to know before she could choose, had to know what she would be doing to her beloved sister.  Cora, however, seemed to sense victory in the question, and smiled a little more kindly.  If such a word could ever be used to apply to her mother.

“A nightmare curse,” the Evil Queen replied.

“A _what_?”

The nightmare curse was one of the most horrible curses ever written.  It was designed to use the power of someone’s own memories and worst fears to destroy their mind, mixing memories with every imaginable horror to drive someone towards insanity.  There was no cure for it, and nearly everyone who had ever been cursed—less than two or three dozen people in all of recorded history, if Regina recalled correctly—eventually died of it.  A nightmare curse was not a quiet curse.  Those subjected to it were often mindlessly violent, sometimes hurting those they loved because they thought they were absolutely unaware of anything except what was happening in their nightmares.  Leave it to her mother to wish something so terrible on Snow.

“You heard me,” Cora said coldly, and Regina swallowed again.

_It won’t kill her,_ she thought desperately.  _And any curse can be broken with True Love’s kiss._

Was she ready to bet her sister’s life on Snow and Charming being True Love?  Regina thought they were, but she’d never seen proof of that.  And yet, giving Snow the apple was the only chance both Snow and Daniel had.  If Regina made any other choice, one of the two people she loved most would die.

“Snow ran away,” she objected quietly.  “No one knows where she is.”

“Oh, I don’t want you to do it now,” her mother told her sweetly.  “You can wait until after George’s weak-willed son chases her down.  And I’ll even sweeten the deal.  So long as you promise to give Snow the apple, we’ll move Daniel to rooms in the palace.  You’ll be able to see him.”

“I will?” Regina asked breathlessly, hope and guilt warring within her.

“Certainly,” Cora drawled, stepping forward and gliding through the invisible wall between them like it was nothing.  She reached out to touch Regina’s face, and although the gesture was gentle, Regina shuddered.  “Perhaps, if you continue to behave yourself, I will let you keep him.  Not as a husband, of course—he is not worthy of that—but you can keep him as a pet.”

“Mother…” Part of Regina rebelled against that characterization for Daniel, but even being what Cora called a pet would be better than being Cora’s prisoner.  She was not a fool; she knew her mother would still force her to marry some prince or another, but if Regina could keep Daniel with her, then life might be livable.

_What kind of monster are you, thinking of your own happiness when you’re going to be willing to put your own sister under a Nightmare Curse?_ Regina asked herself, hatred for her mother, for herself, and for the situation welling up so strongly within her.  But she could help Charming find Snow.  She could make sure the nightmare curse was broken before things got too bad.  Couldn’t she?

Cora stroked her cheek, making Regina flinch.  “Will you do as I ask, darling?”

Kill Daniel today or risk a horrible death for Snow later, unless Charming could save her.  Regina was sure she would never make another decision so heartbreaking.   She could not answer.  She could only nod miserably, too sick for words.

* * *

 

Emma wasn’t exactly much of a cook, but she’d tried.  Jefferson—an unlikely friend for Graham to have, given the way the manager of Modern Fashions had spent years stalking Mary Margaret—told her that Graham hadn’t been eating very well since getting out of the hospital, so Emma had cooked up her one specialty and brought it over to the former sheriff’s apartment.  She felt a little awkward doing it, particularly since Graham seemed determined to avoid having anything resembling a social life.  Everyone in Storybrooke knew that the former sheriff had become something of a recluse since his accident, but Emma wasn’t going to let him do that.  Not today.

“Tacos?” Graham asked with raised eyebrows as Emma unveiled the meal she’d brought.  He’d been very surprised to see her when he’d opened the door in his wheelchair, but Emma hadn’t even given him the opportunity to refuse the dinner she’d cooked.

“Yeah, well, I never claimed to be a gourmet,” she said with a shrug, and was rewarded with a smile.

“Well, I happen to like tacos.  Thank you.”

“Quit saying that.  Three times was enough.  I draw the line at the fourth,” Emma chided him with a smile.

“Okay.  Sorry.  I guess I’ve just been a bit down lately,” Graham admitted.

Emma finished setting out all the various toppings and taco shells and sat down at the small kitchen table Graham’s studio apartment sported.  The table looked like Graham had salvaged it from a tag sale, and knowing him, he probably had.  His apartment was cleaner than Emma expected, particularly given that Graham was now paralyzed, but it was small, cramped, and rather impersonal.  It didn’t seem to be owned by a man who cared much about what his home contained.  The furniture was old and nondescript, and Emma couldn’t even see a lot of knickknacks or mementos on the shelves.  Looking around made her rather sad, though she couldn’t quite define why.

“Hey, I get it.  You’re in a…rough spot,” she said.  “Dealing with everything has to be hard.”

“I think it’s probably what I deserve.”

Emma had been paying attention to scooping out some sour cream, but that comment made her drop the spoon, which fell with a clatter.  “What the hell makes you say that?”

“I ran my car into a _restaurant,_ Emma,” Graham replied bluntly, his eyes full of self-loathing.  “I was damn lucky that no one got hurt, but I destroyed Dave’s.  And I can’t even remember it.”

For a long moment, Emma could only stare.  Graham was such a good man, one of the few genuinely _nice_ people in this screwed up town, and listening to him blame himself for an accident broke Emma’s heart.  No one knew what had caused Graham to run his car off the road and into Dave’s Fish and Chips; Whale had determined that he hadn’t been drunk or otherwise intoxicated, and even Keith’s investigation had turned up nothing.  _Henry said that it wasn’t his fault,_ she remembered, and maybe she was just grasping at straws, but Emma wanted to believe that so badly.  If nothing else, maybe knowing it hadn’t been his fault would clean that broken expression off of Graham’s face.

“You once told me that Cora had your heart.”  The words came out before she could think it through, but Graham only shrugged.

“Maybe I was a little crazy that night,” he replied glumly, shrugging.  “Because now it sounds really crazy.”

“You didn’t seem crazy to me.  You seemed like you were…remembering things.”

He shrugged again. “I thought I was, but I must have been wrong.  Everything that made so much sense that night just seems to be a blur now.  None of it makes sense.”

“You mean you don’t remember it anymore?” Emma asked, trying to figure out if that disappointed her or not.  On one hand, if Graham _had_ told her that the curse was real, and that Cora had his heart, that might have finally been enough to make her believe.  On the other, maybe if Graham had been wrong, Storybrooke was just a weird town, and Henry’s curse was just a figment of an overactive ten year old imagination.

“Not really.”

“Oh.”

A comfortable silence filled the air for a moment or two, before Graham somehow dredged up a smile.  “So, uh, are you gonna pass me that sour cream, or just use it to decorate the table?”

“Oh.  Sorry,” Emma replied, embarrassed.  When she’d dropped the spoon, it and a bunch of sour cream _had_ ended up adding odd designs to the weathered tabletop, and Emma hurriedly picked up the spoon and wiped it off with a spare napkin.  Then she grabbed the container of sour cream and passed both over.  “Here.”

“Thanks.”  Graham spent a moment paying attention to his tacos, and then glanced back up at her.  “You know, Emma…you don’t have to do this.  You’re not responsible for me.”

She shot him an annoyed look.  “I didn’t think I was.”

Graham shrugged again.  “I just mean that it’s probably better for you if you don’t try to hang around me too much.  I’m not much fun at all these days.”

“What, are you worried you’ll depress me or something?”

“Maybe.  Something like that.”

“Well, I’m plenty able to do that for myself, and I can choose my friends, too.  So stop it, okay?  Unless _you_ don’t want me to come around, I’m going to keep coming.  Got it?”

Her friend had the good grace to go a little red.  “Got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Regina’s had to make a rough choice. Do you think she’ll find a way out of it, or will she wind up doing Cora’s bidding?   
> A note on the timeline for everyone – it’s now December, which means Emma’s got a bit of time before she believes if we’re going to stick with the timeline of the show. She may come around a bit earlier than she does in canon, but being Emma, she makes it hard!
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Thirty-One: “Love Destroys and Love Rebuilds,” where Belle has a run in with her father, a stranger comes to Storybrooke, and Regina finally asks Rumplestiltskin who Errol is. Back in the past, Regina continues to struggle with her choice and Rumplestiltskin prepares to get himself thrown in prison. In the meantime, please do let me know what you think!


	31. Love Destroys and Love Rebuilds

_3 Years, 10 Months Before the Curse_

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Regina whispered, sitting at the long, polished table. 

On one hand, the last two months had been wonderful.  Her mother had kept her word and had moved Daniel out of the dungeons and into a nice room.  Cora even let Regina see Daniel regularly, though rarely alone.  Cora seemed afraid that Regina’s virtue would somehow be compromised if she let the two of them meet privately—or perhaps she was just worried that Regina would find some way to help Daniel escape and then her hold over her daughter would be gone.  Because Regina hadn’t forgotten what she’d agreed to do, or what would happen to Daniel if she _didn’t_ deliver that poisoned apple to Snow.  So, on the other hand, Regina was still miserable.  Particularly when she’d asked her teacher if David would find Snow soon, and he said yes.

“You’ve made your choice.  You know what will happen if you go back on it,” Rumplestiltskin said quietly, sounding more human than imp for once.

Regina was grateful for that.  She had no one else to turn to, not with Snow on the run and Daniel torn between his life being saved and telling Regina that she should have just let him die to save her sister.  She supposed that she should have found it odd, going to the Dark One for comfort, particularly considering that he was her mother’s former lover, but Rumplestiltskin had always been there for her.  Even when they snapped at one another and baited one another, he was there.  Sometimes he poked her just wrong, seeking to get a rise out of her, but Regina trusted him.  Maybe she shouldn’t, but she did.

“I know,” she sighed.  “But Snow…”

Her voice broke as Regina spoke her sister’s name, closing her eyes.  But they popped open when she felt a hand land awkwardly on top of her own.  The contact was very brief; Rumplestiltskin squeezed her fingers once and then let go.  She stared at him with owlish eyes, grateful for the comfort, even if she was surprised by it.

“Any curse can be broken,” the sorcerer reminded her gently.

“By True Love’s kiss,” Regina said automatically, and then turned hopeful eyes on him.  “Are they?  _Can_ they be?”

He smiled mysteriously.  “True Love has to be fought for, dear.  And they’ll fight.”

“Is that a yes?”  She couldn’t leave this up to chance.  She _wouldn’t_.

Rumplestiltskin had always liked to play things close, Regina knew, but she needed this answer.  Because if Charming _wasn’t_ Snow’s True Love, there would be nothing to save Snow from the Nightmare Curse that Cora was going to force Regina to give her sister.  _I can’t do that to her.  I just can’t._   Doing it even if she knew the curse could be broken would be horrible.

“He is,” the Dark One answered after a moment, his eyes focused far into the distance.  “Give him the chance, and he’ll break that curse for her.”

Regina supposed hearing that should be a relief, but somehow it just made her feel guiltier.  She was going to endanger her sister, and someone else would have to save her.  Snow would never forgive her, and Regina knew she would deserve every bit of hatred she got.  Once, a long time ago, she had promised Snow that they would stand together against _anything_ that threatened either one of them, and now her mother was going to force her to break that promise.  No matter what happened, nothing could mitigate that kind of betrayal, and Snow would be right to hate her…and then Regina would be truly alone.

* * *

 

Belle had to admit that she’d hoped no one would notice them in the park.  Dove had come along—the big man had become a bit of a shadow for her and Renee—but other than that, the park was fairly empty.  Most kids were in school and the weather was a bit dreary, but Renee had been cooped up for too long and needed to play.  So, Belle put her on the swing set and tried not to think of one of the last times she’d taken her daughter out for playtime with Dove for company, reminding herself that the fairies here did not remember their own identities, let alone know who Belle and Gabrielle were.  Of course, her adorable daughter was still Renee, a fact that drove both Belle and her husband to distraction at times, but there was no helping that until the curse broke.

 _Unless she remembers earlier, like Rumple said is possible,_ Belle thought, looking up from her book as her daughter squealed in delight.  Renee was just learning how to be on the swings by herself, and her little legs were pumping for all they were worth.  She hadn’t managed to get herself very high yet, but she was doing pretty well.  Watching her made Belle smile, and for a few moments, she could tell herself that everything was normal.

Life certainly was better than it had been as Lacey.  As horrible as the fire in the library had been, it had quite literally turned Belle’s life around.  While she wished that Rumplestiltskin had not chosen to wait so long to wake her up—even if she thought she disagreed with his choice—she understood that he’d done it out of fear that Cora would hurt her and Renee.   Given how bloodthirsty Cora had proven herself as mayor, Belle couldn’t even say that fear was groundless, but at least the fire had given Rumplestiltskin an excuse to hire her, and in turn an excuse for Belle and Renee to move in with him.  Doing so had finally brought their family back together, and although Belle still mourned the loss of the library, she couldn’t regret the fact that losing that job had brought her home.

“Lacey?” a familiar voice asked, and Belle twisted on the bench in surprise, gaping up at her father.

 _No,_ she thought as she stared at him. _Not quite my father. This is Moe French, who hated Lacey for having a daughter out of wedlock and refusing to marry the same oaf I was engaged to back home._   Moe French’s actions mirrored the choices Sir Maurice had made a bit too closely, however, which meant Belle had a hard time not being angry at her father’s cursed persona as well.

“Dad,” she replied as levelly as she could, barely remembering to call him that instead of ‘Papa.’  But Lacey would never use that term, and for Belle, using the Land Without Magic term felt more formal.  More distant.  And that was rather what she wanted at the moment. 

From her left, Dove perked up out of the magazine he’d been reading, glancing her way to see if she needed help.  But Belle shook her head.  She could deal with her own father, for better or for worse.  Slowly, Belle rose and put her book on the bench, turning to face Moe French.

“Lace…I know we don’t always see eye to eye, but I wanted to talk to you and see if you were all right,” her father said in a rush, and Belle snorted.

“If by ‘don’t always see eye to eye’, you mean that you told me to give up my daughter or be disowned, I agree that we don’t,” she retorted.  “So, thank you for asking, but I’m fine.  We’re _both_ fine.”

Moe had the good grace to go a bit red in embarrassment, and that did make Belle feel bad. A little, anyway.  Perhaps some of Lacey’s anger was bleeding over into her, because she couldn’t quite shake the woman she’d been for twenty-eight years or the way Lacey had felt abandoned by this very same man for that entire time.  Then again, Sir Maurice had done much the same to Belle, refusing to even read her letters, let alone respond to them.  _I wonder if he even realizes that he has a granddaughter, or if he’ll be surprised by that when he wakes up._ The one time she had tried to talk to him back home he’d been ready to call for the clerics to ‘cleanse’ her, and Belle hadn’t been particularly willing to tell him about Gabrielle once he started going on like that.

“Sweetie, I…”

“You what?” Belle asked when he trailed off, crossing her arms.  She half wondered if he’d apologize, but didn’t really expect it.  Not with Cora still in control.  Belle knew enough about the curse to know that _anything_ anyone still under it did was suspect.  Cora could manipulate them too easily.

“I’m worried about you,” Moe replied.  “I know you’re desperate, but did you really have to lower yourself so far as to give yourself to that monster?  I know what kind of man Gold is, and he won’t treat you like you deserve to be treated.”

Flabbergasted, Belle had to stare at the cursed version of her father for a long moment in silence before she could trust herself to speak.  “You don’t know anything about Gold,” she finally managed to say.  _Not that I’m living with_ Gold _, but even if I was, he treated Lacey far better than you did, Papa!_   “He is good to _both_ of us, which is more than I could say for you!”

“Now, don’t say that, sweetheart—”

“Why not?” she demanded.  “Because it’s true?”

“I’ve talked to Tony.  He still wants to marry you, and he’s willing to accommodate your…daughter, as well.  He doesn’t like it, but if it gets you away from Gold, he’ll take her in, too.”

“Oh, that’s so big of him.”  But the sarcasm was utterly lost on her father, who gave her a look that said she clearly needed educating in the ways of the world.

“It is, Lacey,” Moe said firmly.  “Taking in a child whose paternity remains a mystery is a big step for a man to take, but he’ll do it.  For you.”

Belle sighed, as sick of listening to someone tell her how noble Gaston was as she’d been years ago.  “I don’t want to marry Tony,” she said bluntly.  “I never have, and I’m happy where I am.”

“You can’t be happy with Gold, sweetie.  We all know what kind of man he is, and heaven only knows what kinds of terrible things he makes you do.”

“Will you _stop_ that?  All of you?” Belle finally snapped, her temper worn out.  “Gold isn’t some terrible monster who is forcing me to do _anything!_   He’s a good man, and he’s been much kinder to me than you have over the last four years.”

“Tony is—”

“I don’t care what Tony is,” she cut him off.  “I’ve never wanted to marry Tony. That’s always been what _you_ wanted me to do, and no one decides my fate but me.  So, if you want to be a part of my life, Dad, you get to do it on my terms.  Because I’m going to live it how I want and where I want.  You lost the right to tell me how to live when you kicked me out.”

“Now, see here, Lacey!  I’m not going to let you keep this self-destructive attitude going,” Moe snapped back, reaching out to take her arm.  “We’re leaving now, and I won’t let you go back to that monster.”

Belle yanked away, but Moe made a second grab for her.  Before he could make contact, however, a shadow suddenly loomed over them both.

“Is there a problem, Miss French?” Dove asked softly.  The big man had always been soft-spoken, but he’d always been her protector, too, even going back to the days when he’d crashed into the fairy who wanted to destroy Gabrielle and called her demonspawn.

“No,” Belle answered, never taking her eyes off of Moe.  “My father was just leaving.  Weren’t you?”

Moe looked between her and Dove several times before he shook his head, looking at her with such a disappointed expression that Belle almost laughed out loud.  She either had to laugh or cry, because her father’s rejection still burned, and she wanted so badly to patch things up with him…but Moe wasn’t going to let that happen.  Dove’s presence seemed to tip the scales in her favor, though, and Moe finally turned and walked away, leaving his daughter and granddaughter alone.  Again.

* * *

 

_3 ½ Months Before the Curse_

Princess Ella would call him that night.  Sometimes, Rumplestiltskin’s visions of the future were less specific, but he knew that the time would come soon.  The silly princess would work with Snow and Charming—ungrateful souls that they were—and trap him because she didn’t want to fulfill her end of a contract that she hadn’t bothered reading.  _I’ll give anything,_ Ella had said, but now she was too much of a coward to see that through.  Rumplestiltskin despised her for that as much as he needed her to do just that, and while he was glad to know that the girl didn’t really want to give her child up, that didn’t mean he had to appreciate the way she was going to go about it.  Sometimes lies were useful, but what kind of fool broke a deal with him?  She had no idea what it would cost her, and he certainly wasn’t going to pity her for that.

Were getting locked up as a prisoner not so very vital to his plans, he would never have gone through with this.  The coward in him wanted very much to ignore Ella’s summons, or at least not to warn Belle they were coming.  Then he could slip away and blame the royals, without having to explain to his wife and precious daughter that he was going away for several months.  But no.  Belle made him stronger, and Gabrielle made him want to be a braver man than he’d ever been.  He would not take the coward’s way out, not either of them.  So, he leaned over and kissed Belle on the cheek to wake her two hours after dawn broke, after he’d been staring at the ceiling for an hour and sorting through visions to make sense of them.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he murmured. 

“Umm.”  If she hadn’t been stirring already, Rumplestiltskin would not have gotten even that much of a response out of her; Belle had never been a morning person, and mothering a toddler only made her treasure her sleep more.

Rumplestiltskin blew in her ear, anyway, and was rewarded by a squeal and a slap to his bare hip.  That made him chuckle, not the high-pitched laugh of the imp but the lower laugh of the man he’d once been and the man Belle made him want to be again.  His wife twisted to give him a dirty look, but Rumplestiltskin just smiled, his earlier inner conflicts quieting as he looked at Belle’s beautiful—if disgruntled—face.

Oh, he was going to miss her.  When he’d conceived this plan over a decade earlier, Rumplestiltskin had never once considered having a family to leave behind when he threw himself willfully into prison.  Now, however, he had a beautiful wife and a precocious three year old daughter.  How could he leave them, even in the safety of the Dark Castle, for so long?  What if Cora didn’t manage to cast the curse? What if she took too long?  What if he _couldn’t_ walk out of that cell if he needed to, and everything went wrong?   _What if Cora, or someone else, discovers Belle and Gabi while I am indisposed, and hurts them?_

He hadn’t even realized that his smile had vanished until Belle rolled over to look at him, asking: “What’s wrong?”

Damn her for being able to read him so well.  Rumplestiltskin contemplated evading the question, but in the end, all that would buy him would be a few hours.  “Today’s the day,” he whispered, shifting to stare at the ornate ceiling of their bedroom.  “Little Princess Ella is going to call upon me, and they’re going to trap me.”

“Already?” Belle asked quietly, and he could practically feel her gathering her courage to mask her trepidation.  Belle knew what was coming, of course—how he could _not_ warn her about this?—but knowing and experiencing were two very different things.

“The curse is coming,” he replied.  That had been his mantra for the last year, the way he’d rationalized doing things that made even Rumplestiltskin uneasy.  It would have been easier if he’d been able to remain properly dispassionate, but Belle and Gabi weren’t the only ones who had crept into his little black heart.  There was a place for Regina there, too, and he knew that she was going to be terribly abused in this mess.  Perhaps not as badly as others, not _by_ the curse, anyway, but she would still suffer.  He wouldn’t cause that, not directly, but Rumplestiltskin was not so good at self-deception as to believe that he didn’t bear some responsibility.

 _I will find my son,_ he told himself again.  _I’m coming, Bae.  No matter what it takes._

“Will you be all right?” Belle asked, because she was _Belle_ , and she was far too brave to worry about her own safety.

“Of course I will,” Rumplestiltskin replied, although he wasn’t entirely sure how well his curse would take to being caged like that.  Sighing, he turned to look into concerned blue eyes.  “I’m more worried about you.  If someone—”

“You’ve told me what to do a hundred times, Rumple,” she cut him off gently.  “Stay in the castle.  Send Dove for anything we need.  So long as Gabi and I stay within the walls, we’ll be protected.  And we’ll be there on the other side, waiting for you.”

Belle punctuated the last words with a kiss to his shoulder, and Rumplestiltskin felt the human inside him melting as he gathered his wife into his arms.  “I can’t bear to risk you.”

“You won’t.  I don’t like staying cooped up, but I _do_ understand the dangers.  While I might accept those risks for myself, I’m not going to let anyone _ever_ hurt Gabrielle.  She’ll be safe with me!”

“I know that!” Rumplestiltskin protested, pulling her close.  “Sweetheart, I don’t blame you for what happened with that damn fairy, and neither does Gabi.”  He added philosophically: “She’s forgotten it by now, anyway.”

“I haven’t,” Belle retorted, her face buried in his shoulder.  “I just should have known.  I just…until then, I never understood what you meant when you said that you have enemies, and now I’m supposed to let those same enemies lock you away?”

“Oh, Belle,” he breathed, kissing the top of her head and wishing he could kiss more.  “They’re heroes, those princes and princesses.  They’ll lock me away, but they’ll not treat me too badly.  And even if they did, I’d survive it.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“I suppose it just puts things in perspective.  And it’s worth it, it if brings the curse.”

“And we’ll find your son,” she whispered, tilting her head back to look at him.  Their lips were so close that they might have touched accidentally, but after nearly four years of marriage, Belle and Rumplestiltskin had too much practice not allowing that to happen.  Instead, Rumplestiltskin felt gentle fingers touch his cheek, and warm blue eyes crinkled slightly as Belle smiled.  “We’ll find Baelfire.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he replied softly, shifting to lean his forehead against hers.  Over three years after she’d promised to do so, Rumplestiltskin _still_ couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that Belle wanted to help him in this quest of his, but she really did.  And she had. 

“You deserve me and worse, Rumplestiltskin,” Belle said with a small smirk, rolling them both so that she could swing a leg over his hips.  Then her smile turned positively wicked.  “But you’re welcome to show me how much you’ll miss me in the meantime.”

Rumplestiltskin needed no further invitation.

* * *

 

Graham had protested repeatedly that he didn’t need to—or want to—go out, but Emma and Mary Margaret had dragged him to Granny’s, using Graham’s doctor’s appointment as an excuse to get him out of the apartment.  The former sheriff grumbled good naturedly as they wheeled him inside, but Emma thought she could see a hint of a smile in his expression.  Nearly everyone in the diner greeted Graham excitedly, with Ruby even coming over to hug him, and that seemed to lift some of the shadows out of his expression.  Emma knew that Graham had been down since the accident, and that he still blamed himself, so she thought some time away from his tiny and impersonal apartment might do him some good.

They were halfway through lunch when a stranger walked into the diner, immediately stilling all conversations and making people stare.  Emma knew that she’d been the last stranger to walk into Storybrooke, and if Regina was to be believed, most normal people couldn’t even _see_ the town.  So how had this dark haired, leather-clad man come here?

“Who’s that?” Mary Margaret asked, following her gaze.

Emma put her burger down, watching the stranger take a seat at the bar and flirt with Ruby.  “I don’t know.  Do you?”  The question was directed at Graham, who shook his head.

“No idea.  But you should find out.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the sheriff,” Graham replied without so much as a flicker of regret.  “The mayor’s bound to be all over his arrival, so it certainly wouldn’t hurt for you to get in first.”

“You can say that again,” Mary Margaret breathed.  “Mayor Mills is _not_ going to like this.”  When Emma cast a curious glare her way, her roommate shrugged.  “You didn’t see her when you first arrived.  She was livid.  I actually watched her come in and threaten Granny in case you were staying here, but it turned out you were already staying with Regina.”

“She’s always such a joy to be around,” Emma agreed, rolling her eyes and standing up. “Fine.  I’ll go talk to Mr. Mysterious.  But don’t you two try to pretend that you’re not sending me over there for any reason other than your own curiosity.”

Even Graham laughed at that, and Emma was glad that she wasn’t leaving him alone.  Mary Margaret would make sure that their mutual friend didn’t dig himself into another depressed hole, and hopefully Emma could ask the new guy a few questions and then be done with it.  But Graham and Mary Margaret were right.  Cora was bound to get her panties in a twist over this visitor, and it really would make Emma’s job easier if she already knew who he was.  Besides, she _was_ curious.  Despite the way Henry gushed on about Emma’s very presence making time move forward, Storybrooke was one hell of a boring town.  _At least if you don’t count inexplicable auto accidents, library fires, or a crazy mayor,_ she thought to herself with a crooked smile, crossing over to the bar and plopping down next to the man in the leather jacket.

“Welcome to Storybrooke,” she said by way of greeting, and the stranger turned to face her.  He was pretty good looking, in a scruffy kind of way, with nice blue eyes that seemed full of mirth and mystery.  He assessed her as curiously as she did him, his gaze frank and appreciative, before replying:

“This seems like a pretty welcoming town. Everyone wants to talk to me.”

“We don’t get a lot of visitors,” Emma replied with a shrug.  “I’m Emma Swan, by the way.  Sheriff.”

“Wow.  I get a personal greeting from the sheriff.  This _must_ be a sleepy town,” he said with a small smile and feigned shock.  But he didn’t introduce himself, Emma noticed.

“Just a little, yeah,” she confirmed, fling his hesitation to offer his name away for later use.  Then something caught her eye, and Emma glanced down.  “What’s with the box?”

There was a plain wooden box right next to the outermost leg of his barstool; the stranger sat between her and it, but from where Emma was, the box looked significantly bigger than a briefcase and also big enough that hauling it around would be annoying.  It wasn’t terribly polished and she doubted it was luggage; besides, if he was staying at Granny’s, the stranger would have already dropped his luggage off in his room.  So why carry an ugly wooden box downstairs?

He shrugged.  “It’s my mystery.”

“Your _what_?” Emma asked suspiciously.  She’d only been idly curious before, but the evasive answer brought her hackles up. 

“It’s awfully frustrating not knowing, isn’t it?” the stranger countered with a smile that really set her teeth on edge.

“Just _tell_ me,” Emma snapped, perhaps a little more peevishly than she wanted to.  But this guy was really starting to get on her nerves.

“Why? Is it illegal to carry around a box in these parts?”

Rolling her eyes, Emma tried to get a hold on her temper, resisting the urge to call Mary Margaret over and tell her to deal with this kook.  “No, of course it’s not.”

“You really want to know what’s inside it, don’t you?”  Her annoyance seemed to please him; now the stranger was smiling.

“No,” Emma replied, but she knew the word came out too quickly, and had to admit: “Well, maybe.”

“I’m going to make you wait,” the stranger replied, now openly smirking.  Every word he spoke put Emma’s teeth on edge, and she wanted so badly to reach out and wipe that grin off of his face, but knew that she couldn’t.  “You’re going to have to wait a long time and watch me carry it around. Hauling it to strange and mysterious places. And with each passing moment, the mystery will become more tantalizing. Your imagination will inflame, but so will your frustration. Never knowing—only guessing—what could possibly be inside that box? Or, you could let me buy you a drink sometime and I’ll tell you right now.”

Emma blinked.  “You want to buy me a drink?”  _All that mystery, and that’s all you want?  Buddy, you’re selling yourself short._

“Yes.”

“Okay.”  She shrugged.  “A drink it is.”

Reaching down from his barstool, the stranger picked the box up and put it on the bar, using the bottom of the box to shift his plate and a bottle of ketchup aside.  Throwing Emma one last look, he unlocked the box, and then opened it with a flourish.  And then Emma stared.  There was nothing inside except a typewriter, and not even a very new one. 

“Really?” she snorted.

“I’m a writer,” he explained, and Emma wanted to bash her face into the bar.

“That explains the hyperbole,” she sighed.  All that mystery for nothing.  The guy was a writer.  But a writer of what?  Emma had allowed herself to get sidetracked by the mystery this stranger presented, but her initial concern was still justified.  No one ever came to Storybrooke, but this guy had.  “That’s why you’re here?”

“I find this place provides…inspiration,” he said slowly.  “Don’t you?”

When she didn’t answer immediately, he closed the box once more, locking it up tightly before standing.  Shrugging, he removed the box from the bar, dropped a tip, and then turned to leave.  Meanwhile, Emma’s mind raced to figure out exactly what he’d meant by those last remarks.

“Wait.  Have you been here before?”

His innocent look was hard to read.  “I didn’t say that.”

With that, the stranger turned to leave.  Emma twisted on her barstool to watch him as he walked by, confused and not enjoying the feeling that he’d just run circles around her.  “What about that drink?” she had to ask.

Now the damn enigmatic smile came back.  “I said sometime.”

* * *

 

They’d run into one another again, and this time Henry hadn’t even set it up.  Regina had resisted the urge to call her adopted son on the little stunt he’d pulled to get her and Errol to eat lunch together, mostly because she’d enjoyed herself so much, but this was really getting out of control.  _It’s one thing to encourage David to spend time with the woman he’s_ actually _married to, Regina, but it’s another thing entirely to go all moon-eyed over a man whose identity you don’t even know_ , she told herself.  Rationality, however, didn’t seem to be powerful enough to distract her, because a quick hello had somehow turned into an hour long conversation about kids, the idiotic school board, and ice cream.  In the end, they’d both had to force themselves to walk away, and Regina found herself wanting so badly to ask Errol to dinner one of these nights.

But she couldn’t.  Even if she could get some budding romance (which this _wasn’t!_ ) past her mother, Regina didn’t know anything about who Errol Forrester really was.   But she knew someone who would know.  The bastard knew who everyone was—if Regina didn’t know better, she would have thought that Rumplestiltskin had actually cast the Dark Curse, given how adept he was at anticipating and manipulating her mother’s precious curse.  So, she walked into the shop shortly after lunch, noticing how that damn librarian and Rumple were standing far too close together behind the counter.  Lacey withdrew in a hurry when the bell rang announcing Regina’s arrival, but that didn’t keep the mayor’s daughter from scowling.

What in the _world_ was Rumplestiltskin playing at?  Regina had no idea who Lacey French had been in their world—she certainly wasn’t anyone important, or Regina would have recognized her—but obviously the Dark One had some use for her.  The girl even had the nerve to smile at him before saying: “I’ll just head home, then.”

“Of course,” he replied with no appreciable expression, and thankfully the little tart ducked into the back room.  Regina waited until she heard that door open and shut again before crossing her arms and looking at her old teacher.

“I’m not going to ask,” she declared.

“Well, that’s wise of you,” Rumplestiltskin replied with Gold’s most annoying smile.  Had he always been like this under the curse?  Regina knew she’d seen more of his human side than nearly anyone else in the Enchanted Forest, but there were still times that looking at Rumplestiltskin as a human really threw her for a loop.

“I need some information,” she growled instead of rising to the bait he offered with a small wiggle of his eyebrows, almost daring her to jump down that rabbit hole.

“Of course you do, dear.  And I need the curse broken.  But we don’t always get what we want when we want it now, do we?” he countered.

Regina scowled.  “I’m working on it!  I’d like to see you do better.”

“The point is that we’re running out of time, dear,” Rumplestiltskin said, reaching out to shift a few items around on the counter.  “Your mother is growing increasingly infuriated. Miss Swan’s meddling has reawakened her desire for vengeance, and she’s going to begin lashing out.  Unless you want to encourage her to find new targets for her fury, we had best hurry.”

“She already tried to kill Henry,” Regina pointed out, the memory of almost losing her son making her quiet. 

“Indeed she did.”  Was that emotion flickering across his face?  Maybe the wily old bastard really did care for his little maid.  Regina knew better than anyone that he _was_ capable of feeling.  After all, he’d slept with her mother and still had something going on there that Regina resolutely did not want to ask about.  Her best guess was that Cora had possessed some sort of hold over Gold that Rumple was allowing her to think she still had over him, and the bastard certainly was cold-blooded enough to string Cora along in that fashion.  Whatever feelings he was capable of, however, Regina was willing to bet that they were more muted than a normal human’s, and she had to remember that when dealing with him, no matter how close they’d been in the past.  _Particularly because I don’t know if he_ wants _to be with Mother or not._

“Look, are you going to help me or not?” she demanded.  “I just need a name.”

“And do you have something to offer me in return?” he countered, and Regina was willing to bet that he was just asking that to get a rise out of her.

“How about I continue doing your dirty work and not dump my niece on you?” she snarled, and Rumplestiltskin actually chuckled.

“You drive a hard bargain, Princess,” he quipped, sounding almost like his old self.  “What do you want?”

“A name.”  She had to take a deep breath before continuing, because asking for his identity would suddenly make everything real.  But Regina squared her shoulders and gathered her courage, continuing: “Errol Forrester.  Who is he?”

“Ah, your son’s brave rescuer.  The Hero of Storybrooke.”  Rumplestiltskin’s lips twitched in what might have been generously called a smile, and Regina resisted the urge to remind him that Errol had saved his little maid, too.  And her daughter.

But Rumple had a point.  Errol _had_ been all over the front page of the _Daily Mirror_ for his headlong dash into the library to save a woman and two children.  Sidney, bless his pour, trapped soul, had written a lovely piece on Errol that Regina would _not_ admit to having read sixteen times.  Articles and fame aside, however, she still didn’t know anything about this man that she was so attracted to, and Regina need to know who he was.

“Do you know who he is?” she pressed when Rumplestiltskin said no more.

“Of course I do.”  The look he gave her suggested that Regina was foolish for even asking.

She was not in the mood for his games.  “Well?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” Rumplestiltskin asked, cocking his head at her curiously.  “He might not be what you expect.”

“Just tell me!”

His shrug was eloquent.  “Robin of Locksley.”

“A noble?” Regina asked, surprise bringing her up short.  She hadn’t expected that, and found that she was almost disappointed.  The irony of the fact that her new love wouldn’t infuriate her mother as much as the old one had wasn’t lost on Regina, but she’d half been hoping for someone that would really tick Cora off.

“Well…” Rumplestiltskin drawled, and then grinned nastily.  “He’s also known as Robin _Hood._   The outlaw.”

Regina felt her mouth dropping open into a round ‘O’.  Now _that_ was something her mother would hate…and Regina found herself oddly pleased.  She’d heard of Robin Hood, after all, and he was a man who fought for what he believed in, no matter what.  In short, he was what she’d always wanted to be, what she’d promised herself she _would_ be now that the curse had been cast.  And his wife was dead, too, in real life and not just in Storybrooke.  That meant she could actually give this a try.  That meant this might actually work, assuming he still liked her when the curse broke.

For the first time in decades, Regina felt hope flickering within her.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Emma led a scowling Francis Scadlock into the sheriff’s station, having received the call from Judge Dallas when she’d been halfway back to the loft.  It was storming like hell outside, which meant she had to double her bug back, then get out in the rain _again_ , only to find that the newspaper editor still hadn’t arrived.  She wound up waiting fifteen minutes for the jerk, only to find him scowling like this was _her_ idea.  He sure as heck didn’t look like a husband who had come to bail his wife out of jail; in fact, Scadlock’s expression was more akin to a man going to prison himself.

But Emma ignored that, opening the door.  She and Mary Margaret were planning on marathoning the four _Pirates of the Caribbean_ movies starting that evening, and she really didn’t want show up later than the pizza that Mary Margaret had ordered when Emma called to say she was on her way home.  Of course, now she _was_ going to be late, but there was nothing she could do about that other than hurry Scadlock through the required paperwork and then release his technically sane wife into his hands.  Emma still didn’t know why Victoria had attacked her, but she’d made bail, and that was really what counted until the D.A. decided to get off his ass and press charges.  Emma’d already talked to Spencer about it, but he was dragging his feet.  Probably at Cora’s instigation.

“You’re free to go,” she told the woman who had spent the last two weeks in a jail cell without saying anything useful.

“Thank you,” Victoria said quietly, with that same half-guilty, half-defiant look on her face that she’d worn ever since the attack.  She glanced at her husband.  “You came.”

“Don’t thank me,” the editor snapped.  “This wasn’t my idea.”

“Whose idea was it?” Emma asked curiously, but that only made Scadlock scowl.  His wife stepped out of the cell, smiling cautiously at him.

“It’s good to see you,” she said quietly, and wasn’t that a huge difference from the row Emma had last seen them having?  “I’m glad you’re all right.”

Scadlock just snorted.  “Why wouldn’t I be?  Now c’mon.  We have places to be.”

“Right.”  The blonde squared her shoulders and started to walk out with her estranged husband, but she turned to glance at Emma before they reached the door.  “Sheriff…I know this might not be worth much, but I’m sorry.”

Something in the other woman’s tone caused alarms to start going off in Emma’s mind.  Victoria wasn’t lying, not at all, but the sheriff suddenly knew that there was something very wrong here.  “Then why do it in the first place?”

“Temporary insanity.”  Victoria—or Ana, as she still insisted her name was—said with a shake of her head, and then allowed her husband to lead her out into the rain.

Weeks later, Emma would realize that she hadn’t seen the woman since that night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the late update—my real life and my beta have both been a bit busier than I expected! Thank you to all of you who have kept reading, and I hope you continue to have as much fun as I am with this story, particularly after the heartbreaking winter finale last Sunday.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Thirty-Two: “The Hard Road,” where Cora starts plotting some additional vengeance, Mary Margaret goes to visit Regina, and Francis Scadlock wonders why he’s doing Cora’s dirty work. Back in the past, Charming tracks Snow down (and meets some dwarves), Snow and Charming return home, and Cora dispatches Regina with a poisoned apple.


	32. The Hard Road

_3 Years, 10 Months Before the Curse_

“When you don’t want to be found, you really do know how to go to ground, don’t you?”

It had taken him two months to find her.  Two horrible, nerve-wracking months in which David was terrified that Cora had captured Snow, hurt her, or even killed her.  He knew firsthand how many men the Evil Queen had out hunting for Snow, having been on the run with her when they’d left Cora’s kingdom, dodging the Huntsman, mercenaries, and the Queen’s guard.  They’d managed then, but that had been as a team.  David knew that Snow could take care of herself, but that didn’t stop him from worrying.  He loved her more than he’d ever thought it possible to love a person, and not being near her was like missing a limb.  Now he’d finally found her, not anywhere David had expected, but in a small house in the woods.

Had he not tracked her here after finding Snow gathering firewood, David would never have thought to come to this place.  He might have expected Snow to be living in the woods like a bandit, but hiding out in a small, obviously occupied cottage was not what he had anticipated.

“I knew you’d look with Ruby,” Snow replied bluntly, shrugging a bit nervously.  Her eyes were looking everywhere but at him, but kept tracking back towards David as if she couldn’t bear to look away for long.  For his part, he watched her like a man dying of thirst stared at a glass of water.  Snow was so beautiful that it made his heart hurt, and he had missed her _so_ much.

“Well, yes.  I did,” he said when she offered nothing else, shifting uncomfortably.  Snow looked so at home here, dressed in a peasant’s dress and carrying a bundle of firewood.  She didn’t look like the princess he’d fallen in love with or the outlaw he’d been on the run with, and a sudden pain struck deep in David’s chest.  Was this it?  Had she decided that she would rather live like this than with him?  That fear kept him silent, left him staring helplessly at the woman he had come to love with his entire soul.

“Why are you here, David?” Snow finally asked as the silence wore on uncomfortably.  It was the first time he’d been uncomfortable around her, and David did not like the feeling at all.

“Because I love you,” he answered honestly.  “Because you _left_ with no warning, and I was afraid that Cora would find you and kill you.”

“Don’t you see?” she took an obviously involuntary step forward, her eyes wide and pained.  “That’s why I had to leave.  Cora almost killed you once, and then she tried to make you kill me.  I _won’t_ let that happen.  I’d rather live here, as a peasant in hiding, than let anyone hurt you.  I couldn’t bear it if that happened.”

Gaping, David could only stare at her for a long moment, hearing the deep emotion behind every one of Snow’s words.  It was as if her pain was his pain, and her heart was his heart.  He could suddenly _feel_ how much she missed him, could see shining it in her eyes like a gaping wound.  Without meaning to, David stepped forward, his feet carrying him towards Snow until he stopped just an arms’ reach away.

“I would rather fight danger with you by my side than live a safe life without you,” he told her.  “I love you more than I love my life.”

“I love you, too,” Snow whispered, and suddenly she was in his arms, kissing him while David’s heart roared in his ears and the world seemed to spin.  He had missed her so badly, had needed her so much, and the way Snow kissed him told David that she felt the same way. 

“Never leave me again,” he pleaded.

“I won’t,” she promised, and kissed him again. 

When they finally pulled apart, David suddenly realized that there were not alone.  Eight dwarves stood watching them in silence, but all of them looked towards Snow as the lovers broke apart, still holding hands.

“Is this him?” the grumpiest looking of the bunch asked, looking David up and down like he was some sort of animal to be inspected in the market.

“Yes, Grumpy, this is Prince James,” Snow replied with a smile. 

“I thought you said you didn’t want to see him.”

Tears shone in Snow’s eyes.  “I was wrong,” she said softly.  “I was so very wrong.”

* * *

 

They met outside the annoying old woman’s diner; Cora might not have seen them if she had not been walking down the street that afternoon, but she was out to see how her town was faring.  Cora had long since learned that the best way to take Storybrooke’s pulse was to walk amongst the residents, keeping an eye on them and spying out who might dare move against her.  Although she disliked having to lower herself to mingle with the peasants, it did serve to remind them of where the true power resided.  So, Cora usually enjoyed her little jaunts, enjoyed putting her people in their proper places and exercising her supremacy.  Power, after all, was meant to be used.  But not today.

Seeing Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan glowing in one another’s presence outside of Granny’s did nothing to improve her already sour temper.  They looked at one another like a pair of village idiots, moonstruck and stupid, with eyes only for one another.  It was sickening, and not only because it was evidence that her curse was weakening.  _I was never such a fool, even with my heart in,_ Cora thought, watching the two speak briefly before going their separate ways.  Did they think no one noticed?  Did they think _she_ did not notice?  Cora’s lips twisted into a sneer.  She had made them suffer in the past, but neither of those two had the slightest idea how terrible her revenge could be. 

_This is twice this prince has tried to jilt my daughter,_ she thought coldly.  _I will not let him do so, not this time._   But vengeance enacted in haste often came apart at the seams, and Cora had not inserted a thread with which to deal with Snow’s oh-so-charming True Love.  She had assumed he was dealt with via his marriage to Regina, but apparently the prince wanted to choose wrongly once more.  She would deal with that in time, particularly because Regina seemed incapable of doing so, or unwilling.  Of course, Regina had her memories back thanks to Eva’s infernal granddaughter, which meant she would prove difficult, but Cora knew how to control her daughter.  The same methods would work this time as well as they had in the past, even if she had to use a different bit of leverage.

“On Regina, perhaps,” she said quietly to herself, her eyes tracing over the rest of the town and cataloging those she needed to punish.  The list was long, but each person required a certain amount of care.  Some plans she already had in motion, but others she would have to…adjust.

_I cannot continue like this.  I must stop reacting to this infernal ‘Savior’ and take control of the situation,_ Cora decided as she walked back into town hall.  She might not be able to stop Emma Swan, not directly, but she could prove to the rest of this slowly changing town that they could not afford to cross her.  She would remind them of her power.

Slipping past Regina’s empty desk—where _was_ that girl?—and into her own office, Cora seated herself in her comfortable chair and pulling out a blank sheet of paper.  She missed the old parchment and quills of the old world, but there were certainly advantages to this world.  For example, a simple tweak of computer records could accomplish as much as magic could in the Enchanted Forest, ruining lives at her whim.  It was easy.  Not all of her plans could be enacted in that fashion, of course, but the curse had laid enough eggs for her to easily put things in motion.

Cora put pen to paper to record the others.

_Gold_ , was the first name she wrote.  Then next to it, she added:  _Exploit Lacey French with Moe French and Tony Rose.  Etc._

Next was _Mary Margaret Blanchard.  Debt.  Blame for her father.  Merryweather._

Then _Sidney_.  The genie still held a grudge, whether he remembered it or not.  She would have to watch to make sure he did not try to seduce Regina again, but in the meantime, she could use him.  _Hook to deal with._

_Regina—remove Henry from her care.  But where to keep him under control?  Or perhaps a serious injury.  Scadlock?  Death would be precipitous now._

_David—Compliance or death._

_Emma Swan—a curse?  Use Graham against her._

Then her pen paused, and Cora cocked her head thoughtfully.  Moving further down the page, leaving herself plenty of room for other notes, she wrote one more name. 

_Chloe Zephyr.  An alternate?_

* * *

 

_3 Years, 8 Months Before the Curse_

George gave Snow a sour look.  “I’m glad you were able to re-join us, Princess,” he said dryly.  “I would hate to liberate your kingdom without you.”

“I am glad to be back,” Snow replied with calm dignity, her hand held tightly within David’s.  The king nodded to his son, his attitude towards “James” slightly less frigid than it was towards her.  She supposed that was because he was getting credit for bringing her back, which David did deserve.  Yes, Snow knew that her future father-in-law was unhappy, and she didn’t blame him for that.  She’d run without warning whilst he was busy building an army to retake _her_ kingdom, all based on the promise that she would marry his son.  And she’d left.

Snow wasn’t really ashamed of that, even though she’d allowed David to talk her into coming back.  She’d run because she didn’t want to be used to hurt those she loved, not again.  Not after what had happened with her father.  Over a year after her beloved father’s death, losing him still burned.  Particularly like that.  He’d killed himself, chosen to drink the poison to spare Snow from having to force him, and had died telling her that he loved her.  Snow could picture every moment of that night still; they were etched into her heart with deep and painful strokes.  Leopold had died as bravely, but Snow would never forget that Cora had killed her father because of _her_.  She wouldn’t let that happen to David, too, and that had been why she left.  But David had reminded her that they were in this together, so she had come back.

“We’ll start planning your wedding immediately,” George decreed in a tone that permitted no arguments.  “And there will be no further escapades, will there?”

“No.  No, there won’t.”  Snow had made her decision, and David had warned her that George would want them to marry sooner than they had previously agreed upon.  She didn’t like it, but she understood the political necessity.  Her own actions had caused this situation, and Snow would have to live with that.  “I’m here to stay.”

Besides, a lot of battles could be won during the year it would take to plan a royal wedding.

* * *

 

Mary Margaret squared her shoulders.  She had never thought herself particularly brave person, but she needed to do this.  She had never felt for anyone the way she felt about David, and had they been free to be together, she would have felt like they could do anything, so long as they fought their battles side by side.  Mary Margaret’s soul wanted to fly high in the air every time she was with him; she felt complete, felt stronger and braver than she had ever been.  But things were not that simple.  David was married, and this relationship of theirs was _wrong._   There was no arguing that. 

Regina Nolan had never been anything but kind to Mary Margaret, even when the teacher had to tell her unpleasant things about Henry’s behavior at parent-teacher conferences.  Henry was doing better these days, but early in the year he’d been downright difficult, speaking out in class and refusing to fit in with the other students.  Despite that, Regina had always been understanding (unlike some pushy and obnoxious parents), and Mary Margaret had always liked her.  _And now I’m having an affair with her husband._

Sucking in a deep breath, she lifted her hand to knock on the door.  David was at work, watching over the pet shelter where no one had _ever_ adopted a pet until the week before, and Henry was out with Emma.  That meant Regina should be home alone, which was exactly what Mary Margaret was looking for.  So, she knocked, tentatively at first and then a little more strongly.  She had to do this.  She had to be brave.

The door opened all too soon.  “Mary Margaret,” Regina said with surprise.  “What can I do for you?”

“I was…wondering if we could talk,” she replied, wishing her voice didn’t sound so small.

“Of course.  Why don’t you come in?” the older woman stepped aside, looking like she felt as awkward about this as Mary Margaret did.  Obviously, she knew, but then, David had said he told her about them.  Taking another deep breath, Mary Margaret followed Regina into the house, trying not to notice the simple luxury with which it was decorated. 

Who was she to take this woman’s husband away?  David had a good life here, a _rich_ life.  Mary Margaret was dirt poor, struggling to pay her debts off even with Emma covering half of the bills.   David didn’t make much at the animal shelter, she knew.  Would they even be able to make a life together if he left Regina?  Suddenly, Mary Margaret got the terrible feeling that she was doing the wrong thing, that she shouldn’t be here at all.  She should walk away, should apologize and tell David that, no matter what they felt, they should not take such an insane risk based on their feelings.

“What can I do for you?” Regina asked while Mary Margaret was busy fighting with her heart.  She wheeled to face the other woman, tearing her eyes away from a beautifully expensive equine sculpture, and gulped.

“I wanted to talk to you about David,” she admitted in a tiny voice, but gained strength from the way Regina gave her an encouraging nod.  “I know…I know he said he talked to you already, but I…”

“You wanted to clear the air between us.”

Mary Margaret nodded helplessly.  “Yes.”

“There’s nothing to clear,” Regina said more gently than she would have expected.  “I know you love him, and he loves you.  I’m not going to get in the way of that.”

“You’re not?” she couldn’t help yelping.

Surprisingly, Regina smiled.  “No.  Not on your life.”

* * *

 

_3 Years Before the Curse_

The war had started four months earlier.  Cora’s forces had attacked before George finished massing his armies and had held the upper hand until George’s new general, Sir Lancelot, had turned the tide against her.  Lancelot’s armies had crossed the border three days earlier, and Regina now watched her mother rage after the news arrived in the capital.  Cora’s presence chamber was a wreck; ice cold wind still whipped at the ancient tapestries on the walls, one window bore a spider web of cracks, a candelabra had been overturned, and the ornate carpet leading up to the dais was singed.  Only the throne remained untouched.

Regina supposed that said a lot about her mother.

“I am done tolerating Eva’s daughter,” Cora snapped, swinging to face Regina.  She was cold now, her short burst of fury—probably all she could muster up with her heart still locked away—spent.  But Regina’s own heart still leapt into her throat, pounding rapidly.  She knew what was coming.  The moment she had dreaded for nearly a year had arrived.

_Oh, Snow…_

“It is time,” Cora declared, and a perfect red apple appeared in her right hand.  Dark eyes focused on Regina.  “You remember your duty, don’t you, darling?”

“Mother…” she whispered helplessly.  Regina had prayed this moment would not come.  Ten months had passed since her mother had laid down her ultimatum, and the less logical corner of Regina’s soul had dared to hope that Cora had changed her mind.

“Argue with me for one moment, Regina, and your precious stableboy will die.”

Regina’s mouth snapped shut.

Cora studied her in silence for a long moment.  “You will take my Huntsman with you.  Now go.”

* * *

 

He didn’t know why he was doing this.  He was a reporter, not a spy or some power-hungry mayor’s bully boy!  Yet still Francis Scadlock found himself following David Nolan as the man left the animal shelter and climbed into his old truck. Interestingly enough, David hung a left instead of a right, heading away from the home he shared with the mayor’s daughter and their annoying kid.  _Given how I feel about my own utterly bonkers wife, I can’t blame the poor bloke,_ he thought to himself, grinning at the steering wheel.  _He probably needs a bit of freedom._   _Bet Regina Mills Nolan is as controlling as her witch of a mother._

He still wasn’t sure why he worked for Cora so often.  Lord knew, he didn’t even _like_ the bossy woman, and she certainly didn’t pay him very well for any of these odd little jobs.  _Wait a minute…_ Sure enough, David Nolan wasn’t taking the scenic route home.  He took another turn, and Francis eased his BMW around the same curve a few hundred yards back.  This time of night, there wasn’t much traffic on Storybrooke’s roads, but Nolan didn’t seem to be worried about anyone following him.  _Guess he’s a bit of an idiot after all.  Cora wasn’t wrong about that._ Francis had laughed when the mayor had told him to spy on her bumbling and boring son-in-law, but apparently Cora was on to something.

It was almost dark by the time David pulled into a parking spot by the lake, and Francis did the same, choosing a spot far enough away from David to keep from drawing suspicion, keeping his headlights off.  Francis snapped a couple of pictures as the man climbed out of his car and headed towards the gazebo known as Lover’s Point, glad he remembered to bring the low light lens for his camera.  _Curiouser and curiouser._   Quietly, Francis crept out of his own car and jogged after David, grateful that his high quality camera meant he didn’t have to get too close.  So, Francis zoomed in on Lover’s Point…where there was someone waiting for David. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Francis breathed to himself.  That was the goody-two-shoes elementary school teacher, Mary Margaret Blanchard, and she was busy throwing her arms around David Nolan and kissing him senseless.  Not that Nolan seemed surprised, but _Francis_ was.  Mary Margaret was probably the nicest person in town, and _so_ not the one that Francis would have pegged to the ‘other’ woman.

_This is going to make one hell of a good story,_ the newspaper editor thought, snapping another set of photographs as the pair kissed a second time.  As usual, Cora had been right.  Francis could admit that while still despising the woman.  Still, she’d given him a story that would sell, and two innocent people to burn on the altar of public opinion.  Scandals made money, and Francis Scadlock was the king of scandals.

* * *

 

“My father tried to tell me that I should leave you and marry Tony,” Belle told Rumplestiltskin after a few days of mulling over the meeting with her father.  She wasn’t tempted—obviously—but there had been something desperate in Moe French’s eyes that gave Belle pause. 

Her husband snorted.  “How’d that work out for him?”

“Not terribly well.  I told him that is my life, and that he can either accept me as I am or stay out of it,” she replied, smiling.  They were curled up on the couch together reading after putting Renee to bed, but neither had been paying much attention to their chosen books.

“No one decides your destiny but you?” Rumplestiltskin quoted the words she’d said so long ago, and Belle felt her face heat a little.

“Exactly.”

“So,” he started, slipping an arm around her as Belle melted into his embrace, loving these quiet moments together when they could simply be husband and wife without the world telling them they were wrong.  “Why bring it up?  I’m assuming you made verbal mincemeat of him.”

“There was just…something in the way Papa said what he did,” Belle admitted slowly, turning the conversation over in her mind again and again.  “He seemed desperate.  He even said that Tony would ‘let’ me keep Renee, as if it was some huge concession.  And—well, I don’t know.  It’s probably silly.”

“It doesn’t sound silly to me, sweetheart.”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice dropped slightly, and Belle could hear the sharp edge creeping into his tone.

“Rumple,” she said softly, hoping to head his temper off before it could get going.

This was why she hadn’t told him right away, much though Belle was a big believer in keeping their relationship honest.  But, she’d married the Dark One with full knowledge of what he was, and although she knew that Rumplestiltskin _usually_ tried to be better for her sake (and sometimes even managed), he would always be a work in progress, particularly here in a world without magic where she could not break his curse.  The darkness inside him, and the things it did to him, had been very hard for her to swallow in the early days of their marriage, and she’d almost left him more than once because he couldn’t be honest with her.  But they’d both eventually managed to give a little and learn a lot…though Belle never let herself forget his tendency to overreact when that damn curse of his had a tight hold on his mind.

“What?” he half-snapped, and Belle twisted to face him.

“I’m fine,” she told him firmly.  “Renee is fine.  Don’t start getting overprotective on me again.  Please.”

“Your father—”

“Is my father,” Belle cut him off.  “And I’m sure he means well.  He just…oh, Rumple, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.  And he’s never understood.  It’s not like this is anything new.”

Rumplestiltskin actually growled, although it was a soft and frustrated noise instead of one full of fury.  “I don’t trust him, Belle,” he said bluntly.  “Not after he tried to send you to the clerics.”

“I know.  But there are no clerics here, or at least none that remember who they are,” she reminded him. “And I have you.  I’m not going anywhere.”

She punctuated the reminder with a kiss, and felt the tension slowly began to bleed out of her husband.  Still, Belle could sense his worry in his kisses, and knew what he wasn’t saying.  It had taken her a long time to understand how very much her husband depended upon his magic to let him feel like he was able to protect his family, and although she rather thought that their time in Storybrooke had proved he didn’t need magical power to do that, she wasn’t going to bring that up.  A good half of Rumple’s nerves came from the fact that he didn’t have magic here to protect her and Renee, and Belle just had to live with that.  She knew enough about Rumplestiltskin’s past to understand _why_ he felt that way, even if she couldn’t quite share his need for magic.  So, she did her best to calm him, knowing that only he could ignore the raging curse in his mind.

Fortunately, Belle also knew that being with _her_ helped him fight back the darkness, so she willingly threw herself into helping Rumplestiltskin forget the reasons he had to fear and the power screaming at him to wreak vengeance.  That, and she loved him, which made her task an absolute pleasure.

* * *

 

_3 Years Before the Curse_

Regina’s message had been completely unexpected, but Snow had still headed out immediately after receiving it via a friendly gray dove.  This time, she told David before doing so, because she _had_ promised not to run out again without warning, but Snow obeyed Regina’s request not to tell anyone exactly where she was going.  However, it turned out that telling David wouldn’t actually have mattered; the moment Snow was outside the castle walls, the letter she held teleported her and her horse across two kingdoms and to the grassy field outside of an empty barn.

A moment passed before Snow recognized where she was.  Blinking, she stared at the stable where Regina had brought her after she had saved her life so many years ago, the same place from which Regina had tried so hard to run away with Daniel.  The fields surrounding the barn where abandoned, now, and a little overgrown.   Regina had inherited the lands after her father’s death, but Snow knew that Cora never let her visit.  There were supposedly tenants who maintained the fields, but Snow couldn’t see anyone today.  Had they run away, or been driven off?  There was no way to know.

Taking a deep breath, Snow stepped forward and pushed the barn door open.  It creaked ominously, sounding like a woman wailing, but it swung aside begrudgingly after a moment.  Snow walked inside the stable, trying not to hold her breath nervously.  Regina was there, waiting for her, but her sister looked terrible.  Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she’d been crying, and her face was worn and drawn.

“Regina!” Snow cried happily, rushing forward to embrace her.  She hadn’t seen her older sister in almost a year, and Snow had missed her terribly.  The worst part about this war was that it forced them to be on opposite sides, and Snow would have done anything to change that.

But Regina stepped back, shaking her head.  She looked miserable.  “Don’t.”

Snow stopped, confused.  “What’s wrong?”

“She’s going to kill Daniel if I don’t do this,” Regina whispered brokenly, and Snow finally managed to grab her sister’s hands. 

“Tell me how I can help,” she said quickly.  “I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

“Don’t say that.  _Please_ don’t say that.  I don’t know how to ask you to do this…and I know that I shouldn’t.”

Whatever it was, Snow had no illusions over who was at fault.  _Regina_ was her sister, even if they shared no actual blood.  Snow would not blame her.  So, she looked Regina square in the eye and said: “ _You_ aren’t doing this.  We both know who is.  She’s just using you to hurt us both, and I won’t let her tear us apart.”

“I don’t deserve a sister like you.”

Regina seemed unable to hold back her tears, now, so Snow reached out to hug her tightly.  They clung to one another for several long moments, both crying quietly, before Regina stepped back, still looking devastated but perhaps a little less so.  She was certainly more under control, but Snow sensed that the calmer façade was brittle and likely to break at any time.

“Now,” Snow said as bravely as she could, noticing the Huntsman lurking miserably against the back wall.  “Tell me what we have to do.”

Taking a shuddering breath, Regina reached a hand out, flicking her fingers.  A swirl of purple smoke filled her palm, slowly resolving into a red and shiny apple.

“I need you to eat this.”  Her voice was so soft that it was barely audible. 

Snow eyed the apple warily.  “What’s in it?”

“One of the worst curses ever created.  A nightmare curse.”

“That sounds horrible,” she breathed before she could stop herself, and watched Regina flinch.  But Snow couldn’t ask Regina to sacrifice her True Love.  Not when Regina had saved her life more than once, and not when Regina had helped Snow find her own True Love.  So, she squared her shoulders again and asked: “What will it do to me?”

“Consume you in nightmares,” her sister answered bluntly.  “Make your worst memories seem real once more.  These curses kill people, Snow…and horribly.  Mother wants you to die in fear and in pain.”

Hearing that rocked Snow back on her heels, feeling ice seep through her veins.  She’d known that Cora hated her, had known that Cora wanted to see her suffer, but this…this was worse than she’d ever expected.  _And she wants to punish Regina, too.  She’s more evil than even I thought._ Snow shivered.  _She’s making Regina choose between me and Daniel, between her sister and the man she loves so much._ This _is Cora’s perfect revenge against me, my mother, and the daughter who dared to choose love over hatred._   Swallowing hard, Snow had to struggle for several moments to find her voice.

“Can it be broken?” she whispered, not daring to hope.

“Yes.  But it’s hard.  Most people just die.”  But there was something in Regina’s eyes that gave Snow pause.  Particularly when her sister looked away, glancing pleadingly at the Huntsman.  He nodded briefly, and turned away for a moment, studying the wall.

_Cora can see through someone’s eyes when she holds their heart,_ Snow remembered.  She knew that from painful personal experience.  But her thoughts were cut off by a suddenly tight embrace.

“Charming can do it,” Regina whispered urgently in her ear.  “He’s your True Love, and he can save you.  No one else can.”

Regina pulled back, and Snow let go of her reluctantly.  The Huntsman looked back their way almost as soon as Regina released her, his brief ignorance at an end.  Tears filling her eyes—not for herself, because Snow could face this bravely, but for her beloved sister who faced such a horrible choice—Snow nodded as firmly as she could.

“Okay,” she said.  “Give me the apple.”

“Are you sure, Snow?”

She squeezed Regina’s hand.  “You saved my love,” she replied.  “Let me help you save yours.”

“I love you.”  Reluctantly, Regina handed over the apple, and Snow took one last deep breath.

“I love you, too,” she replied, and took a bite. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I apologize for the delay before this chapter. That midseason finale just ripped my heart out and stomped on it. Rumbellers, however, take heart—I’ll be doing nothing like that to them here! And Outlaw Queen fans, there’s nothing like that for you here, either. I promise!
> 
> Next up is Chapter Thirty-Three: “Vengeance is Victory,” where August and Emma start talking, Cora starts pulling Moe French’s strings, a scandal erupts, and someone tries to blackmail Hook. Back in the past, Cora hides Snow away while she suffers under the nightmare curse and then offers peace to King George.


	33. Vengeance is Victory

“He’s kind of cute, don’t you think?” Ruby asked, making Emma look up from her hot cocoa. 

“Who?” she asked, blinking.  She’d been lost in thought, sitting quietly at the counter in Granny’s, and hadn’t noticed Ruby sauntering up and leaning over the counter to talk to her.  The diner had gone quiet while Emma was distracted, and the breakfast rush seemed to be over.  Henry was off to school, and Emma had been mulling over Graham’s current depression without paying attention to her surroundings.

“August,” the waitress replied, popping her gum.

“Who?”

“August W. Booth.  The writer.”

“Oh, so Mister Mysterious told you his name.”  Emma snorted.  “It’s about time that he stopped playing games.”

Not that this ‘August’ had been in Storybrooke longer than two days, but Emma was still a little annoyed about how he’d run circles around her.  So, it was really kind of nice to see someone poke a hole in his careful aura of secrecy.

Ruby laughed.  “Actually, I got a look at his credit card when he checked in,” she admitted.  “But I still think he’s cute.  Did you know that he’s travelled the world?”

“No, I haven’t talked to him since he taunted me with his box,” she replied, rolling her eyes.

“It’s kind of fascinating.  He said he was in Hong Kong and Phuket before coming here, that he travels all over the world looking for inspiration.  He writes about the things he sees and the people he meets.”

“My ears are burning,” another voice said before Emma could respond, and suddenly he stranger was sitting on the stool next to her, smiling fondly at Ruby.  “Good morning, ladies.”

Twisting to look at him, Emma arched an eyebrow.  “August, huh?  It doesn’t sound quite as enigmatic as you were aiming for.”

“I guess you’ve got me there,” Booth laughed.

“So, what _are_ you doing here, anyway?” Emma demanded, and then held up a hand before he could answer.  “And don’t tell me that you’re just here for inspiration.  You wouldn’t have been playing these mystery games if you were.”

“I might just be a jerk,” he offered with a charming smile.

“I don’t think that’s in question right now,” Ruby piped up dryly. 

 “Point taken.” August laughed, and then abruptly turned to look directly into Emma’s eyes.  “But no, I’m not just here for a book.  I’m here for you.”

“ _What_?”

“I didn’t expect to find you already here, to be honest,” he replied.  “I thought I’d have to hunt you down.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” What was this guy, some kind of long distance stalker?  Racking her mind to remember if she’d ever seen this man before, Emma couldn’t recall his face.  Or the two blue eyes that now stared at her so intently, as if he was waiting for something amazing.  He was striking enough that Emma thought she _would_ recognize him if she’d met him before, but nothing came to mind.

“I’m talking about you,” August replied earnestly, his eyes shining with the same passion Henry’s did when he talked about his Book.  “You’re special, Emma.  I bet by now that you’ve noticed that Storybrooke isn’t a normal town.  And everyone here is counting on you to—”

“You’re a little late to that game, buddy,” Emma cut him off, her voice sharp with disappointment.  Did _everyone_ have to try that tact?  “I’ve heard all this before.  Did Regina put you up to it?”

August blinked, seemingly having a hard time processing that information.  “Who?”

“Regina Nolan,” she explained as Ruby listened, clearly interested.  “The mayor’s daughter.”

“You can’t trust her!” the newcomer burst out, suddenly animated and concerned.  August sat up straight on his barstool, and Emma thought he actually might jump to his feet in alarm.  “She’s the Dark Princess!  She’s betrayed everyone who ever trusted her!”

“Whoa, there.  Calm down,” she said before he could get to excited.  Not that August didn’t seem to have already flown off the handle.  His eyes were wide and his expression almost comically worried; Emma wasn’t quite sure how August could get so worked up after two days in town, but he was obviously excited.

“You don’t understand how important this is,” he tried again, and Emma rolled her eyes.  The rhetoric was as annoying as the mystery already.

“I’ve got a pretty decent idea, thanks.  Now, why don’t’ you stop making a scene and scaring people who have no idea what’s going on?”

“You already believe,” August breathed as if it was a prayer.

Emma sighed.  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“But—”

“Look, let’s talk about this another time, okay?” she suggested, interrupting him again.  Emma couldn’t take much more of this zeal for the curse.  At least Regina didn’t preach at her like this—even if the so-called ‘Dark Princess’ had a temper that matched Emma’s own—and Henry was ten.  He had an excuse for his enthusiasm.  August looked older than she was, and Emma wasn’t in the mood to listen to a grown man go on about curses and fairytales. “I have to get to work.”

Emma stood and walked away before August could object, refusing to look back as she exited the diner.  A headache was already threatening to build behind her eyes, and Emma knew it would go nuclear if she had to listen to more of this insane curse crap today.  Still, a little voice in the back of her mind persisted:

_He’s not from Storybrooke.  Regina didn’t tell him, and I know Henry hasn’t met him.  How in the world did he know about the curse?_

* * *

 

Weak men were always the easiest to manipulate.  This one was easier than most; Cora hadn’t paid any particular attention to Moe French—formerly an unimportant landed knight whose name Cora would not have remembered if she had not looked it up in her records—while casting the curse, but she didn’t need to.  The general misery of Storybrooke had embraced him far too well.  He was a recreational gambler with terrible luck, a businessman with questionable monetary sense, and the father of a timid girl with loose morals.  None of those characteristics were particularly crippling, but they did make him so very simple to…persuade.

“I can’t let this go on, Madam Mayor,” Moe said pitifully, wringing his hands as he stood before her desk.  Cora watched him calmly, hiding her satisfaction behind a politely attentive expression.  “I just can’t.”

“And you shouldn’t,” she soothed him after _just_ too long of a hesitation, giving Moe plenty of time to convince himself.  “But you do face a significant problem.”

“I can’t believe the sheriff has found nothing!” he half-shouted, and Cora could hear victory singing sweetly in her ears.

“It is a pity,” she said smoothly, still gazing up at him with the most innocently concerned expression she could muster.  “But I have always had my doubts about Miss Swan.  I am not certain that she is investigating things as thoroughly as she should.”

“Then what can we do?”

Under other circumstances, Cora would not have been able to put up with that obnoxious whining, but for now it served her purposes. So, she sighed a little theatrically, since Moe needed to be led by the nose and subtlety was utterly beyond him, and answered:  “When the law cannot protect those he loves, a strong man takes matters into his own hands.”

Not that Moe French was strong, but he perked up upon hearing her appear to think he was.  Immediately, his chest puffed out and he straightened.  Cora could see ideas whirling through his mind, but he wasn’t where she wanted him to be, not yet, so she added:

“The only way to free Lacey is to teach Gold that he cannot hurt her,” she said, feigning thoughtfulness, and tugging on the curse just so.  Moe didn’t need much of a push, but a little _encouragement_ couldn’t hurt.  “If no one ever teaches that horrid man a lesson, he will continue to do as he pleases.”

 “I thought you were fond of him,” Moe said a little suspiciously.  Perhaps she was laying it on a bit thick.

“He has his uses, but only insofar as he understands his place,” Cora replied as demurely as she could.  “I fear I have failed to enforce that.  Perhaps it will take a better… _man_ than I to manage it.”

He bit like an eager puppy offered a bone.  “What do you think I should do?”

Cora smiled.

* * *

 

_3 Years Before the Curse_

Poor Regina had been so startled when her _darling_ stepsister had disappeared immediately after biting into the apple, but Cora had planned for everything.  She’d even expected her daughter to come striding into her presence chamber full of pain and righteous indignation, demanding to know where Snow had gone.  So, Cora only smiled, relishing Regina’s fury.  She knew it was something she could build into a proper detachment; after all, the greatest pain bred the greatest power.  Had she not had her heart broken repeatedly before she made her own choice?  Someday, Regina would thank her mother for the way she was planning out her future.

“She’s safe, of course,” she answered her daughter’s question.  “In a place of my devising, where she can suffer out her last days alone.”

“ _Alone?_   Mother, you’ve already cursed her!  What more vengeance do you need?” Regina demanded brokenly.  “Why can’t you let her spend the last days around people who love her?”

Apparently, sentimentality remained one of her daughter’s weaknesses.  “I’m doing those fools a kindness,” Cora replied frankly.  “Otherwise, one of them might try to save her and die doing so.  I can only imagine how violent dear Snow would get if she managed to find a weapon.”

“That’s _your_ doing!”

“And yours, darling.  You did curse her, after all.”  Cora shrugged, waving a hand at the mirror.  Sidney was forbidden from appearing in Regina’s presence, but the magic she’d imbued him with still lingered.  “Show me Snow White.”

A thin gray fog appeared over the mirror’s surface momentarily, quickly resolving into the image of a fair young woman trapped in a glass coffin.  The coffin had been Cora’s special touch—every memorable tale needed such details, after all—and it allowed Cora to trap her stepdaughter and view her at the same time.  _It will also keep any well-meaning heroes from reaching her…as will the surprises lurking in the cave around her._   Snow was twitching violently, already caught up in the worst nightmares she’d ever had, and Cora found herself wondering exactly what Snow was dreaming of for one delicious moment.  Was it Leopold’s death?  Her mother’s?  Being trapped on that runaway horse with no one to rescue her?  Losing her precious prince to Regina?  Whatever it was, Cora was sure Snow was in hell.

Shivering in delight, she turned back to face Regina, realizing that she had no idea what her daughter had just said. “What was that, dear?”

“I asked why you had to put her there,” her daughter repeated mulishly.

“Well, we can’t have Prince James rushing in there and getting himself killed now, can we?”

“You can’t possibly still want me to marry him!” Regina glared, but Cora answered honestly.

“Of course I do, dear.  Marrying James will give you two kingdoms, not just one.”  Reaching out gently to brush hair out of her daughter’s face, Cora frowned when Regina jerked away.  “I only want what’s best for you.”

“No, you don’t,” was the bitter answer.  “You just want more power for you.”

“No, I don’t,” she replied seriously.  “You’ll be queen when I am gone, Regina, and someday you will understand.”

“I doubt it,” Regina muttered, and Cora sighed, transferring her attention off of her ungrateful offspring and back to the mirror.

The sight she saw made her smile.  Snow was screaming, thrashing within the coffin, with tears streaming down her pretty little cheeks.  Even without her heart, Cora felt a warm feeling building within her chest.  _Look at your precious daughter now, Eva.  She’s going to die screaming, and_ my _daughter will be queen._

* * *

 

The article hadn’t turned out quite like he intended, but after a conversation with the mayor, Francis had to admit that it was better than he’d expected.  Cora gave him a bit of even more useful information than he’d gained while spying on David Nolan, too.  At first, he hadn’t quite believed what she had handed him.  After all, Francis wasn’t a fool.  The mayor had her own agenda, and he wouldn’t put it past her too feed him falsehoods and then hang him out to dry.  So far as he knew, Cora had no particular reason to dislike him—Francis had helped her often enough, even when doing so went against his better judgment—but Cora Mills was a wily woman with as much compassion as a dead cat.  _Takes one to know one, I suppose,_ he thought with a wry smile.  _I’m not particularly known for my compassion, either._

“Liz!” he bellowed, and waited a few seconds for his assistant to scurry over.  He didn’t bother to look at her, never lifting his eyes from the old-fashioned hardcopy of his article he’d been studying.   “Find me the most innocent looking picture of Mary Margaret Blanchard that you can.”

“Yes, sir,” the dark-haired woman replied, scurrying off.

Francis ignored her; he always did.  Instead, he swept his eyes over the second paragraph.

 _It’s easy to think fondly of Mary Margaret Blanchard,_ the article read.  _She’s quiet, she’s kind, and every student loves her.  But what kind of monster lurks beneath the perfect façade?  Can anyone be as perfect as our mild-mannered elementary school teacher pretends to be?  Of course, everyone has their flaws, but when one holds a position of such public trust as is required to teach our children, those flaws must be examined._

_It’s not Ms. Blanchard’s affair with David Nolan that should worry us, though.  Sordid though her relationship with a happily married man—and father!—is, surely both parties are to blame there.  One can easily imagine Blanchard seducing Nolan away from his lovely wife, all innocence and sweet looks, but that is not the thing that should worry parents at Storybrooke Elementary.  Surely Regina Nolan will face that terrible pain bravely.  No, there is something much darker and much more monstrous in Mary Margaret Blanchard’s past._

The article was short and to the point, full of pictures of the couple at Lover’s Point and also of them talking outside of Granny’s.  Liz had also managed to dig up a family portrait of the Nolans, the domestic happiness in which serving a great counterpoint to the passionate kiss between David and Mary Margaret that Francis had captured on film.  And then there was a picture of the dignified-looking Leonard Blanchard, who everyone knew had bankrupted his own publishing company and then died under a cloud of shame.   Right after that specific picture, the article continued:

_We all know that Leonard Blanchard died in an accident not long after the catastrophic failure of Fairest of all Fiction.  Few mourned him, particularly his creditors, but what no one thought to mention at the time was that it may have been no accident.  Then-Sheriff Graham Humbert—a longtime friend of Mary Margaret’s—preformed a cursory investigation, but nothing came of it.  Records indicating that Mary Margaret was actually present for her father’s fall off the clock tower were brushed aside, barely mentioned, and all but purposefully buried.  Of course, the former sheriff is now facing plenty of his own problems, but that doesn’t erase what happened._

_So, what did happen?  Might Mary Margaret have decided to rid herself of her drunken gambler of a father before he could rack up any more debts?  Might she have tried to stop him from committing suicide…or might she have helped?_

_There’s no way to know, but there are plenty of questions to ask, aren’t there?  Do we want someone like that teaching our children?  She might have killed her own father.  Will she teach them to do that?  She is tearing a marriage apart.  Will she tell them that family values are unimportant?  The man she seduced is the father of one of her own students.  What kind of message does that send to her class?_

_Questions like this make me glad I have no children, because personally, I’d be terrified to send them into fourth grade._

Finally, he scrawled a title across the top of the page: “ **SCHOOLTEACHER WITH SORDID SECRETS.”** Liz would make his changes, and they’d get the article ready to go for tomorrow’s edition.  He’d have to remember to tell the printer to put out extra copies.  This article was going to light _someone_ on fire, and if he was lucky, the blaze would engulf all of Storybrooke.

* * *

 

Emma hadn’t expected to come downstairs and find her roommate crying.  The morning had started like any other, although Emma had hit the snooze button twice more than usual, which meant she trundled down from her room late enough that Mary Margaret had already fetched that day’s edition of the _Daily Mirror_.  She was staring brokenly at the front page, pale as a ghost and with tears streaming down her face.

“Mary Margaret?” Emma asked worriedly, forgoing her normal morning coffee and sitting next to her roommate at the table.  “What’s wrong?”

“This,” Mary Margaret whispered, gesturing at the front page of the paper as she bit back a sob.  Plastered on it, right at the top where everyone looked first, was a rather nice picture of the schoolteacher.  She was smiling in the picture but not now, and once Emma saw the headline, she understood why. 

“Let me see that,” she said around the sudden lump in throat.  Mary Margaret handed the _Daily Mirror_ over, and Emma scanned the article quickly.  “What the hell is _wrong_ with Francis Scadlock?”

“I don’t know,” was the barely audible answer, and Emma wrapped an arm around her, squeezing gently.

“We’ll fix this,” she reassured Mary Margaret.  “No one is going to believe this trash about you, anyway.”

Inside, however, Emma was steaming.  Reading the article a second time only made her angrier; it was an utter piece of trash, without a shred of proof for the truly damning charge.  Yeah, there were pictures of Mary Margaret and David, and that meant there was nothing anyone could do to shield Mary Margaret from _that_ affair.  But by coupling the affair—and its questionable morality—with the possibility that Mary Margaret had had a hand in her father’s death, Scadlock had done far worse than call her the ‘other’ woman.  He’d insinuated that she was a murderer, a monster, a daughter who killed her own father.  Parents were going to freak out.  _What a rat bastard,_ Emma thought acidly, making a mental note to have a chat with Francis Scadlock.

And Graham.  She needed to ask Graham what in the world had happened.  This was the second very questionable thing she’d discovered his involvement in, and between this and arresting people who later wound up in the asylum, Emma was beginning to worry.  She wanted to trust Graham, and she liked him a lot, but what the hell was going on?

Mary Margaret’s only response was a miserable gulp and a watery nod; what little makeup she was wearing was already running, and Emma hugged her again.   “I don’t know what to do…”

“I’ll talk to Scadlock,” Emma promised, resisting the urge to promise to beat him senseless.  But she was the sheriff.  She couldn’t do that kind of thing now.

“It won’t help,” Mary Margaret moaned.

“Don’t say that,” she said firmly.  “We have to fight this, okay?  And we have to start that by you telling me what happened.”

“You know about David already.  We met the other night, just to talk.  We both talked to Regina, and she said that she’s all right with this!  Why is Scadlock making her out to be the victim?”

“Because it sells papers.”  Emma shrugged cynically, and then continued.  “The affair isn’t the problem, Mary Margaret.  The thing that’s going to give you real problems is the insinuation that you had something to do with your father’s death.”  She took a deep breath.  “Can you tell me what happened?”

Huge, tear filled eyes focused on her, and Emma knew that one wrong word on her part would break Mary Margaret’s heart.  _I won’t do that,_ she promised herself.  Mary Margaret was the first real friend she’d ever had, and Emma would stand by her no matter what.

“I don’t think you did anything,” she said gently.  “But I need to know, and not just because I’m your friend.  I’m also the sheriff, and you _know_ that Cora’s going to make me investigate this.  She hates you.”

“I’ve never understood why,” her roommate said softly, dropping her head to stare at the tabletop again.

_Things like this make me want to believe in Henry’s curse.  At least that would explain Cora’s irrational hatred for Mary Margaret._

“Why doesn’t really matter,” Emma pointed out.  “But what happened to your father does.”

“I don’t really remember.  It’s all so foggy.  I thought…well, I didn’t really remember him falling off the clock tower until I read it here,” Mary Margaret admitted.  “I just remember losing him so suddenly, and then my husband died...  I drank a lot after that, and I don’t think my memories are very reliable.”

Emma blinked.  _Regina said she thinks the curse is weakening…_ “You didn’t remember that happening before now?”

Shaking her head miserably, Mary Margaret replied: “I remember it now, though.  I must have forgotten.”  She shrugged.  “I probably drank too much after I lost my daughter.”

“Lost your _what_?”

“I had a miscarriage.  It was a long time ago.”  Mary Margaret still looked unbelievably sad, though, and Emma felt her own chest growing tight.  They’d rarely talked about their pasts, except for failed relationships and men, and Mary Margaret had never once mentioned losing a child. 

 _If Henry and Regina are right… That child was me_ , Emma though, barely able to catch her breath.  How could that book include details like that?  The only logical explanation was that none of this was real, but it all made too much sense.  Common sense, however, still told Emma that this curse was all a giant hoax or practical joke, even if Regina and Henry didn’t realize that.  It couldn’t be real.  Could it?

But Mary Margaret hadn’t remembered those events until she saw them in the paper, either, and although Emma was no expert on memory loss and alcoholism, she knew there was something off about that.

“Maybe you should talk to Doctor Hopper,” she suggested. “He can help you figure out what you remember, and maybe help you deal with it, too?”

“Oh, I couldn’t bother him.  I’m fine.  I really am.”  She didn’t look fine, though, and Emma wondered how many times Mary Margaret had told herself that.

“You might have been before, but you aren’t now,” Emma said bluntly.  “Besides, Archie’s the nicest guy in town.  If anyone can help you, he can.  And in the meantime, I’ll try to get to the bottom of what happened.”

“Thank you, Emma,” Mary Margaret whispered, and Emma found herself being hugged back.

Life had been so much simpler when she was a loner who just hunted criminals down, with no attachments and no family.  Despite that, and despite being stuck in a crazy town where two of the three people she was closest to insisted there was a horrible curse cast by an evil queen, Emma found she was rather happy in Storybrooke.  It was insane, but it was…nice.  It was nice to care about someone—more than one someone—and to have them care about her.  _Careful, Swan,_ she cautioned herself.  _All good things come to an end, and this one will end, too.  Don’t get too attached._  

Still, she could investigate this mess in the meantime, starting with talking to Francis Scadlock.

* * *

 

_3 Years Before the Curse_

“I can’t believe this,” George snarled, slamming the newly-delivered missive down on the polished round table.

“What is it, Father?” David asked.  He’d just walked in, having been summoned after the messenger arrived, and the king’s outburst made him stop cold.  David had never seen his adopted father so angry, not even when Snow had run away.  But George was livid, now, red in the face and glaring at the black-clad messenger.

David recognized that armor immediately; this man was a guard serving the Evil Queen.  He looked unhappy, though, and David squinted at his bearded face, trying not to jerk back in recognition.  He was the Huntsman, the captain of Queen Cora’s royal guard…and the same man who had allowed David and Snow to escape more than once.  Snow called him a friend, albeit one who was stuck serving Cora, and David’s heart leapt slightly. 

“This message,” George replied, shooting another glare at the Huntsman.

“Is there news of Snow?” he asked, half nervous and half hopeful.  Snow had warned him before she left this time, at least, and David had told George to keep the king from getting worked up. George would probably have stopped Snow from going if he could, but David had been smart enough to break the news after Snow was already off to answer Regina’s urgent summons.  David knew how close the sisters were, and he hated the fact that Cora forced Snow to be on the opposite side of this war from Regina.  He’d treasured a few hopes that Regina wanted to meet because she was finally able to join them, but Snow’s disappearance indicated otherwise.

“Yes.  Here.”  George tossed the letter to him, and David picked it up, quickly scanning the lines.

_King George—_

_Your son’s engagement with my stepdaughter is at an end.  Snow White—traitor and murderess that she is—has been apprehended and dealt with.  She will no longer trouble your kingdom.  I expect news of her death shortly._

_When you are prepared to make peace, I will be magnanimous, despite your attempt to conquer over my kingdom.  I understand your desire to marry your son to an heiress, and such an arrangement could easily be reached, provided that you are prepared to be reasonable._

“You don’t want do this,” David whispered, turning to look at his adopted father.  He knew that George would never care for him the way he had James, but David thought the two of them had come to an understanding over the last two and a half years.  George knew that David loved Snow, and the letter had indicated that she wasn’t dead.  Surely his ambition would not override his hatred of Cora.  “Please tell me you don’t want me to—”

“To marry that viper’s daughter?  Not unless it’s the last option available,” George cut him off, and David felt an enormous weight lift off of his shoulders.  The king’s next words, however, made his heart sing: “Find Snow.  Take as much of the army as you need, but bring her back.  Do whatever it takes.”

“I will,” David promised.  He’d started searching for Snow already, but having George’s backing would make things much easier.  She was out there somewhere, probably in Cora’s keeping, but David would let nothing stand between him and finding his True Love.

 _I’m coming, Snow,_ he promised silently.  _I will always find you._

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin was no hero, and yet he still spent several days puzzling over how to save his wife from her current predicament.  Moe French had tried calling the house five times since his conversation with ‘Lacey’ in the park, and Rumplestiltskin answered the phone this last time to keep Belle from having to deal with her idiot father.  He was one of the few people in Storybrooke who had Caller ID, and by now they both recognized the phone numbers to both Moe’s apartment and his flower shop.  So, he picked up the phone before Belle could even get into the kitchen from where she’d been playing with Renee in the living room.

“I’ve a mind to file a restraining order against you, Mr. French,” Rumplestiltskin growled by way of greeting, not even bothering to say hello first.

“I want to speak to my daughter, Gold,” Moe replied, but Rumple could hear the slight quaver in his voice.  _Good._

“And she doesn’t want to talk to you,” he replied shortly, remembering how Belle had cried after that last call, whispering that she just wanted her father to understand.  Moe had called her a lot of things when she tried to tell him she was happy with Gold, and none of them were words a daughter should ever hear from her father.  Rumplestiltskin was _still_ angry over that, and he wasn’t about to hold Belle while she cried because of this man.  Not today.

“Let her tell me that herself,” the florist snapped.  “Unless you’ve locked her away somewhere.”

 _Not this time,_ Rumplestiltskin thought, his inner imp cackling as the outer man snorted.  “I’m not the one trying to make her choices for her, dearie.”

“I’m trying to protect her from you!”

“Did it ever occur to you that that isn’t necessary at all?” Rumplestiltskin countered before he could stop himself.  But then movement to his right caught his eye, and he turned to see Belle standing in the doorway, looking torn and worn out.

“I’ll talk to him,” she said softly, stepping forward and placing a soft hand on his arm.  “Thank you for trying.”

 _She’ll blame you,_ a voice inside him whispered, and whether it was his curse being obnoxious or his own persistent self-doubts, Rumplestiltskin didn’t know.  The trust issues in the early part of their marriage were mostly in the past—although the fight they’d had when Belle found the gauntlet he’d once traded for her had been explosive—but part of him always worried that he would put one foot wrong and Belle would leave him forever.  _She will,_ his curse taunted him.  _They always do!_

“Sweetheart…” Rumplestiltskin hadn’t meant to hide this from her, just to spare Belle another painful phone call, but she just shook her head, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.  Her hand on his arm squeezed, and warmth stole through him when he realized she wasn’t angry. 

Meanwhile, Moe was shouting into the phone:  “If you’ve hurt my Lacey, I swear I’ll—”

“You’ll what, Dad?” Belle cut in, having taken the phone in time to hear that.  “I’d like to know.”

Rumplestiltskin could hear Moe stumbling through some sort of explanation, but he stepped away to give his wife some space.  Still, her voice carried even as he limped into the living room, and Rumplestiltskin could hear the heartbreak mixing in with her anger.

“No, you listen to me, Dad.  I am where I want to be, and if you can’t accept that, stop calling.  I’m not coming home, and I’m not marrying Tony.  I’m _happy_.  End of story!”

Belle paused even as Renee toddled over to Rumplestiltskin and threw her arms out to him.  Smiling, he picked her up, wrapping his little girl in his arms so that she didn’t have to listen to her mother’s angry words. 

“Mamma angry?” their daughter asked, looking concerned.

“Mamma’s putting someone in their place,” Rumplestiltskin replied honestly, hobbling to the couch to sit down with Renee in his lap.  “She’ll be back in a minute.”

“Okay.”  Renee reached up to tug gently on his hair.  “Braid?”

Snorting out a laugh, Rumplestiltskin carefully pried his hair out of her fingers.  “You can braid Mamma’s hair, sweetheart.  Mine’s too short.”  Or at least he hoped it was.

“Poo,” was her cheerfully annoyed response, and he had to try really hard not to laugh again.

“Not that word again,” Belle sighed, walking into the room before he could chide their child.  There were lines in her face but no tears this time, and Rumplestiltskin held his hand out to her invitingly.  Belle took it, sinking down onto the couch next to him.  Her hand trembled slightly, and he squeezed her fingers reassuringly.  Belle gave him a wan smile and slumped into him, nestling her head into his shoulder and pressing the length of her body against his.  Renee immediately shifted over to be in both their laps, reaching for Belle’s long ponytail with chubby fingers and starting to braid it.

“Sorry for the bad word,” Renee said after a moment, giving both her parents a bright smile before returning her attention to Belle’s hair.

“Did he listen?” Rumplestiltskin asked quietly as Belle turned big blue eyes on him.

“I doubt it,” she admitted quietly.

Slipping his fingers free of hers, Rumplestiltskin shifted to wrap an arm around his wife.  Suggesting getting a restraining order against Moe French was on the tip of his tongue when a better notion occurred to him.  “Sweetheart, I have an idea.”

“Should I be worried?” Belle quipped, and Rumplestiltskin was glad to see a smile peeking out from behind her exhausted anger.

“I hope not,” he replied, leaning in to kiss her on the side of her forehead.  Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t mention the things he wanted to do to her father—Belle didn’t need to hear that, and beating Moe French senseless wouldn’t do any good once the curse broke and Moe became Sir Maurice once again.  Then, Belle would want to reconcile with her father, and she would have no chance of doing so if her husband screwed things up now.

“What are you thinking?” she asked with a sigh, though he could tell that her exasperation was not with him.  “I think I’m ready to try almost anything at this point.”

“You know how I love hearing that,” Rumplestiltskin teased her, and now it was Belle’s turn to snort.

“I said _almost_ anything, you horrible beast,” she laughed, and Rumplestiltskin let himself smile as he finally managed to cheer her up.  Once, had Belle called him a beast, Rumplestiltskin would have flinched away, wounded beyond measure.  But they had been married for a long time now, and he knew she was teasing him, just as he was teasing her.

“Well, then, in that case, will you marry the beast?” Rumplestiltskin countered with a grin.

Belle sat up to look at him, frowning as she gave him The Glare.  “I already did, in case you’ve forgotten our trip to Amorveria.”

“No, I mean here,” he clarified.  “If Lacey and Gold are married…it might make things easier.  If not now, later.”

“You mean after the curse—owh!” Belle cut off as Renee accidentally tugged on her hair, glancing down at their daughter, who had created a mess instead of a braid.  “Careful, sweetie.”

Brown eyes turned guilty.  “Sorry, Mamma.”

“It’s all right,” Belle reassured Renee, kissing the top of her head.  She and Rumplestiltskin exchanged a glance over their daughter’s head, and he could see agreement in Belle’s eyes.  “But will you answer a question for me, Renee?”

“Uh huh.”  Now her smile was sunny.

“How would you feel if Mr. Gold and I married?  If he was actually your papa?” Belle asked, and Rumplestiltskin felt his hand tighten on his wife’s shoulder.  Her hand shifted to his thigh in return, squeezing gently as their daughter looked between them with a suddenly glowing smile.

“You be my real papa?”

“I would,” he whispered around the painful clenching of his heart.  _I am._

Suddenly, the pressure on his chest was because his arms were full of his daughter, and Rumplestiltskin swallowed back the sudden rush of emotion as Renee whispered: “You are my papa.”

Rumplestiltskin didn’t know if that was Gabrielle bleeding through, or just a sign of Renee desperately wanting a happy family, but at the moment, he couldn’t care.  He loved her so much, loved _both_ of them more than life itself.  Perhaps marrying Belle in Storybrooke did not fit with Gold’s usual desire to manipulate and hide, but he could protect them both this way.  Even if this might expose him to ridicule (which he hated), it would be worth the price.  And when Belle met his eyes, Rumplestiltskin knew that his initial instinct to lash out had been wrong.  This was the right way to do things.  He could always make Maurice pay after the curse broke if the fool persisted in being cruel to his Belle.

 _And I will,_ Rumplestiltskin promised himself.  _Reject her again at your peril, you cold hearted bastard._

* * *

 

“Captain, there’s a visitor here for you,” his assistant told him through the intercom, and Killian perked up.  If he was lucky, Emma Swan would have taken him up on the offer to join him for a boat ride, and then his afternoon would definitely be looking up.

“Who is it?” he asked, running a quick hand through his hair.  

“Sidney Glass.”

Sitting up straight, Killian blinked at the intercom, willing the name that had just emerged from its speaker to be different.  Unfortunately, lightning did not strike, a miracle did not occur, and a reporter was here to see him.  _And not Cora’s pet reporter, either.  This one is disturbingly independent,_ he reminded himself, remembering the article Glass had written.  Of course, it had made Emma Swan sheriff, something Killian rather liked from a personal perspective.  It was also something he enjoyed because he despised Keith Law; the bastard, whoever he’d been back home, was a constant abuser of women and an all-around lowlife.  Men like Law gave pirates and other such rascals a bad name, and if Killian hadn’t thought it would annoy Cora too much, he would have taught Law a lesson a long time ago.  But doing so just wasn’t worth the resulting mayoral temper tantrum.

“Send him in,” he grumbled, scowling at the speaker.  But he scraped up an insincere smile as Glass walked in.  After all, it was possible that the reporter wanted to do an interest piece on Storybrooke’s handsomest bachelor.  Or maybe he wanted to give the Magical Marina good press of some sort.  Killian would take that.

“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. O’Malley,” the reporter started, and Killian resisted the urge to scowl.

“It’s always a pleasure, Mr. Glass,” he replied, rising courteously.  He was one of the few people in this town who remembered old world manners, and Killian was not about to abandon them now.  “Won’t you have a seat?”

“Thanks,” Glass nodded.

Killian returned the nod amicably, and was careful not to sit until his visitor had done the same.  He’d learned quite a bit about playing status games as an officer in the King’s Navy, and even pirates played it in their own way.  He knew how to make his visitor feel appreciated and special, and Killian wasn’t above stroking a reporter’s ego to get what he wanted.  _I just wish I knew who he’d been back home.  I don’t recognize him, but given how long I was gone, that only says he wasn’t in Cora’s service._   After his guest was comfortable, Killian asked: “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

“I want something.”  Now Glass looked nervous, with the practiced reporter’s façade slipping.   “And I think you can get it for me.”

Taken aback, Killian blinked.  “Is that so, mate?”

“Yes.  I know you’re in the mayor’s pocket.  I know you’re conspiring with her,” Glass said quickly.  “I have proof.”

“Oh, _do_ you now?” he drawled, abandoning the image of the amicable marina owner and returning to the dangerous pirate captain he’d been. Glass flinched, and although Killian found that gratifying, he was also getting angry.  The reporter, however, continued despite obvious unease:

“Plenty of it.”

“And what do you want in exchanged for this so-called ‘proof’?” Killian pressed, leaning forward in his chair.

Glass flinched again.  “I want my debts cleared.  I didn’t incur them.  They appeared overnight, documented like they’d existed for years, but they’re _not_ mine.  And the only one with the power to make that happen is the mayor,” he said in a rush, and Killian was starting to enjoy his nervous tick a little bit. “I want them gone.  She can make that happen, and you can get her to.”

“And why in the world would I help you, mate?  Why not just go straight to the mayor?” he asked curiously.

“Because I’m not crazy!”

Killian laughed.  “Neither am I, mate.  _I_ don’t demand things of Cora Mills unless I’m in a superior negotiating position.  So, I’m afraid you’re sailing against the wind, unless you can somehow motivate me to take your side.”

“I left most of my evidence in a safe location,” Glass said, but there was suddenly a bit of steel in his expression that Killian had not expected.  “But I do have this.”

Pulling a small recorder out of his pocket, Glass thumbed the play button and put it on the desk.  The tape inside it scratched and fuzzed for a moment, but then voices emerged, clear as day.  And they were voices that Killian recognized.

 _“How is your pursuit of Miss Swan going, Captain?”_ Cora’s voice asked.

 _“Progressing slowly.  She’s stubborn, and it’s hard to earn her trust,”_ he heard himself say easily.  Killian even remembered that conversation.

 _“Have you learned anything_ useful _?  I grow tired of you playing your romantic games.  Seduce her, and find out why she’s in Storybrooke.”_

 _“I’m close.”_ Killian remembered making that promise.  _“It would help if that sheriff was out of the way for good.”_

 _“Graham has his uses,”_ Cora replied, and Glass hit the stop button, looking at Killian expectantly.

The pirate forced himself to laugh.  “That’s hardly something that will damn me in a court of law.”

“No, but I can imagine Miss Swan won’t like to know that you’re seducing her because the mayor told you to,” the reporter countered, and then held his hands up.  “Don’t bother threatening me.  I have copies of this in safe places, with people who will see that it makes it into the sheriff’s hands.

Killian didn’t even bother trying quiet his snarl down.  Glass had more courage than he’d given him credit for, and that was annoying.  Still, as much as Killian didn’t want Emma to hear about the reason he’d started romancing her—which was, he had to admit, no longer his primary motive given his attraction to the feisty lass—that little blurb would do nothing to convince Cora.  “Having a hold on me doesn’t do anything to convince the mayor, Mr. Glass,” he said testily.  “That recording isn’t going to make Cora do a damn thing.”

Except hang him out to dry.  Killian knew she could do that, and would, if he became a liability.  Really, it was a pity that Cora couldn’t rip hearts out in this world.  _Glass’ loyalties really could benefit from an empty chest cavity_ , Killian thought angrily.  Unfortunately, the reporter was far from done.

“This will,” he said, and cued the recorder again.  Soon enough, the same two voices emerged, starting with Cora’s bland statement of:

_“No.  I have other plans for him, plans that do not include you murdering him.  Yet.”_

Killian could hear his own past annoyance roaring through on the recording.  _“You’ve been saying that for years.  I want the crocodile dead.”_

 _“Patience, Captain. I’ll make him suffer in the meantime, if that helps keep your desire to avenge your lost love at bay,”_ Cora purred, and even now, Killian wanted to throttle the Evil Queen.  He’d always known that allying with her would make striking out at the Dark One difficult, but she’d grown even less helpful on that topic now that time was moving.  _“I will arrange his death in time, and I will make sure you are present for it.  I’ll even let you lend a hand.”_

_“I’m a patient man, Cora, but even I have my limits.  I’ve waited too long.”_

_“As have I.  We’ll both have our vengeance, but it is a dish best served cold, is it not?”_ Cora laughed.  _“I’ll give you what you want, but_ on _my timeline.  Not yours.”_

Again, Glass stopped the recording, and looked expectantly at Killian.  The pirate held onto his temper with an effort, keeping himself silent for a long moment.  Yes, that recording could be a problem.  It would certainly get Cora’s attention, although he doubted the queen would react quite like Glass wanted her to.  The reporter was playing with fire, whether he realized it or not.  Cora was not some small-town mayor with delusions of power.  She was an evil and dangerous witch and knew how to manipulate people.

“Well, I daresay that the mayor will notice that little recording,” he said as mildly as he could manage.

“Even she can’t get away with planning a murder,” Glass said passionately, obviously a little pleased with himself for having caught that on tape.  “Even if she got off scot-free, she’d never be elected again.”

 _As if this town has ever had elections.  Cora would burn the town down before she let them vote her out of power,_ Killian almost snorted out loud.  “I’ll talk to her,” he promised instead.  “And don’t come here again.  I’ll contact you.”

Cora, he was certain, was not going to take this nearly as well as Glass hoped, and he almost felt sorry for the fool.  Almost.  Or perhaps he would have if Glass hadn’t been smart enough to keep copies of his tapes in safe places.  Now, Killian would have to find those to make sure they didn’t get into Emma’s hands, because he was _not_ going to let some crusading reporter ruin his relationship with the sheriff.  No matter what he had to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t be too hard on Will/Scadlock! He’s under the curse, and Cora has his heart—two things that make it very difficult for him to do anything but what she wants. But speaking of choices, what do you think that Hook is going to do about Sidney blackmailing him? And what do you think Moe French is going to do after Cora's 'encouragement'?
> 
> Next up is Chapter Thirty-Four: “Worth Dying For,” in which ‘Gold’ and ‘Lacey’ go on a date, Cora uses Graham’s heart to hurt Emma, Mary Margaret finds out she has another debt she didn’t know about, and Hook tells Cora about Sidney’s little blackmail.  
> Back in the past, Belle and Rumplestiltskin face the perils of parenting, King George proves surprisingly helpful, and Rumplestiltskin sends Charming after Snow.


	34. Worth Dying For

_3 Years Before the Curse_

Belle had been curious after Rumple told her that Regina had been forced to give her stepsister the cursed apple.  She still disliked having to hide her marriage to Rumplestiltskin, although she better understood the need to do so now that they had a beautiful three week old daughter.  Still, she wanted to know what was going on, and Rumple had explained to her how to use the crystal ball several months ago.  So, she focused her thoughts on the princess she had never met, the woman who would ensure that their world could be rescued from the terrible curse Belle’s husband had written.  She still wasn’t sure how she felt about that curse, not all the time, but Rumple had assured her that no one would _really_ be hurt by it, even if they’d have to endure some misery along the way.  And at least he would make sure that the curse would be broken—he promised her that, promised her that he’d never let it be cast if the Dark Curse would last forever.

Smoke shimmered within the crystal ball, slowly revealing a young woman trapped within a glass coffin. Her beautiful face was contorted with fear, and as Belle watched, she started screaming hoarsely.  Belle could barely hear anything across this distance, but the magic of the crystal ball brought the screams through as ghostly whispers, present but not jarring at all.  Swallowing, Belle watched as Princess Snow’s hands came up, trying to push someone or something away that only existed inside her nightmares.  She was crying out for someone, now, or several someones.  Belle thought she heard a few different names before the princess started wailing apologies.

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” a voice asked from behind her, and Belle turned as a pair of scaled hands landed gently on her shoulders.

“I just wanted to see what was happening,” Belle answered honestly, looking deeply into her husband’s eyes.  Yes, there was a slight shadow of regret there, though she doubted that Rumplestiltskin felt bad for the suffering young princess.  No, if he felt compassion for anyone, it was Regina, who Belle knew Rumple viewed almost like a daughter.

Not that he’d ever admit that.

“And you used magic to find out,” he said approvingly, a sudden smile lighting up his face.  “Gabi’s asleep,” Rumplestiltskin added before Belle could ask why that made him so happy.  “Finally.”

“I didn’t think you’d have left her if she wasn’t,” she replied with an answering smile.  “You’re better at being a parent than I am, and she already loves your stories.”

“I’m more practiced,” he countered.  “I wouldn’t say better.”

Belle chuckled, thinking of all the ways in which her husband had already taught her to be a parent.  Without him, Belle would have been utterly lost; although her own mother had died not too many years earlier, she had been raised as a noblewoman.  Nursemaids were a large part of her young life, and she had been brought up to expect to raise her own children the same way.  Had she married Gaston, Belle had no doubt that would have been the case, but in the Dark Castle, it was just the two of them.  Young as she was, Gabrielle would have been running her parents ragged if Rumplestiltskin had not already known how to be a single parent.  Despite that, they were both still very tired.

“I think you’re wonderful,” she told him, leaning into his chest.  Immediately, Rumplestiltskin’s arms wrapped around her, and Belle smiled tiredly.  She was still interested in young Princess Snow’s plight, but for the moment, it felt nice to relax in her husband’s embrace.  “What will happen to her?”

“Her prince will find me before too long,” Rumplestiltskin replied.  “I’ll send him through the gauntlet to find her, and his kiss will wake her.”

“That easy?”

“Oh, no.  Cora’s tasked all kinds of creatures with guarding her,” he snorted out a laugh.  “He’ll have to earn it.”

Belle frowned.  “That sounds terrible.”

“True Love must be fought for,” her husband reminded her, and then relented.  “Oh, all right.  I’ll help him, sweetheart.  Not too much, but I’ll make sure he makes it through.  After all, I can’t very well use the product of their True Love if the prince and princess never marry, now, can I?”

“I suppose not,” she allowed, and then tipped her head back to look at him, another smile tugging at her lips.  “You don’t have to pretend to be heartless.  I know you aren’t.”

Rumplestiltskin just scoffed.  “I’m the Dark One, dearie.  That should tell you all you need to know.”

“Don’t call me that,” Belle retorted, smacking him lightly on the shoulder.  She’d known Rumplestiltskin long enough now to know that he only called someone ‘dearie’ when he sought to belittle them; no one he truly respected was ever called that.  Unless he did it automatically.  Belle knew that the word sometimes slipped out when he didn’t mean it to, along with his condescending attitude.  Every now and then, Rumplestiltskin’s formidable intelligence bled over into an annoying amount of arrogance, but Belle was always able to bring him back to ground.

Now he had the grace to look abashed.  “My apologies.”

“I love you anyway,” Belle told him, but not before giving him a slightly reproachful look. 

“And I love you,” Rumplestiltskin replied, bending his head to kiss her hair.  Belle leaned into his kiss, wishing for a moment that they could go to Amorveria and she could actually kiss him once more.  But now they had a daughter, and Rumplestiltskin had a mission, so she needed to be content with the life she had.

* * *

 

Somehow or another, his love for Belle had gotten the better of his common sense.  Then again, Rumplestiltskin supposed that the entire town already thought the worst of his relationship with her, so what did they have to lose?  _Particularly once we go through with marrying in this world; then, even a cursed Storybrooke will know we’re together._ So, he bowed to Belle’s wishes and took her out to lunch, leaving Renee with Dove and his girlfriend, the only people they dared trust with their little girl.  But he knew Belle was feeling cooped up, particularly since her last foray out with Renee had turned into another argument with her father.  After that last phone call, Rumplestiltskin had narrowly avoided marching over to Moe French’s pathetic little shop and doing something he assuredly wouldn’t regret, such as raising the rent, evicting him, or calling in the massive loan Moe French seemed to have forgotten he owed him.  But his manipulative nature won out over the desire to play at being some ridiculous knight errant, and Rumplestiltskin forced himself to wait.

Thus, he found himself escorting Belle into Granny’s diner, ignoring the shocked and hostile stares they—rather, _he_ —received while they headed to a booth.  Only Belle’s small smile of thanks kept Rumplestiltskin on his best behavior, though at least he could take some solace in the fact that the curse had to be obviously weakening in order for people to be reacting like that.  Still, they had a greater scandal than ‘Gold and his Kept Woman’ to discuss.  The previous day’s edition of the _Daily Mirror_ had made Mary Margaret Blanchard out to be the most evil woman since Jezebel.  Part of Rumplestiltskin had to appreciate the smooth manner in which Cora had pulled that little trick off, and the rest of him was just glad that Francis Scadlock wasn’t writing such pieces about him and Belle.

_Those will come in time, I’m sure,_ he thought as Ruby sauntered up.  “Hi, Lacey,” she said brightly, and then her smile faltered.  “Mr. Gold.”

“Hello, Ruby,” Belle gave the waitress a glowing smile, and Rumplestiltskin found himself hoping that Belle wouldn’t lose the friends she had made as Lacey because of him.  He was a rather possessive person at his core, and his curse didn’t make him any better, but he knew that Belle was a social creature and would miss those friends if they deserted her.

_Of course they will.  You’re the Dark One, and none of them will understand how a woman like Belle could have chosen_ you _.  They’ll assume you’ve corrupted her, enchanted her, forced her,_ the curse taunted him, its presence distant here without magic, but never distant enough.  _And if they do figure out the truth, they’ll just hate her as much as they hate you._

A sudden hand on his arm made Rumplestiltskin’s mind snap back into focus; Belle had finished ordering, and it was now his turn.  Fortunately, the menu at Granny’s hadn’t changed for twenty-eight years, and he remembered what every Thursday special was.  Even Gold had known them by heart, and Gold rarely came here, though he did order takeout periodically.

“A hamburger and fries will be fine, dear,” he told Ruby distantly.  However, the wolf was obviously starting to shine through, and she just gave him a pointed look.

“And to drink?” she prompted as Belle smiled slightly.

_Scotch_ , he thought, but didn’t say it.  “Iced tea, if you please.”

“Coming right up,” Ruby replied, turning away promptly.  But before she walked off, Rumplestiltskin caught the pitying glance she threw Belle’s way.  _They all hate you, anyway.  What does it matter?_

His curse really needed to be quiet today.

“Are you all right?” Belle asked him quietly, her hand never leaving his arm.

Rumplestiltskin shook his head to clear it, and then spoke very softly.  “I’m fine.  It’s just…noisy in my head today.”

Fortunately, he needed to say nothing more; Belle understood how the voice of his curse could be sometimes.  It had taken him years to explain it to her, but he finally had after Gabrielle’s first birthday, and Rumplestiltskin was glad he had.  Now she just shifted her hand to his own, squeezing gently and giving him a smile that always served to push back the darkness in his soul.  He could lose himself in her blue eyes if he wasn’t careful, could turn himself into some lovestruck idiot for all of Storybrooke to see.  But he couldn’t afford to let go that far, not yet.  Particularly when Cora still thought Lacey was just some sort of concubine for him.

That pleasant thought made him pull his hand away from Belle’s.  She looked hurt for a moment, and then nodded reluctantly, fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers to give herself something to do with her hands.

“I feel sorry for Mary Margaret,” she said after a moment, clearly looking for a safe topic for others to overhear.

“Because of Scadlock’s scathing article?” he asked with a shrug.  “They’ll sort the truth out soon enough.  I see no reason to get excited about it.”

Or, they’d figure out the truth when the curse broke.  Until then, Mary Margaret might be miserable, but that wasn’t his problem.  It would probably encourage Emma to break the curse faster, to believe just that much sooner, and that actually meant Mary Margaret’s unhappiness could prove useful.  Not that he was foolish enough to tell Belle that.  She’d not be happy to hear him being so cold blooded.

“They’re insinuating that she murdered her father,” Belle pointed out with a frown.  “If she didn’t, that’s a horrible accusation to have thrown at you.  I heard a few people saying that she should lose her job over it.”

“My, that _would_ cause her problems,” Rumplestiltskin reflected, thinking about the tens of thousands of dollars of debt that Cora had given her stepdaughter.  To him, of course.  _Not that I need the money.  Cora kept her promise on that front, at least._

“She’s really starting to press, isn’t she?” his wife asked quietly, her voice dropping so that he could barely hear her.  “First—Oh.  Hello, Mother Superior.”

Belle cutting off in mid-sentence made Rumplestiltskin turn away from  his wife to look at the annoying blue flea that he’d hated pretty much since meeting her.  Time hadn’t done anything to change that, and even if Reul Ghorm was dressed in a conservative nun’s habit instead of a glitteringly provocative dress, her mere presence still got on his nerves.  _Particularly because I doubt she’s any more oblivious than I am.  If I could figure out a way around the curse, an original power certainly can._ But even if she didn’t remember, the damn woman had still interrupted his date with Belle, which automatically put Rumplestiltskin in a foul mood.  He’d wanted to take Belle out for something nice, not deal with fairies.

“Miss French,” Mother Superior greeted Belle primly, looking down her nose disapprovingly at ‘Gold’s Concubine’.   Then she turned to face him, her sneer only deepening.  “Mr. Gold.”

“Did you want something, dearie, or are you just interrupting because you can?” he snapped, not even bothering to try to sound nice.  Even Gold had hated the nuns—which, in Rumplestiltskin’s opinion, said an awful lot about his cursed self’s good sense.

“There’s no need to be hostile.  I simply wanted to talk to you about a problem at the convent,” the infernal woman answered in her most pious voice.  Of course, that innocent remark only made Rumplestiltskin look deeper into Blue’s eyes, looking for any sign that she was remember.  She met his gaze evenly, and he felt the invisible chess pieces moving between them.

_Yes, she remembers_ , he decided.  _The only question is if she knows I do as well, or if the façade of a cold businessman fools her._ Unfortunately, even Gold wouldn’t have asked her if the convent had possibly burned down, and he certainly wouldn’t have set it as hopefully as Rumplestiltskin would, so that option was out.  So, he just smiled Gold’s thin smile and shrugged casually.

“Well, it won’t get fixed if you don’t tell me more,” he pointed out reasonably, and watched doubt flicker through Blue’s eyes.  _Can’t quite tell, can you, dearie?_ Rumplestiltskin thought gleefully, keeping his face a careful mask.

“Our hot water heater is leaking,” she replied stiffly.  “Sister Elara fears it may explode if not repaired soon.”

“I’ll send Dove by this afternoon.  I presume that is acceptable?” Rumplestiltskin replied, and watched Mother Superior try not to scowl.

“Of course it will be.  Thank you.”  If possible her manner became even _more_ tense as she turned to face Belle, placing a hand on her shoulder.  “Lacey, child, please remember that if you ever need sanctuary, for _any_ reason”—she glanced Gold’s way—“the convent is always open to you and your daughter.”

Rumplestiltskin saw the alarm in Belle’s eyes; the last time a fairy had tried to ‘help’ her, it had been the Cyan Fairy wanting to destroy their so-called demonspawned daughter.  But he wasn’t alarmed.  He was furious, throttling back his curse with all of his might (which wasn’t too much, as his own temper agreed with it), and burning to cut off the hand that had landed almost possessively on his wife’s shoulder. 

“Thank you, but I’m just fine,” Belle replied tersely, shifting away from Mother Superior’s hand.  When the nun didn’t let her escape so easily, Belle reached up and actually pushed the smaller woman’s hand away.  Her eyes narrowed as she looked up at the fairy.  “I am exactly where I want to be.”

That made Blue blink.  “I’m sure you are, child.  Just keep us in mind.”

“Right.”  The look Belle gave Mother Superior was certainly not friendly, and Rumplestiltskin finally spoke up again, not bothering to hide the edge in his voice.

“Is that all, dear?  Our lunch is approaching, and it will improve without the addition of your unwelcome company.” 

Better for Gold to be the jerk and Lacey the helpless bystander.  Besides, being able to verbally swat this annoying bug satisfied the urge to kill her for making Belle uncomfortable.  The cutting comment _did_ finally make Mother Superior huff, however, and her glare shifted to Rumplestiltskin.

“Do make sure Mr. Dove comes out, or we’ll take the repair cost out of our rent,” she snapped, turning on her heel and walking away.

Ruby’s arrival prevented Rumplestiltskin from retorting the way he’d wanted to, although intellectually he knew that was probably a good thing.  So, he stewed quietly as the wolf placed both their hamburgers in front of them, along with the iced tea they’d both ordered (in lieu of the stiff drink Rumplestiltskin _really_ wanted now).  He supposed that conversation would add some grist to the gossip mill, but if he hadn’t been at loggerheads with Mother Superior, all of Storybrooke would figure something was up.  The fact that Mother Superior had implied that Lacey was too frightened leave him still burned, however, and he was still fuming when Belle’s hand landed on his again.  Quickly looking up from where he’d been glaring at the tabletop, Rumplestiltskin noticed belatedly that Ruby was gone, and they were alone again.

Belle smiled slightly.  “Don’t tell me you’re getting angry on my behalf,” she teased him lightly.

“She’s implying that you’re my prisoner,” he grumbled before he could stop himself. 

“Well.  You and I both know I’m not, and that’s all that matters,” his wife replied, squeezing his hand and smiling.

To hell with appearances.  Rumplestiltskin was sosick of people deciding he was thatkind of monster, some despoiler of young woman and kidnapper of fair maidens.  He’d never _touched_ any one of the maids he’d dealt for until Belle, and he’d let her go because he’d started falling in love with her.  He’d been involved with exactly one other woman since becoming the Dark One, and he’d certainly not been the demon in that relationship.  So, he let Belle keep ahold of his hand, offering her a strained smile in return and squeezing her fingers back.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, shoving his curse back into a box when it started to howl for the Blue Fairy’s blood.  One of these days, he’d probably give into that urge, but not today.  “That is what matters.  Now…you were saying something earlier?  Before that rude interruption.”

Belle bit her lip thoughtfully, and then gave him a somewhat sheepish look.  “Right.  I was just going to say that it’s all starting to stack up.  Graham’s accident, then the fire.  And then the attack on Emma and now this.  How many people is she going to hurt before she stops?”

“Anyone she has to.  Which is anyone she feels the need to take revenge upon,” he replied with a shrug, not really feeling pity for any of them, particularly with his curse continuing to storm in the back of his mind.  What did Mary Margaret have to worry about?  A soiled reputation, a few debts?  Rumplestiltskin knew that both could sting, but given his current position as Cora’s punching bag, he had a hard time scraping up sympathy for her or the others.

“Someone has to stop her,” Belle insisted, just as quietly but with the determination he so loved in her.  Even when hated it.

He knew what she was getting at, so Rumplestiltskin shook his head.  “My hands are tied.  Sometimes literally,” he added with a grimace he couldn’t hold back, and then smiled to try to turn it into a quip.  “If I get too involved, she’ll certainly notice.”

Was he a coward, to want to keep Cora from knowing he remembered, or was it common sense?  Rumplestiltskin knew that he could do much more good working behind the scenes without Cora knowing that he was no longer just ‘Gold’, but were his fears contributing to that?  He didn’t know if knowledge of his identity would change the dynamic between him and Cora; it might make things better, but it might also make things _much_ worse.  And he knew that Belle and Renee would be in much more danger if Cora ever realized they were his actual family, and not just Gold’s folly.  No, it was safer to keep his head down as long as possible.  He could best protect his family that way, even if it put him in a more painful position.

“Can’t I do something?”

“Absolutely not,” he answered quickly, throwing Belle a warning look and squeezing her hand tightly.  “And not here,” he added, knowing that she wouldn’t let it go, but desperate to keep her from starting that argument in public.

Fortunately, one of the things that he’d always loved about Belle was her intelligence, and although Rumplestiltskin was certain that the topic would come up later, he could at least insure they discussed it in private. 

“Cora’s dangerous, B—sweetheart,” he added, inwardly cursing himself for the near slip.  Rumplestiltskin jerked his head left.  “Look over there.”

“At Emma and Graham?” she asked, cocking her head.

“Yes.  Watch them.”

Belle blinked, and then Rumplestiltskin saw realization dawn.  His wife might never have shown a lot of interest in practicing magic, but she understood the theory better than most.  “Oh, no.  Cora still has…?”

“Indeed she does,” he replied, his lips twitching in a cold smile.  Oh, how he used to wish he’d never taught Cora that trick.  Now Rumplestiltskin still wished that, but for very different reasons.

“How badly is that going to go?” Belle wondered, and Rumplestiltskin knew that she was talking about almost-budding romance between the former sheriff and the new one.  He, on the other hand, had _other_ problems in mind.

“Watch and find out,” he said cryptically, and Belle shot him a questioning look, so he added:  “She’s using it.  I can feel it.”

There might be little magic in Storybrooke, but what there was, Rumplestiltskin could _always_ feel.  The closer he was, the more he sensed, and sitting three tables away from the Huntsman, he could definitely feel the tug of Cora’s control over him.

* * *

 

Controlling someone via their heart was an art form.  So many sorcerers never came to understand the ins and the outs of doing so, but Cora had perfected her methods over the years. They had called her the Queen of Hearts when she had first married Leopold, and although her foolish, enchanted husband had thought that was because Cora had stolen the hearts of his entire kingdom in a positive, loving way, he had been so very wrong.  The peasants were always the first to know when someone was evil, and that was a lesson Cora had not forgotten despite her elevation to royalty.

Here in Storybrooke, controlling someone was a bit more complicated than it had been in a land with magic.  She had to focus a lot harder, for one, and seeing _through_ that individual’s eyes took exponentially more effort.  Even then, her vision was spotty at best, and hearing anyone whom the original owner of the heart was not directly focusing on was difficult.  Still, it was better than nothing, and today she had a decent view of Granny’s and the patrons.

_Oh, look.  Gold is there with his little doxy. How fascinating._ But it was not Rumple—nor his shallower counterpart—who concerned her at the moment.  No, her attention was focused on her Huntsman.  Foolish man.  He hadn’t taken the accident as the warning that he should have, although Cora hadused his heart to force him to _say_ that he’d forgotten the memories that kissing the Savior had started to awaken in him.  Graham was still confused, the old memories were bubbling up through cracks in the new ones, and mixing the two together created a mess in his mind that Cora needed to do nothing to worsen.  But he was also still defiant, albeit in small ways.  Cora needed to teach him that pursuing Emma, that acting against his queen, would not be tolerated.

Starting today.

Graham was sitting across from Emma, smiling wanly at something the sheriff had said.  Cora knew from her own conversations with Graham that the cripple was depressed, and rightly so.  She’d contributed to that in her own way, but he had not taken the hint.  Now she would force him to put distance between himself and the sheriff, because it would hurt Emma Swan…and because Cora did not like her servants finding happiness without her permission.

“So…now that we’ve dragged you out of your apartment for a second time, can I try for a third?” Emma asked as Cora watched through Graham’s eyes.

Cora smiled to herself, and let Graham’s own hesitation answer the next question.  “I’m…well, um…”

“C’mon,” the blonde savior coaxed him, reaching out for his hand, and Cora shifted her grip on Graham’s heart, placing her fingers just so.  “You’ve got friends who care about you.  Don’t shut us out.”

_There is my perfect opening._ Cora smiled, squeezed Graham’s heart slightly, and began to speak.

* * *

 

“Emma…” Graham said slowly, a strange expression crossing his face.  “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

She blinked.  “Don’t think what is a good idea?”

“All of this.  Us.”  He gestured vaguely, looking a little uncomfortable.  “I’m not a good man, y’know?  And you deserve better.”

“Graham, I think that you’re one of the few actual good men in this town,” she replied immediately, because he was.  Yeah, there were a few things that Emma wanted to ask him about—such as his involvement in the asylum, or what he knew about Leonard Blanchard’s death—but she knew that Graham was a good man.  She’d seen that repeatedly.  He was just down on himself right now, and Emma wasn’t going to let Graham dig himself into a hole like this.

“I’m not.  Really.  There are things I’ve done that would make you run away faster than I could blink.”

Emma’s heart was starting to hammer particularly hard against her ribcage.  She’d known Graham was depressed, but this was going further than she thought it would.  “Let me be the judge of that, okay?”

“No.  I can’t do that to you,” her old boss replied, looking away.

“No?”

“Look, this is a bad idea.  I’ll get another ride home.  I can’t do this.  I can’t mess you up, too.”

“What?” Emma couldn’t help gaping.  Things had been going well between her and Graham before the accident, and she thought they were finally getting back on track.  Emma still wasn’t sure what she felt for the former sheriff, but she knew that it was a feeling worth pursuing.  Maybe she could fall in love with him if given the chance.  He _was_ a good man, and she liked him.  Maybe this would end with a good friendship and laughter over the time they’d tried to fall in love and didn’t.  She had no way to know, and now it suddenly sounded like Graham didn’t want to find out.

That was a _huge_ change, and Emma was trying like hell not to let it hurt too much.

“Just…stay away from me for a while, okay?  I don’t want to start something right now,” Graham replied, his eyes sad but determined.

“I thought we’d already started something,” she replied stiffly.

She would not cry.  She would not.

“No.  And I’m sorry if I led you to believe that,” he answered, pushing his wheelchair back from the table.  “I’ll find another ride home. Goodbye.”

Utterly shocked, all Emma could do was stare as Graham wheeled himself out of the diner.  She’d never been dumped by someone before she’d even started a relationship, and Graham hadn’t given her a single sign that he wanted nothing to do with her before now!  What the hell was wrong with him?  Blinking back pain, Emma tried to force herself to think rationally about the situation.  Graham was depressed.  She knew that.  A formerly fit and active man who suddenly found himself confined to a wheelchair after a lengthy coma was bound to be feeling off.  Maybe she’d been pushing him too hard, too fast.  _I need to get him to talk to Archie,_ Emma decided, and that thought pushed away some of the pain.

Maybe Graham didn’t want to get romantically involved, but that didn’t mean that Emma wasn’t still his friend.  She wasn’t in love with him, not yet, so that meant she _could_ still think like a friend if she needed to.  And right now, she had the feeling that Graham needed all the friends he could get.

_Caring for someone means not giving up on them,_ she thought to herself, remembering someone else who had said that to her so many years ago…and then promptly left her to go to jail in his place.  But Neal’s actions had only driven that lesson home, hadn’t it?  He obviously hadn’t cared enough not to break her heart, but Emma wasn’t like that.  She wouldn’t give up on Graham.

* * *

 

School hadn’t been any fun at all that day.  Most of his classmates had been whispering about the previous day’s article in the _Daily Mirror_ , wondering if Ms. Blanchard really was a murderess.  Henry knew they were all wrong, that it was the curse claiming Mary Margaret had been involved in her father’s death because of what had happened in the Enchanted Forest, but he also knew that he couldn’t tell the other kids that.  They’d think he was crazy, but listening to them whisper only made him mad.  _We’ve got to get this curse broken,_ the ten year old thought as he walked towards the loft.  Mary Margaret probably wouldn’t be home yet, which meant he could talk to Emma about the curse without his depressed teacher around.

Henry didn’t understand why she had been so quiet today.  If she knew it wasn’t true—and Mary Margaret seemed to—why was she so down?  Mary Margaret knew about the curse, too; Henry had told her, and he knew she and Emma talked about it.  So, why couldn’t she just believe that none of this was her fault?  Adults were so weird sometimes.

“Hey, Emma!” Henry knocked and then came through the loft door with a smile, finding his birth mother sitting at the table and staring blankly at a magazine.

“Hey, kid,” she replied, but she sounded glum, too.

Dropping his bag and pulling the Book out, Henry plopped into the seat in front of Emma and slammed his book down on the table to get her attention.  Emma looked up, her eyes wide and startled for a moment before she glared at him.

“Hi,” he said again, grinning at her.

Emma sighed.  “What’s up, Henry?”

“I wanted to talk to you about the curse,” he answered, glancing down at his Book and biting his lower lip.  “Things are getting bad.  I know good is supposed to win over evil, and I _thought_ we were doing okay, but I think that the Evil Queen is going to do something bad.  I think she’s started with Ms. Blanchard.”

“Well, someone’s done something awful to her, anyway,” Emma replied.  “Though I’m not sure we can blame your curse for this one.”

Henry stared.  How many things had to happen before Emma would open her mind and believe?  This was crazy!  “Of _course_ it’s the curse.  Why else would everyone start hating Mary Margaret when she’s not guilty?  They should be on her side!”

“That’s just human nature, kid.  People…people like scandals, and they like to make mountains out of molehills,” his birth mother told him, looking uncomfortable.  “You don’t need a curse to make people miserable.  Most people can do that just fine by themselves.”

“Are you okay?” Henry asked, looking at her drawn face.

“Yep.  Just fine.”

He might have been only ten, but even Henry could tell that was a lie.  “You know, I think I inherited your superpower,” he told her bluntly.  “‘Cause I know that’s not true.”

“Really funny.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be,” Henry answered seriously.  “But I know I’m a kid.  If you don’t want to tell me, it’s okay.”

That kind of comment almost always worked on all three of his parents, and it didn’t fail him now, either.  Emma just sighed, her shoulders drooping and blonde hair falling to obscure her face.  “I’m worried about Mary Margaret.  She’s taking this really hard.”

“She’s Snow White.  She’s strong.  She’ll be okay, especially with you here for her.  At least she isn’t alone anymore.”

“Yeah, she isn’t,” Emma replied, and Henry thought he saw a hint of a smile on her face.  He’d come to talk to her about the curse, but making sure Emma was okay helped break the curse, too.  She was the Savior, and she had to be okay in order for the curse to get broken.  Otherwise, everything might fall apart.  “You’re a good kid, Henry.  Don’t you ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“Grandma is the only one who does, and I don’t believe much of anything she says,” he said with a grin, and Emma finally laughed.

“I shouldn’t say this, but that sounds like a really good idea.”

Maybe Emma was getting somewhere with believing.  When she’d first arrived in Storybrooke, she would have told Henry that he shouldn’t say such things about Cora, but now she at least believed that Cora was evil.  She might not fully believe in the curse just yet, but they were getting somewhere.  Slowly.

* * *

 

_2 Years, 11 Months Before the Curse_

A month of searching had brought David no closer to finding Snow than he had been the day she had left to meet Regina.  His scouts had combed the southern half of Snow’s kingdom, and George’s spies at Cora’s court were frantically working to uncover her location as well.  So far, no one had found anything, and David was growing increasingly concerned.  He’d even tried to contact Regina, praying she hadn’t suddenly decided to side with her mother, but she had so far ignored the messages he sent through George’s contracts.  George was convinced that meant Regina had chosen Cora over Snow, but David had a hard time believing that.  Regina had risked everything to rescue Snow and to help the two of them escape. Why would she betray them now?

But he was growing more worried by the day.  No, by the hour.  David had just returned to the castle that had somehow become home after almost a month of personally directing the search, and was surprised to find himself invited into George’s presence immediately.  Usually, the king was much more directive; he treated David more like a subordinate than a son, although he was at least meticulous about training David to one day rule in his place.  And George _had_ been kinder recently, or at least less abrasive.  They even agreed that Snow needed to be found, and although he knew that George had made that decision for political rather than personal reasons, David still appreciated it.

He also appreciated that his mother had been moved to a very nice house on the outskirts of the city, allowing her to stop the backbreaking work of trying to run the farm by herself.  She was happy there, and well provided for, and although David missed her desperately, he supposed that his position wasn’t terribly different from anyone else who took on a trade and moved away from home.  _Although I don’t most people take on_ royalty _as a trade,_ the prince thought to himself, striding into George’s council chamber.

“You wanted to see me?” he asked, surprised to find George alone.

“This arrived for you.”  The king extended folded piece of paper, still sealed with was.  That was a surprise, but perhaps George just wanted him to open it in his presence?  Still, this was a definite improvement in their relationship.

“Thank you,” David said as courteously as he could, taking the letter and breaking the wax seal.  Quickly, he took in the one line on the page, noticing that it had obviously been written in haste, with a trio of haphazard ink blots staining the page.  David didn’t recognize the handwriting, but he knew who it had to be.

_Snow is not in either of our kingdoms.  Look to the east._

“Well?” George demanded as David read the missive for a third time.

“This has to be from Regina,” he replied, handing over the letter.  George read it rapidly, still frowning.  “She’s the only one who would know.”

“Your confidence in the ‘Dark Princess’ may be misplaced.  Tread carefully—Cora is not above such tricks, son.  She might be drawing you into a trap.”

David’s eyebrows shot up despite his best efforts to control them.  He was fairly sure that was the most affectionate thing George had ever said to him without an audience present, and it was kind of unnerving.  Still, he managed to answer strongly:  “I think we have to risk it.  We’ve been searching both our kingdom and Cora’s for weeks without any result.  At least this gives us a starting point.”

“Then do it.”  To give George credit, the man was always decisive.  David nodded once, and turned on his heel to form new search parties.

* * *

 

The voice coming from outside her bedroom was downright tiny.  “Emma?”

“The door’s open!” Emma called, twisting to face the door from where she was lying on the bed with a magazine. 

It was Saturday morning, and she’d given herself the day off—and Keith a morning shift, which the drunk hated—and she’d thought that Mary Margaret was still in bed.  The last two days had been so very rough on her roommate.  Between angry parents demanding that their children move into another class and Keith barging into their apartment to ask her questions (at Cora’s behest, Emma was sure), Mary Margaret couldn’t seem to catch a break.  They’d both decided that today was a day to sleep in, not that Emma had managed to.  She’d been lying on the bed in her pajamas with a magazine for over an hour, hoping that poor Mary Margaret was finding the morning more restful.

Unfortunately, the answer to that seemed to be a big fat no.  Mary Margaret looked miserable, and she held what looked like a letter in her hands.

“What happened?” Emma asked, sitting up and gesturing for Mary Margaret to sit down next to her.  Her friend did, landing on the bed like a sack of broken potatoes.

“I got this in the mail,” Mary Margaret whispered.

Emma held a hand out, and Mary Margaret handed the letter over.  Emma scanned it quickly, noticing that it was from Very Merry Escorts, Inc., which was apparently owned by one Melaina Merryweather, judging from the letterhead.  But it was what was inside the body of the letter that was most worrisome, and Emma skipped over the legalese to get to the meat of the problem, scanning past the greeting until she got to this:

_The following debts were incurred by Mr. Leonard Rex Blanchard on or about  November 5, 1998..._ Emma skimmed the list, noting that there were multiple entries for ‘escort fees,’ ‘extra services,’ and ‘overdue payments’.  There was also a significant section detailing a loan apparently taken out by Mary Margaret’s father, and it was for a rather startling amount.  Then there was the last paragraph:

_As the sole heir of Mr. Blanchard, under all applicable laws, you, Mary Margaret Blanchard, are responsible for paying these debts.  The total amount due is $168,923.20.  Payment is due no later than January 15, 2012.  Please make all checks payable to Very Merry Escorts, c/o Melaina M. Merryweather, Director & CEO.  If you cannot pay immediately, payment plans or alternate employment are available._

“It’s due in one week,” Mary Margaret whispered.  “I can’t possibly pay this by then.”

Emma reached out to wrap an arm around her.  “You can fight this,” she said.  “Unless the loan specifically said that his heirs would be liable for the debt, you won’t owe it.”

“You don’t know how it works here.  Ms. Merryweather is…she’s terrible.  You can’t get out of debts to her.  Women who owe her money end up working for her.”

“As escorts?” Emma gaped.  If that wasn’t illegal, she didn’t know what was.  Of course, there were escorts and there were escorts, but in Emma’s experience, women who wound up doing the job because they owed someone money weren’t just ‘escorts’.  They were prostitutes in disguise, and usually not very willing.

“Or worse.”

* * *

 

Cora had been unusually smug when Killian related Sidney Glass’ attempt to blackmail him—and the mayor, by extension—but her solution to the problem had not been one he enjoyed. 

“String him along,” she ordered. “Find out what else he knows, and then we will deal with him.”

“Can’t you just have Scadlock put a muzzle on him?” Killian asked unhappily.  “You have his heart, don’t you?”

“Scadlock’s, yes.  But not Sidney’s,” she replied dispassionately, studying at the contract that sat on her desk.  Killian was tempted to ask what it was that had so much of Cora’s attention, but experience told him that he really didn’t want to know.  The Evil Queen was growing more and more dangerous as time moved and things changed in Storybrooke, and although the pirate knew that he was beholden to her and stuck on her side, he preferred to distance himself from her as much as possible.

As much as she’d let him, anyway.

“Then have Scadlock tell him that it’s a bad idea, or beat the bloody hell out of him,” he suggested.  “I seem to recall you having your sheriff do the same to me, once.  It taught me my lesson well enough.”

Cora snorted.  “Sidney has other uses.  Let him think he can blackmail the both of us,” she shrugged.  “Then he’ll go running to Miss Swan, and we’ll destroy them both.”

“If you say so,” Killian replied dubiously, and then flinched as suddenly burning eyes zeroed in on him.

“I do, Captain, and you will do as you’re told.  Understood?”

Times like this, the safest thing to do was bow and say: “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Killian was no fool, after all, and he knew upon which side his bread was buttered.  When they woke up, the heroes would never embrace him as one of their own, and that left him with Cora.  He knew her well enough to know that even when— _if_ —the curse broke, she would have a plan, and the odds of her coming out on top were high.  Killian had joined with her initially because he was sick of losing, and he was prepared to sacrifice a lot to get what he wanted.  Even if his conscience balked at killing innocent children (which he was still so thankful had not happened in the fire), it was otherwise very flexible.  And he was there to win.

* * *

 

_2 Years, 10 Months Before the Curse_

_“Rumplestiltskin!”_

The name burned in when he was playing with Gabrielle, sitting on the floor with his one year old and making faces like an idiot.  She was giggling happily, pointing fingers at his more ludicrous expressions, still young enough to be absolutely oblivious to the fact that her father looked more like a demon than a man.  Someday, she’d realize just how different he was, but until that day came, Rumplestiltskin would treasure every moment.  Unfortunately, however, those moments would currently have to be cut short; this was one call he could not ignore.  Not if he wanted his curse to be cast, and for the Savior to be born on schedule.

_Swans.  There’s always something about Swans when I try to see her_ , he thought distractedly, standing and lifting his daughter in his arms.  She giggled happily as he bounced her, but pouted when he handed her over to Belle.

“Someone calling?” his wife asked, obviously having seen him twitch slightly and recognizing the signs.

“Our charming prince,” Rumplestiltskin confirmed.  “It seems he’s remembered there’s another way to find his future bride than playing Cora’s games.”

“You could have offered, you know.”

“Offered?” he laughed, twirling a hand and feeling the call come in again, even more desperately.  _Rumplestiltskin!_ “That’d never do, sweetheart.  If I offered, they’d never pay the price I want.”

Belle just rolled her eyes.  “Go on.  Off with you!  Go help him save his princess.”

Sketching his wife and daughter a quick bow, the Dark One disappeared in a swirl of maroon smoke, depositing himself twenty feet or so behind ‘Prince James’ and seated on a fallen tree.  There he waited, silent and watching the young man he’d so consciously _not_ chosen to be George’s adopted son so many years before.  Rumplestiltskin had always known that whichever twin he placed with George will be slain before his time, and he’d also always known that _this_ son would be the one that mattered.  It had been child’s play to make sure George got them in the right order, and overall, he was rather pleased with his handiwork.

Technically, he’d only met the so-called prince once, when he’d given him the option to replace his brother (the meeting as a newborn hardly counted, after all; nor did the time David lay dying), but Rumplestiltskin could still tell that he had grown.  In fact, he had grown a great deal.  He now carried himself like a future king, but not the type of arrogant king that his adopted father could be.  No, David would be a different sort entirely, for all that he’d rule under his brother’s name.  _Or would he?_ This was one of the pieces of the future that Rumplestiltskin had never bothered to puzzle out.  This man’s fate would be determined by the curse that was cast, and its aftermath.

_“Rumplestiltskin!”_ the prince bellowed for a third time, his posture stiff and worried.  “Where are you?”

“There’s no need to shout, dearie,” he called with a devilish smile, enjoying the way David whirled to face him.  “I’m right here.”

“I need your help,” the prince said without preamble.  “King George said that you can help me find Snow.  Name your price.”

“Well, aren’t we all business,” Rumplestiltskin replied, taken aback by the abrupt demand.  Yes, this one _was_ different from his brother, and despite himself, Rumplestiltskin was impressed.

“Yes.  Can you help me, or not?  She’s missing and—”

“Under a nightmare curse.  Yes, yes, I know,” he cut the younger man off, waving a hand as he danced to his feet.  “Nasty little curse, that one.  And not so little.  Those cursed have been known to kill their own True Loves before they can be saved.”

No, that didn’t deter David at all.  “I’ll take that risk,” the prince said firmly. 

“Ooooh.  Is she worth all that?” he asked with a little wiggle, approaching the prince with eyes that he knew were a little wild.  It was always interesting to see how they reacted to him when he acted like this, but he really was interested in the answer to his question.  Rumplestiltskin _needed_ to know.

“Worth dying for,” was the immediate response.

_Yes, these two will do quite nicely._ It had always been possible that he’d wind up needing to use some other True Love couple’s child—which was why Rumplestiltskin tracked them _all_ —but his first instinct had been right.  Snow White and her Prince Charming were exactly what he needed.  They would fight for one another, time and again, and make their love so much stronger because of it.

“Well, then.  I hope you’re ready to face the gauntlet that the Evil Queen has set out for you!”

“Gauntlet?”

“Oh, yes.  You’ll have to face all manner of fell creatures to reach your True Love.  Is she still worth it?”

“She’s worth whatever I have to face.  Now, will you help me, or not?” David asked again, his voice still firm and his love for Snow practically glowing off of him in a beautiful burst of magic.  “I don’t know where she is—Regina says that she’s somewhere to the east, but I don’t know where.”

“I do.”

“Then help me get to her!”

“Of course I’ll help you, dear.  Don’t get too excited,” he reminded the young man with a high-pitched giggle.  “For a price.”

“What do you want?”  David had the sense to look wary, but luckily for him, he was going to get off lightly.

“A few hairs off your pretty little head,” Rumplestiltskin answered, and then reached a hand out to yank them free before the prince could object because he didn’t want to bother explaining why.

“Ouch!”  That got him a glare, at first pained, and then suspicious.  “Is that all?”

Rumplestiltskin cocked his head, holding up the trio of hairs he’d claimed.  “Do you want me to ask for something more?”

“No!  I do want to know what you’re going to use them for, though.”  It was a wise question, but unfortunately for Rumplestiltskin, not one he was interested in answering.

“Not part of the deal.”  He grinned wickedly, and watched the prince flinch ever so slightly.  But the young man was admirably determined, and clearly decided not to fight a battle he knew he could not win.

“Fine, then.  Where is she?”

“First, you’ll need a little help.”  Rumplestiltskin twirled his right wrist, and the three hairs vanished—banished to a vial in his favorite tower—only to be replaced by an ancient sword whose power sent a chill racing up Rumplestiltskin’s spine.  It was Excalibur, the most powerful and legendary sword in creation, but there was no need to tell the prince that.  “This sword will slay any magical creature you come across, but I’ve enchanted it not to cut _you_.  You’ll need it to reach your dear princess.”

David reached out to take the sword, and then hesitated.  “What will it cost me?”

“Ah, now you’re learning,” he grinned.  “Let’s call it…a loan.  I want it _back._ Undamaged.  And that lovely little protection on the sword will only last a day, so I suggest you hurry.”

“I’ll do my best.”  The prince reached for the sword again, but Rumplestiltskin held it just out of reach.

“As for the price…let’s just say you’ll owe me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”  Oh, the prince _was_ smart.  Rumplestiltskin started to have hopes for the Savior, after all.

“Well, if I knew, I wouldn’t ask so vaguely, now, would I?” he giggled again, thinking of all the possible things he might need from the prince and unable to pin down just one.  “Do we have a deal?”

“Fine.   Yes.  Just take me to Snow.”

“Your wish is my command!” Rumplestiltskin quipped, handing over the sword and dancing out of reach as Charming tested out the weapon’s balance point.  He looked expectantly at the Dark One, but Rumplestiltskin had already raised his hand.  Magic swirled down his arm and surrounded the prince, but before he vanished, Rumplestiltskin had one last bit of information to share.  “True Love’s Kiss will save her, dearie!  But only that!”

He gave David no chance to respond before the spell sent him halfway across the Enchanted Forest, straight to the entrance to the cave in which Snow was imprisoned.  Rumplestiltskin was taking no chances; he might have been able to put Charming inside the cave, but Cora’s wards might also be designed to kill someone who was delivered in such a manner.  No, this had become an old-fashioned quest, one upon which that the prince needed to save his beloved princess from peril, and Rumplestiltskin appreciated the nature of magic far too much to interfere with that.  Some battles had to be fought, and True Love had to be _won._   If the prince was not willing to fight for Snow, the hairs he had just forked over would be worse than useless.

It might already be too late, anyway.  Nearly two months had passed before Charming had called upon him.  Rumplestiltskin knew that Snow White was still alive, knew that she was strong, but he had no idea what kind of condition Charming would find her in.  Depending on how well Cora had brewed the Nightmare Curse—because the recipe he had given her was _not_ the strongest one available; no, that one would have killed Snow within days—the princess might be a quivering mess for the rest of eternity, or she might be able to heal.  There was no knowing until Charming kissed her.

No knowing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Cora’s out to ruin any potential Emma and Graham have of sharing a relationship. Do you think she’ll manage? And what do you think will happen when Charming finds Snow?
> 
> Next up is Chapter Thirty-Five: “Debts Owed,” where Emma tries to get Mary Margaret out of her ominous new debt, Belle wants Rumplestiltskin to help, and Mary Margaret faces trouble at school. Back in the past, Cora confronts Rumplestiltskin about helping Charming, and Charming begins his quest to save Snow.
> 
> Also, keep an eye out for my new fic, "Remember", which I'll start posting tomorrow (Wednesday). It's a five or six chapter Rumbelle fix-it set after the end of "Heroes and Villains".


	35. Debts Owed

The only way to get the better of this newly called in debt was to fight fire with fire.  Emma had spent the rest of that Saturday combing over the Storybrooke charter and checking every relevant law; she’d even marched over to the ominously decadent home that Very Merry Escorts was based in and demanded a copy of the contract.  Unfortunately, her unschooled eye was unable to find the slightest loophole, and the fact that Mary Margaret was now liable for the debt was right there in black and white…as was the fact that she had co-signed the contract.  Mary Margaret’s father had signed the damn thing shortly before he died, and now Emma’s roommate was stuck with the mess.  _If_ it was legal.

Emma had even called Regina to ask about Very Merry Escorts, and had received a rather angry reply.  “Don’t take what you see on the surface as truth,” Regina snarled from the other end of the phone.  “Madam… _Merryweather_ isn’t what she seems to be.  Or at least she won’t be when she wakes up.”  But Regina had also been unwilling to tell her exactly who this Madam Merryweather was supposed to be in the old pre-curse world, which probably meant she’d been someone bad.  Or she’d been someone who _hadn’t_ been bad there and was here, thanks to Cora.  Either way, Emma was pretty sure she didn’t want to know.  _Assuming I believe in the curse at all, anyway_ , she reminded herself.  But doing that seemed to be getting easier and easier and wasn’t _that_ disturbing?

Merryweather’s identity didn’t really matter.  What mattered was getting ahead of this disaster, and there was only one person in Storybrooke who Emma knew could do that.  It took some convincing to get Mary Margaret to agree to that path, however.  The schoolteacher didn’t like Emma’s idea…but she liked the idea of trying to pay off a new (old?) loan of nearly two hundred thousand dollars even less.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Mary Margaret grumbled as they walked down the street Sunday afternoon, looking left and right like she expected someone to jump out and attack her.

“Look, he might not even be there.  It’s Sunday.”  Movement caught Emma’s eye as they crossed the street; there was Keith, driving around in his big rusty truck like an idiot.  He was probably hungover, knowing him.  Emma wouldn’t be surprised if he’d spent the night face down on the bar at the Rabbit Hole.  He might even still be drunk.  _It wouldn’t be the first time._ She wished she could fire him, but Cora had made her position on that one clear.

“The sign says open,” Mary Margaret pointed out miserably.

“So it does,” Emma replied, glancing back at the pawn shop.  She hadn’t been sure if Gold would be there or not—he wasn’t, most Sundays, and particularly since Lacey had moved in with him—but it beat tromping out to his house to talk to the pawnbroker.  But sure enough, lights were on inside the shop, and the sign did say ‘open’.

She was surprised, however, to find Lacey French alone in the front of the shop when they walked in.  The former librarian smiled in greeting as the two women walked in, but seeing her made Emma blink.  Lacey was dressed in an expensive looking blue business suit that was perfectly tailored for her figure, looking for all the world like the ideal female counterpart for the always impeccably dressed Mr. Gold.

“Mary Margaret, Emma!” Lacey greeted the two women cheerfully.  “What brings you in today?”

“Is Gold making you run this place on Sundays?” Emma demanded before she could stop herself, looking around for the pawnbroker, but there was no sign of him.  

“Of course not.  He’s in the back doing inventory,” the younger woman replied with a laugh.  “I’ll go get him.”

“Thanks,” Emma said, slightly abashed.  But what kind of man brought his kept woman to work, and dressed her up in designer clothes?  It almost looked like Lacey was some sort of doll, perfectly coiffed and immaculately turned out. 

Lacey ducked into the back, and Emma could hear voices but couldn’t make out what was being said.  So, she drifted forward while Mary Margaret nervously looked at items on the counter to the right, straining her ears.  Lacey was plainly answering a question, but Emma only caught the last two words:

“…didn’t say.”

“I should have left the sign on closed,” Gold grumbled, and Emma thought she heard him grunt softly as he lifted something.  “Take this determined little monster, will you?”

“Monster!” a child’s voice echoed cheerfully, and Emma heard Lacey laugh.

“Sure,” she said casually, sounding much more comfortable with Gold than Emma would have thought _anyone_ could be.  “Come here, you.”

“No!  Want Gold,” a stubborn voice retorted, and Emma heard a soft chuckle.

“That’s my tie, sweetie,” Gold said, and that was definitely Renee French’s laugh that answered him. 

“Want it.”

“Well, I’m wearing it, so you can’t have it at the moment,” the pawnbroker retorted, but he didn’t seem angry.  And Renee didn’t seem terribly upset, either; in fact, the little girl sounded rather happy.  Had Gold actually been _playing_ with Lacey’s daughter?  It sure sounded like he’d been doing something with the little girl, although when he limped out from behind the curtain a moment later, his suit was as perfect as usual. 

Emma just stared, trying desperately to wrap her mind around the image of the cold-blooded Mr. Gold tolerating a three year old playing with his tie.  _If she choked him with it, I bet the town would vote her a medal,_ Emma thought with amusement.  But her smile vanished as the pawnbroker turned to face her, folding his hands on the counter in that same non-threatening manner that was so damn unnerving.

“Sheriff Swan.  Miss Blanchard,” he greeted them smoothly as Lacey followed him out of the back, holding Renee by the hand.  “What can I do for you this morning?”

“I, uh…” Even as Emma glanced over, Mary Margaret shook her head and went quiet.

“Legal help,” Emma picked up where her roommate left off as Lacey settled into a chair with Renee in her lap and a book in her hands.  The little girl immediately started babbling excitedly over some picture or another, but Gold ignored her admirably.

“Of what sort?” he asked.

Huh.  Emma’s eyes were still on Renee French.  The little girl was dressed expensively, too, although she’d made a typically three-year-old mess of her clothes.  _What kind of man dresses his whore’s kid as well as he does her?_ Emma wondered curiously.

“Here.”  Mary Margaret replied after a moment, handing over the letter from Ms. Merryweather quickly, along with the contract Emma had acquired.  She moved quickly and jerkily, as if afraid she’d chicken out and run away.  But Emma was proud of her for doing it; sometimes, being a mouse just seemed to come naturally to her roommate, and she knew it was hard for Mary Margaret to fight that habit.

“Ah, I see your father visited our town’s most infamous establishment,” Gold murmured, glancing at the bill.  “Frequently, it would seem.”

“I can’t pay that,” Mary Margaret told him bluntly.

Gold’s eyes flew over the contract, and he did not look up as he asked: “What do you expect me to do about it?”

“There’s got to be some sort of legal loophole,” Emma put in when Mary Margaret swallowed.  “Calling in a debt like this, years after his death, is ridiculous.  Particularly without any prior notice.”

“Unfortunately, this contract is rather thorough,” he replied.  “It specifically indicates that the debt may be called in at any time and is expected to then be paid in full.”

“I don’t remember signing that,” Mary Margaret said quietly, and Emma was surprised by how quickly Gold’s eyes snapped over to her face.  Even Lacey looked up, appearing both concerned and curious.

“Do you not?” Gold asked, sounding intrigued.

“Not at all,” Emma’s roommate replied, her voice growing stronger.

“Do you intend to challenge the contract, then?”

“ _Can_ I?”

The pawnbroker shrugged.  “It’s a lengthy and painful process, but yes, it’s within your legal right to do so.  However, I do have to say that this _does_ appear to be your signature.”

“So someone forged it well,” Emma said when Mary Margaret deflated slightly.  “That doesn’t make her liable for it.”

“It’s an admirable argument, Miss Swan, but you’ll never find a judge here in Storybrooke who will find Ms. Merryweather guilty of forging a contract.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Everyone has their weaknesses, dear, even judges,” was his evasive reply, but Renee jumped off her mother’s lap and bolted over to Gold before Emma could frame an answer to that.

“Up!” the child demanded, and Emma held her breath, wondering how in the world the vicious dealmaker would reply to that one.

“I’m sorry,” Lacey said quickly—but interestingly enough, her apology was directed at Emma and Mary Margaret.  “She’s having one of those days.”

“It’s no problem,” Mary Margaret reassured the brunette as Gold bent down and obey the three year old’s command.  He hefted the little girl like a man accustomed to children, sitting her on the counter in front of him.  Immediately, she reached for his tie again, tugging the ends out of his jacket and trying to untie it.  Or tie it into a bow.  Emma couldn’t tell which.

“Can you help?” Emma demanded, making Gold look up from the child who was determinedly tangling up his tie.

“It’s not a case I’d take, no.  You’d be bound to lose.”

How could the man keep his voice that cold, and then look down almost fondly at the little girl in front of him?  The more Emma saw of Gold, the less she thought she actually knew him.  The man remained an enigma, and she had absolutely no idea what made him tick.

“Great,” Emma replied as Mary Margaret’s face fell.  “That’s _really_ helpful, Gold.”  She might have said something else, but there was a child present.  Interestingly enough, as Emma spoke, Lacey had stepped up next to Gold and was throwing him a significant look that Emma just couldn’t read.

“I’m afraid that I’m not a miracle worker, Sheriff.  I can only work with the cards I am dealt,” Gold answered with another shrug, but then looked down with a small smile as Renee finally managed to stand up on the counter and untie his tie.  “Now what are you going to do with that?” he asked the three year old.

“Give to Mamma,” Renee replied, tugging the tie free, then turning solemnly to Lacey and offering her the tie.

“Thank you,” Lacey said with a laugh, and Renee preened.

‘I guess we’ll just be going then,” Mary Margaret said softly, and Emma shot one more glare at Gold that he promptly ignored.  She was certain that there probably _was_ something he could do—the man had more power than anyone else in Storybrooke, and this Merryweather woman probably owed him a favor or two.  Everyone seemed to.

“Good luck,” Lacey said to Mary Margaret, and Emma gave her a nod as the pair walked out of the shop.  Emma was still stewing angrily, _knowing_ that Gold could do something but unable to prove it.  Then again, the man liked to work with deals, right?  Emma was willing to bet she could find some dark secret of his that would encourage Gold to help her roommate if she looked hard enough.  She hated turning to the bastard, but he really was the only one who could help.  He was shady as hell, tricky to a fault, and ruthlessly intelligent.  And if he knew what dirt Merryweather had on the judges, surely Gold had something to counter that.

Emma just had to find a way to motivate him to work on their behalf.

* * *

 

_2 Years, 10 Months Before the Curse_

Cora appeared in the Dark Castle less than an hour after Rumplestiltskin sent Charming on his way.  Fortunately, Belle was with Gabrielle in the library, and Rumplestiltskin’s spells masked the presence of his wife and daughter from any visiting sorcerer, but having his former lover appear in his  home did not put him in a good mood.  Particularly when he was so busy making sure she was thwarted.

“I thought better of you, Rumple,” she said by way of greeting, gliding forward.  “Are you _siding_ with my nauseating little stepdaughter?”

Barking a laugh, Rumplestiltskin lounged back in his chair.  “Now, why would I side with anyone?” he asked lightly, his eyes dancing.  Cora didn’t know that she was already caught in the beginning sections of his trap, her feet firmly on the path that would lead her to casting his curse.  “I think we both know that I _only_ do things for my own reasons.”

“You helped Prince James find her,” Cora snapped.

“What of it?” Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “He had something I wanted.”

“Like what?”

“Now, that’s my business, dearie,” he replied with a giggle.  _You are going to be the_ last _person in all the worlds who learns that I have bottled True Love._

“Oh, don’t be so difficult.”  She glided forward to place a hand on his arm, and Rumplestiltskin resisted the urge to yank away.  “We used to be so close.  Do you really have to interfere with my affairs _now_?”

“I’m not interfering,” Rumplestiltskin murmured, his tone deceptively mild.  He was curious to see if Cora would get the hint or not; if not, well, he still had a few lessons left to teach his former student.  “What I do is my own affair.  I’d remind _you_ not to interfere with that.”

“Did you really help him only because he had something you wanted?” she wanted to know, her dark eyes intently focused on him.  The hand on his arm tightened ever so slightly.  A warning.

“Why else would I?” he asked neutrally, and then came to his feet more quickly than Cora could step back, his free hand seizing her wrist in an iron grip.  Rumplestiltskin had always been a slight man, but his curse did wonders for muscle tone and bone strength, and he knew he could be stronger than any mortal man when he wished to be.  Now he used that strength, channeling magic down his arm and squeezing Cora’s wrist until she let go of his upper arm and hissed ever so softly in pain.

“You have your reasons,” she retorted, refusing to back down.

Oh, she was truly majestic, this cold and heartless woman he’d once loved.  But his feelings for her had long since gone cold, even if he could admire her and remember Cora with a little affection.  Now Rumplestiltskin was only looking for someone angry enough to cast his curse without thought for the consequences—or, in Cora’s case, someone who thought she could _manage_ those consequences so well that they would not matter.  Her hubris would be useful, but her strengths were many, and Rumplestiltskin could not let himself forget that just because his love for her had long since soured.

“That I do,” the Dark One said slowly, not releasing her.  In fact, he tightened his grip ever so slightly, his curse singing in his mind to egg him on.  _Teach her not to trifle with you.  Remind her who is more powerful!_   A sharp edge entered his voice: “And you would do well to remember who taught who, Cora.  I will do as I please, and you certainly cannot stop me.  Are you going to try?”

He punctuated the last bit with a hard squeeze and a nasty little giggle; Cora had the brains to shake her head slightly. 

“I see no reason to,” the Evil Queen replied with dignity.

“Good!  Then we’re the best of friends, aren’t we?” he tittered, letting his gaze burn into hers.

Cora was the only woman he knew who could meet the fury of the Dark One head on and not flinch, or at least had been until he met Belle.  She could even look dignified as she did so.  “Of course we are,” she smiled.

 _Of course, I’d never feel this angry at Belle, so the comparison is moot.  Belle’d shout me down out of a fury cheerfully, but she’d probably be right,_ Rumplestiltskin reflected, and it was thinking of his wife that made him calm down, not anything Cora might have said.  Besides, it wasn’t his temper, not really.  The man Rumplestiltskin might be under the curse could have merely warned her, but the Dark One could not.

“Well, then, everyone’s happy!” Rumplestiltskin giggled, releasing her and leaning forwards until Cora took a step back.  “Except for your little stepdaughter, of course.  I imagine she’s suffering quite monstrously.  How strong _did_ you make that nightmare curse?”

“Strong enough.”  Cora looked offended.

“Yes, yes,” he waved her pride away, “but how long will it take to _kill_ her?”

That was important to know, after all.  If Charming had cut too close, Rumplestiltskin would have to find himself a new True Love couple and perhaps a new curse caster.  _Or perhaps I will help Regina free her stableboy after all.  Give them a few challenges, watch their love grow…Cora would hunt them just as enthusiastically, and maybe they’d be strong enough.  Maybe._ But he still preferred Snow and her charming prince.  He had alternatives—even that empty-headed princess whose wedding he’d recently set up, or the daughter of Maleficent’s first sleeping princess—but he preferred to keep to his original plan.

“Months,” Cora replied with relish, a small smile.  “At least four or five.  I want her to _suffer._ ”

 _Foolish woman.  You’re digging your own grave,_ Rumplestiltskin thought, but what he said was: “Well, I’d say you’ve managed that.”

“I am grateful for the help, Rumple,” she purred, moving in close again and giving him what Cora probably thought was a seductive smile.

“I hope you remember that when I call in that favor you owe me, dearie,” he replied with a wild grin.

“Are you certain there isn’t something you want now?” Cora asked suggestively.

That dumped cold water on Rumplestiltskin’s enjoyment of the moment, and his curse only made it worse, whispering: _Go on.  Seduce her.  Gain her confidence and let her think she has your love once more.  Then you will be able to get_ anything _you want._   With an effort, he shoved those thoughts aside.  His curse might not love Belle the way he did—it _feared_ Belle—but Rumplestiltskin would not betray her, no matter what short term advantages it gave him.  He had always been a man of his word, and he’d promised to love Belle for all eternity.  As if anything in any world could ever make him stop.

“Quite,” he snapped, and gestured at the door.  “You’ve over worn your welcome, _Your Majesty._ Don’t you have some peasants to torment?”

Cora laughed.  “Hardly.  You know that I prefer tormenting the ability, Rumple.  But I can see when you wish to be alone, and I have no desire to intrude.  We will see one another again, of course.”

“Oh, of course.”  Rumplestiltskin escorted Cora to the door and bowed to her, a flourishing gesture that said everything about his manners and nothing about her superiority.  He watched her go with satisfaction, feeling the pieces of his plan click into place. 

 _Months, dearie?_ he thought with a smile.  _Oh, no.  You’ll make Snow White suffer, but her swan princess will break_ _your precious victory in two._

* * *

 

The door swung shut, and Belle immediately turned to look at him, her blue eyes pleading.  “Can’t you do anything to help Mary Margaret?”

“Sweetheart…” He trailed off momentarily, gathering his thoughts.  Rumplestiltskin should have known this was coming.  Belle had a good heart, and she had always hated seeing anyone suffer.  “It’s not that simple.”

“Simple?” Renee echoed, and Rumplestiltskin glanced down at his daughter before he picked her up off the counter.  She was such an adorable distraction, and hopefully one that would work on Belle, too.

“You have dirt on everyone,” his wife pointed out, undeterred even as they headed into the back room, to where they’d set up a play area for Renee.  “Surely you know enough about a judge to get them to overturn the contract if Mary Margaret challenged it.”

“I do, but under these circumstances, it won’t help.  Cora’s thorough, very through.  She made sure that Judge Herman has vices she can control, and Judge Dallas…well, don’t get me started on her.  She’ll side with Merryweather.”

“Who was she, anyway?” Belle asked, and then shook her head as Renee started playing with a pair of plastic horses.  “Scratch that.  Who were _all_ of them?”

“Judge Herman was King Francis, _dear_ Princess Ella’s father-in-law.  Judge Dallas was Bo Peep, a minor and rather inefficient warlord who was defeated by Charming before he even became a prince.  And Merryweather…well, she was Maleficent, of course.”

“And they’re all on Cora’s side?” she asked skeptically.

“It’s far from that simple.  Merryweather owns an escort service that amounts to a brothel, along with the most ‘exclusive’ club in town, the Basement.  She’s got her hooks in nearly every man with money—excluding me, of course—because they all patronize her establishment.  Some of the women, also.  Herman’s one of her most frequent customers, right up there with our dear District Attorney, Albert Spencer.  Neither of them will be pleased with those vices when they wake up,” he replied with a sneer, imagining both royals’ reactions to having patronized something as low-class, and as crass, as a brothel.  “As for Dallas, well, she’s an investor.  And has a few dangerous eccentricities of her own that Merryweather indulges.  Neither judge will risk upsetting their own relationship with Merryweather for Ms. Blanchard.”

“Oh.”  Belle frowned, and then looked at him with confusion.  “How come Lacey never heard of this ‘Basement’?”

Rumplestiltskin hesitated, and then decided to go with the truth.  “Sweetheart…the only reason Lacey would have been invited down there would not have been as a guest, if you know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.  Not really, anyway.”

“I’m not sure you want to know,” he replied quietly, thinking of the rumors he had heard and the information he’d gleaned.  Gold had a standing invitation to the Basement, but had only accepted once.  Apparently even his cursed self had standards, and forcing himself upon women who ‘agreed’ to even the sickest of requests—because they had no other choice—was not one of Gold’s quirks.   _I probably have Cora to thank for that, but in this case, I_ am _a little grateful.  I am many things, but I am not that kind of monster._

Belle studied him for a moment, cocking her head and obviously waiting for an answer.  He sighed, and continued:

“Let’s just say that Merryweather’s collection of young ladies isn’t all that willing, but they don’t have a choice.  I’m not sure anyone’s ever seen the ones who live in the Basement, excluding the customers.”

“That’s horrible!” His wife went a little pale with shock, and Rumplestiltskin gave her a moment to process the news.  Belle was well enough read and had a vivid enough imagination to figure out what happened in the Basement, and, well, he really didn’t care to go into details.  Whatever Belle could imagine was bad enough.  There was no reason to tell her the worse parts.  “That’s what’s going to happen to Mary Margaret if she can’t pay off her debts, isn’t it?”

“Probably.”

Belle speared him with a look.  “You can’t let that happen.”

* * *

 

Monday mornings were Mary Margaret’s least favorite time of the week.  She was a morning person, of course, and running into David at Granny’s made _any_ morning better, but even the best of children were never happy to be back in class after a weekend.  And students whose teacher’s face had been plastered all over the front page of the local paper were hardly the ones who were likely to behave well.  Hers weren’t nearly as bad as they could have been—or as bad as they’d been last week, to be honest—but the first few hours of Monday morning were still brutal, particularly because Mary Margaret couldn’t stop thinking about the debt her father had somehow incurred a few weeks before his death.

She didn’t know what she was going to do.  She really didn’t.

But spending the day in a daze didn’t help.  Her students deserved better than that, so Mary Margaret put on her bravest face and forced herself to focus.  Surely, she and Emma would figure out something between the two of them; Emma was smart and brave, and she was the best friend Mary Margaret had ever had.  However, holding on to her optimism was so hard when she found yet _another_ student transfer request on her desk when she came back from lunch, this time from the parents of young Kylee Martin, one of the brightest girls in Mary Margaret’s class.  Kylee was a joy to teach, and she would be so sad to see her go.  _It’s not her fault.  Mrs. Martin has always been very conservative, and given what my reputation has become, I suppose I can’t blame her,_ Mary Margaret thought to herself, straightening her shoulders and tucking the request away in the appropriate folder.  She’d give it to Ms. Cole after school that day, and she had no doubt that the principal would deal with the issue expeditiously.

“Ms. Blanchard, a moment?” a voice asked, and Mary Margaret’s head jerked up.

Speaking of Kathryn Cole, there she was.  The blonde principal was standing in the door to Mary Margaret’s classroom with her hands on her hips and the angriest expression Mary Margaret had ever seen on her face.  Kathryn looked absolutely livid—not that she ever looked kindly Mary Margaret’s way; the two had never gotten along—and Mary Margaret hurried over.  She didn’t have to like her boss to respect her, and Kathryn ran Storybrooke Elementary well, if with a much harsher hand than some of the teachers liked. 

“Yes?” she asked, not sure why her heart was pounding in her chest.

“We received a notice of indebtedness for you this morning,” Kathryn snapped, waving a piece of paper in Mary Margaret’s face.  “Do you know what this is?”

“I have a fairly good idea, yes,” she answered slowly, feeling her stomach fold in on itself.  Why did Madam Merryweather have to send that _here_?  Mary Margaret knew that the law permitted creditors to send notices to the debtor’s place of employment, but surely Merryweather would wait for a response before doing that!  Mary Margaret had only received the notice on Saturday herself, and everything was happening so fast.

“Were you going to tell me about it?” the principal demanded.

“If you’d just let me explain—”

“No.  That’s answer enough for me,” Kathryn cut her off viciously, yanking the paper away before Mary Margaret could even verify that it said the same thing the one she’d received did.  “And I’ve had quite enough.  I could tolerate your sordid affair with David Nolan— _barely_ —but this is going too far.  Now you have failed to pay a significant debt to the most reprehensible place in the entire town, _and_ you’re suspected of murder.  I won’t have you around the children any longer.  You’re fired.”

“I… _what?_ ” she gaped.  “You—you can’t!”

“Of course I can.  You’ve brought discredit down upon the school and are possibly a danger to the students.  You have an hour to gather your belongings before I call the Sheriff to have you removed.”

Kathryn strode away, without even bothering to acknowledge the crowd of students and other teachers who had gathered around to watch the fireworks.  Stunned, Mary Margaret just stared at her back, feeling hot tears starting to trickle down her face.  She couldn’t understand how this was happening.  A few months ago, everything had started looking up.  She had a roommate, a real friend for the first time in forever, and had finally started paying her debts down.  Then she’d found a man who she loved, whose wife was happy to let them be together…and now she’d lost everything in the blink of an eye.  How could she go from happiness to utter despair so quickly?  She was too shocked to move as the bell rang and the students scurried into the classroom, followed by Mrs. Hutchinson, who was clearly there to substitute in for Mary Margaret.  

Mrs. Hutchinson had been a friend until today, but she refused to look at the woman she was replacing as she walked by.  None of the other teachers so much as glanced her way as they retreated into their own classrooms, either; Mary Margaret looked at several of them, but they each avoided her gaze.  Heartbroken, she stood alone in the hallway, struggling to hold back tears and wondering how everything had gone so wrong.  Finally, after Mrs. Hutchinson led the students out of Mary Margaret’s old classroom and towards the library, she staggered into the room to gather her belongings.  Standing there and crying would do her no good.  She had to…well, she didn’t know what she had to do, or how she was going to cope, but Mary Margaret would try to be brave.

That was all she had left.

* * *

 

_2 Years, 10 Months Before the Curse_

David landed hard, stumbling as magic deposited him at the mouth of a cave.  Cold air blew out of it, much colder than the crisp fall air surrounding him and making the prince shiver.  Looking around, he tried to get his bearings, but there really weren’t any landmarks worth noting.  The cave was up against a mountain, or maybe mountains, but he was too close to the rock face to see which, and he wasn’t about to backtrack far enough to figure it out.  Not with Snow inside.

“That sorcerer had better be right,” he muttered to himself, shifting his grip on the sword Rumplestiltskin had given him.  It was magic, the dangerous imp had said, and even the shepherd David had been raised as had heard of such swords.  Rumplestiltskin had said that this one would slay any magical beasts that David came across, and if the Dark One was sending him in with a sword like this, that meant David was going to need it.

 _Who would have thought that I’d ever be in a situation like this?  Not too many years ago, I was terrified of facing Bo Peep and her little band of mercenaries, and I didn’t even know how to use a sword,_ he thought as he glanced around to see if there were any traps designed to keep him from entering the cave.  _Now I’m standing here, holding a magical sword, and going to give True Love’s Kiss to the woman I love more than life itself._ Back on the farm, David could never even have dreamt of being in this position, for all that he talked of wanting to fall in love rather than marry for a monetary or social advantage.  He’d never once imagined that he’d find someone like Snow, that he’d love her _so_ very much…or that he’d be willing to risk everything just to see her once more.

A nightmare curse, Rumplestiltskin had said.  Dangerous and horrible, and able to make Snow lash out at David as much as at anyone else.  He would have to get through whatever gauntlet Queen Cora had put in place before he could get to her, and _then_ he’d have to find a way to kiss her.  But Snow was counting on him to find her, and David was not about to let her down.

 _I will always find you,_ he vowed silently.  Then he squared his shoulders, brought the sword up into a low guard, and strode into the cave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Mary Margaret! But Cora can’t let her have happiness, so she’s going to find other ways to make her suffer. Belle, however, might be determined to help. 
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Thirty-Six: “A Nightmare Come to Life,” in which Ms. Merryweather offers Mary Margaret a job, Cora foists another deputy on Emma, August conspires with Henry, and Belle goes to work on her husband. Back in the past, David fights his way towards Snow, encountering trolls, demons, and other dangers.
> 
> While you’re waiting for the next chapter, please check out my new story, “Remember”.


	36. A Nightmare Come to Life

The phone rang, startling Mary Margaret out of the daze she had been sitting in all afternoon.  Somehow she had made it back to the loft—she still wasn’t sure how; she barely remembered leaving the school—and now she was sitting alone on the couch, staring blankly at the coffee table, with boxes of her classroom supplies strewn around at her feet.  One had been knocked over, somehow, but she hadn’t noticed.  Maybe she’d dropped it?  But the insistent ringing of the phone finally tore her out of the depression she had been spiraling deeper and deeper into.  Although she wanted so desperately to ignore the phone and just block out the entire world, a part of Mary Margaret did not want to be that weak.  Part of her demanded she fight back.  She had done her crying.  Now she had to move on.

So, she answered the phone with only a slight quiver in her voice.  “Hello?”

“Is this Ms. Blanchard?” a smooth female voice asked.

“Yes,” Mary Margaret answered warily.  Something in that tone set her teeth on edge.  She wasn’t certain if she’d ever heard the other woman’s voice before, but there was something frightening underneath the cultured veneer.

“This is Melaina Merryweather.  I am calling about the debt you owe me.”

“My father’s debt,” she answered quickly.  “Not mine.”

“Your name is on the contract, Ms. Blanchard,” was the cold response.  “That makes it your debt, and I require on time payment.  Will you be able to meet your obligation?”

“I…” Mary Margaret cringed, and swallowed back the urge to cry again.  When she said no more, Merryweather pressed:

“I understand that you were fired today, and that you lack the resources to pay any of your debts without employment.”

“Yes.  That is correct.”  She took a deep breath, and continued as calmly as she could.  “I am going to need some time.  I’m sorry.  But if we could renegotiate the terms, I can find a way to—”

“No.”

The frigid response made her jump.  “Excuse me?”

“I said no.  I have an alternative proposal for you, one you will accept.  I will provide you with employment, and with housing, since I am certain that you will not be able to pay your rent, either, given your current circumstances,” the other woman replied, her voice taking on an almost bored quality.  “In return, you will remain on my premises until your debt is paid off.  I will have a contract delivered to you tomorrow, and I expect you to be here the following morning, with your belongings.  No furnishings will be required.   Your current furniture will be sold at auction to cover the down payment on your debt.”

For a moment, Mary Margaret was so shocked that she could not speak.  “Wait a minute!” she finally managed, the words coming from somewhere deep within her.  “I’m not sure that’s legal.”

“Neither is defaulting on a contract, Ms. Blanchard.”

“But—I have until the fifteenth to pay, don’t I?” she pressed.

“You do, but I do not advise you to delay.  Doing so will _not_ make me more charitable,” Merryweather replied, and now Mary Margaret was not imagining a threatening undertone in her voice. 

“You’ll have your answer on the fifteenth,” Mary Margaret said firmly, sucking in a deep breath.  Was she crazy?  Madam Merryweather wasn’t as terrifying as Mr. Gold, but she had a fearsome reputation all the same, and Mary Margaret would have to be to be a fool to not take the offer that Merryweather was making.

“Very well.  I look forward to hearing from you,” Merryweather replied, and Mary Margaret grimaced as she hung up the phone without so much as saying goodbye. 

_She wants me to become a whore_ , Mary Margaret knew.  _Or what amounts to one, anyway, even if she doesn’t technically call me that._ She felt cold, cold and angry.  Her heartbreak seemed like a thing of the past, now; fury had taken its place.  Merryweather wanted to use this debt that Mary Margaret didn’t even _remember_ incurring to force her to become something she was not.  Yes, she was having an affair with a married man, and no, that was hardly the most morally upright thing that she could do.  But that wasn’t the same as becoming one of the poor, trapped girls that worked for Very Merry Escorts.  Rumors said that the company employed more than just escorts, too, that there was something dark and sinister going on beneath the posh upstairs establishment, but Mary Margaret knew nothing of that.  And she didn’t want to find out.

She just knew that she was her own person, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let anyone force her into becoming something she was not.

* * *

 

“I don’t appreciate the way you are running things, Sheriff,” Cora said by way of greeting, having crossed the street to step right into Emma’s path.

“And I don’t appreciate the way you bully people because it makes you feel powerful,” Emma shot back, meeting the mayor glare for glare.  She shrugged showily. “I guess that means we’re even.”

What she really wanted to do was punch Cora right in the face, but Emma knew that the mayor would just bring her up on assault charges if she dared.  Cora wasn’t the brawler type, and Emma doubted that this mayor would even get into a decent catfight if provoked.  No, she was the type to send someone else to do her dirty work for her, and Emma had seen enough of that dirty work lately.  She couldn’t prove it, of course, but for once she agreed with Henry.  Cora _had_ to be behind the trio of horrible things that had happened to Mary Margaret in the past week.  Everyone knew that Francis Scadlock was Cora’s creature, and he’d sprung two of those surprises in his heinous article.  The third appeared to be completely separate, and there was no way to tie Cora to that mysteriously-appearing debt, but Emma’s instincts told her that this bitch was behind it.

Now, however, Cora was just smiling.  _Always a bad sign._

“Unfortunately for you, Miss Swan, I have the means with which to rectify—or at least mollify—our philosophical differences,” the mayor replied smugly, and Emma rolled her eyes.

“You can’t fire me,” she retorted.  “Your precious city charter—you know, the one you got changed so that I couldn’t fire the _drunk_ you saddled me with—says that much.  Unless you can prove me guilty of a crime, you have to wait four years to get rid of me.

They’d kill each other within four years, Emma was certain, so she figured she was safe for now.

“Oh, of course not.  Why would I ever want to fire an upstanding and elected official like yourself?” Cora said, her smug smirk still in place. 

“Then what the hell are you getting at?”

“I simply wanted to inform you that Deputy Sheriff Rathbone has been declared fit for duty again by Doctor Whale,” was the easy response, and Emma blinked. The name was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t remember why for the life of her.

“Who?” she asked.

“Gary Rathbone.  Your second deputy sheriff.  I seem to recall you complaining that you and Deputy Law are stretched too thin, and I thought I would deliver the good news in person.”

“Something tells me that it’s not good news if you’re delivering it,” Emma said before she could stop herself.

“Oh, I’m hurt,” Cora said, mock pouting.

“I bet you are,” she shot back.  “Is that all?”

Cora just continued to smile.  “For now.”

* * *

    

The kid was smart.  August had to give him that.  He’d been pouring over that book in the back of the diner like it was his job, watching way more carefully than most ten year old kids did for who might be watching _him._   Finally, after catching a glimpse of the book—and having been forewarned for what it might just be—August made his way over.

“Henry, isn’t it?” he asked in as friendly of a manner as he could.

“Yeah,” the kid answered warily.

“I’m August.  Mind if I join you?”

Henry gave him a suspicious look.  “What for?”

August made a great show of looking around and making sure no one was watching.  “I wanted to talk to you about the curse,” he said quietly, and watched the boy’s eyes light up.  _Gotcha,_ he thought with an inner grin that he was careful not to let the boy see.  After all, it wouldn’t do to scare him away.  August needed his help if he was going to make Emma believe, because his short time in Storybrooke had certainly taught August that the sheriff was going to be a tough nut to crack.

“You bet!” Henry said, and August took the seat across from him.  The boy looked at him with sharp brown eyes—and just _who_ did those eyes remind him of?  It was someone, but he couldn’t pin the memory down—and asked: “How do you know about the curse? Do you believe?”

August grinned despite the seriousness of the situation.  He hadn’t expected this town to be quite so miserable, to be honest; as bad as his Papa had always told him the Evil Queen was, August had never imagined she’d be quite _this_ evil.  People in Storybrooke didn’t warm up quickly to strangers, but he’d already picked up stories of an insane asylum tucked away under the hospital, a library fire set by _someone_ without any arrests happening, and an election that the mayor didn’t quite manage to rig.  This place was downright creepy, miserable and dark, and August wanted to leave as quickly as he could.  _Once I can stop turning to wood, anyway, and that means I have to help Emma break the curse,_ he thought determinedly.  _Then_ he could leave.  Which, of course, brought his attention back to young Henry Nolan.

“I know because I know,” he answered, “and yes, I believe.”

“Really?” the kid peered at him curiously.  “Did my grandmother put you up to this?”

August couldn’t help his grimace; he remembered what the Evil Queen had put Princess Snow and Prince James through; he’d been just old enough to understand when his father had built the enchanted wardrobe.  “Believe me, I wouldn’t work with the Evil Queen on anything.  I promise.”

That seemed to be the right answer, although Henry still had more questions.  “So, then how do you know it’s real?  You just got here.”

“Because I know a detail that isn’t in your book,” August replied, injecting just enough mystery into his voice to get the ten year old hooked.  After all, no matter how bright of a kid Henry Nolan was, he _was_ ten, and that meant August should be able to run circles around him.

“Like what?” the boy asked eagerly.

“Like how two people went through the wardrobe,” he said with a sly smile; August had considered stealing the book, and he still intended to, but there was no reason he couldn’t whet the boy’s appetite in the meantime.

“Now I know you’re lying,” Henry told him, suddenly serious.  “Emma’s the only one that went through.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because it’s in my book.”  Henry didn’t quite call him stupid, but August knew enough about kids to know he was thinking it.  He certainly would have been in the kid’s place.

August leaned forward, speaking softly.  “What if I told you that your book is incomplete?  That there’s more to the story than you know?”

“I’d think you were lying or making stuff up,” the boy replied honestly, and August chuckled.

“How about I prove it to you?” he challenged.

“How’re you going to do that?”

“I’ve got something in my room to show you,” he grinned.  “But you have to come up so I can show it to you.  I’m not bringing it down here.  It’s too dangerous.”

Henry perked up immediately, and slammed the book shut.  A split second later, the kid was on his feet, shoving the giant book into his bag and grinning.  “Sure!  Let’s go.”

“Shouldn’t you tell your parents first?” After all, he didn’t want to be accused of kidnapping.

“Dad’s gone to see Mary Margaret to see if he can help her, and Mom’s at work.  I was hanging out with Emma, but she had to go run and do some sheriff-y stuff.”

“Why were you hanging out with the sheriff?” August asked curiously.  Henry had obviously figured things out, but where did he fit into this?  _His friendship with Emma could be useful. Maybe Henry’s the reason that she is starting to believe. That’s a lot better than her believing his adopted mother, the Dark Princess.  Or his grandmother, the Evil Queen herself,_ he thought.  _I knew this kid would be a good ally._

“‘Cause she’s my mom.”

A moment passed before August could even process that.  “She’s your what?”

“Y’know.  My birth mom.  Regina and David adopted me, but Emma did the dirty work,” Henry replied easily.  “You’re an adult.  You’re supposed to know how that works.”

All August could do was gape.  Somehow, it had never occurred to him that this brown-haired bundle of belief and energy might be _Emma’s_ son, but suddenly the former puppet knew exactly who the boy reminded him of.  Henry was just the right age for Emma to have been pregnant when she went to jail, and that meant…

_Oh, man.  This is going to be_ such _a mess._

He really needed to talk to the Blue Fairy about this one.

* * *

  

_2 Years, 10 Months Before the Curse_

Three trolls guarded the entrance to the cave.

Well, technically they guarded a point about fifty feet inside the cave, a narrow bridge over a deep chasm that there was no hope of scaling.  They still rounded on the prince when he stepped around a corner, two of trio in the midst of crawling on the walls of the cave, one going up towards the ceiling, and the other scurrying down the chasm itself.  Those two paused, and all three growled menacingly.  Stopping, David shifted his grip cautiously on the sword in his hand but did not attack.  Although the Dark One had given him a sword that would surely kill any manner of magical creature—he didn’t think Rumplestiltskin had lied about that—David didn’t want to have to fight unless he had to.  Trolls were greedy, weren’t they?  They wanted gold more than they wanted a fight, and if he could outsmart them, he could save his strength for later battles.

“Hello,” he said cautiously, lowering his sword enough so that they could see that he didn’t mean to attack.  All he received in return was grunts and snarls, so he continued:  “I would like to cross your bridge.  Is there a price?”

He had gold, after all.  Plenty of it.  George always made sure of that.  Normally, David though the king was just being paranoid—David had long ago learned to survive on a pittance—but right now, that could prove useful.  Particularly if it meant getting the trolls out of his way and himself across the bridge.  _And one step closer to Snow._

“What’cha got?” the biggest of the trolls asked.  This one was wide and gray-skinned, with long black hair that reminded David more of a horse’s mane than human hair.  He sauntered around like he owned the world, stepping towards the prince in a manner clearly meant to intimidate. 

If David hadn’t been so determined to rescue Snow, he might have had time to be frightened.  As it was, he was too focused on his end goal.

“What do you want?” he countered levelly as the other two trolls tromped their way over to join their fellow, both glaring suspiciously at David.

“Who are you?” one of the others demanded.

“A friend of someone further in the cave,” he said as vaguely as he could manage.  Something told David that sharing too much about himself could bring disaster down upon him.

“There’s no one in the cave,” the third troll growled, lumbering towards the bridge with a scowl.  “Unless you want _her._ ”

That had to be Snow.  David’s heart leapt before he could stop it, and his eagerness must have shown on his face, because all three trolls laughed.  It was a low and unnerving noise, one that grated on his senses and made him feel like his face was being scraped over sharp rocks.  Three sets of rotting teeth grinned in response to his reaction, and David knew he had to act fast.

“I just want to cross your bridge,” he repeated.  “And I can pay.  Gold.”

“Gold?” the first troll echoed, clearly interested. 

“Yes.  But not if you don’t let me pass.”

“We could eat you, and then take your gold,” the third troll volunteered.

David forced himself to laugh.  “I think you’ll find I don’t taste that good,” he told them.  “I’d be chewy, and so would this.”  With the last word, he brought his sword back up in to a guard, meeting the gaze of the first troll.  “I don’t want trouble, but if you aren’t willing to accept payment, I’m going to fight my way across.  Then you’ll lose your lives _and_ my gold.”

He waited a heartbeat, waited for avarice to light up in the trolls’ eyes, and then continued: “So, what’ll it be?  Fight or payment?”

* * *

  

“You’ve got to eat something,” Emma said to her roommate, leaning on the wall while Mary Margaret curled up in a ball on her bed. 

“I’m not hungry,” the former schoolteacher whispered. 

“That’s stress talking,” Emma countered, moving over to flop on the bed next to her.  “C’mon.  We’ll start looking for a new job for you in the morning.  There’s bound to be something, even if it’s working at Granny’s.”

“Granny doesn’t want to hire a suspected murderer,” Mary Margaret replied dejectedly, and Emma resisted the urge to shake her.  But then, given the kind of day the other woman had just had, Emma supposed she couldn’t blame her.  She’d been fired, kicked out of the only job she’d ever had, and then come home to a cold-blooded job ‘offer’ from someone who practically wanted to make her into a whore.

Emma just sat up and said: “Let her tell you that, okay?  I’ll talk to some people.  Folks in this town aren’t quite as bad as everyone seems to think.  We’ll find something.”

“Emma…I know you’re trying to help, but I don’t want to drag you down with me.  Maybe I should just take Madam Merryweather’s offer…”

“Do you want to?” As sheriff, Emma had to be against whatever the hell that offer actually included if it was in any way illegal, but as a woman and a friend she needed to respect Mary Margaret’s choices.

“No,” her friend whispered.

“Then do you want to fight it?  I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but we’ll find a way if that’s what you want,” she said firmly.

“I can’t even pay the rent.” Mary Margaret turned to look at Emma, tears streaming down her face, and Emma finally just reached out and hugged her. 

“I can help with that.  My paycheck can cover both of us until you get things straightened out,” she said.  Emma had never been the most emotionally demonstrative person in the world—her own messed up past had taught her not to care too easily, and not to get in too deeply—but this was different.  Mary Margaret had stood by her when she struggled to find a place in Henry’s life, and when she’d fought to become sheriff despite Cora’s opposition.  The least Emma could do was stand by her now.

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t.  I offered.” She smiled.  “That’s what friends are for, right?”

Whatever Mary Margaret might have said was cut off by a knock at the door, and Emma felt her friend flinch.  So, she pulled back after giving Mary Margaret one last squeeze, ready to pop the head off of the intruder.  _Heaven help the bastard at the door if they’re here to talk about debts, deaths, or David_ , Emma thought in a mental snarl.  And if it was that jackass Scadlock at the door, looking for an interview, Emma was pretty sure that she’d have to put being the sheriff aside for a bit in order to properly deal with the man.  But she could do that.  Mary Margaret deserved better, and Emma knew that she’d already ignored three calls from Scadlock and one from Sidney, although at least Sidney was likely to actually want Mary Margaret’s side of the story.

Maybe that was an idea, Emma reflected as she unlocked the door.  If Sidney was willing—

“Oh.  Hi, David,” she said awkwardly as she opened the door to find Regina’s husband outside.  Of course, it made sense that he’d want to come see if Mary Margaret was okay, but he was the last person Emma wanted to see right now.  Or maybe the fourth from last.  She would have liked a visit from Scadlock, Merryweather, or Cora even less.

_I don’t care if Regina’s okay with this, or if Henry thinks they’re ‘True Love’.  Being in the middle of two friends who are both involved with the same man is_ really _uncomfortable_ , she thought, watching David shift uneasily under her glare.

“Hi,” he said awkwardly.  “Is Mary Margaret here?”

“She is, but she’s not really receiving visitors at the moment,” Emma replied.  “It’s been a hell of a day.”

“I know.  And I don’t want to add to it, really.  I just wanted to see if she was okay.”

“Of course she isn’t,” she said bluntly, and then relented a bit when she saw guilt flash over the handsome face.  “Look, that’s not your fault, but if you come in here, people are only going to talk more, and she doesn’t need that right now, okay?”

“I know.  I just wanted to…I don’t know what I wanted to do.  I want to help,” David stuttered earnestly.  “I feel responsible, even if I didn’t have anything to do with the debt.  Maybe Ms. Cole wouldn’t have fired her if everything else hadn’t come out first, and I wanted to say I was sorry.”

“I’ll tell her,” Emma promised, and she could see that wasn’t the answer David wanted to hear.

“David?” Mary Margaret’s voice suddenly asked, and Emma’s heart plummeted.  She didn’t want to deny Mary Margaret comfort, she really didn’t, but if the two of them were seen together now, the rumor mill would go wild.  Still, the damage was already done—David’s face was already lighting up like the proverbial Christmas Tree—and all she could do was try to mitigate it as much as she could.

“You’d better come in,” the sheriff told Regina’s husband, stepping out of his way.  But she was pretty sure that David didn’t even hear her; he just made a beeline for Mary Margaret, who jetted forward to meet him halfway.

It was almost like giant magnets drew them together; Emma knew that they both understood the risks, knew that they both would admit how wrong their relationship was and how much it could hurt what little good reputation Mary Margaret had left, but they obviously couldn’t stop themselves.  Emma’s roommate was in David’s arms before Emma could even draw a breath, and damn it all if they didn’t fit together like pieces to a puzzle.  They were oblivious, too.  When Emma tried to clear her throat to get their attention, neither noticed, and she finally just sighed.

“I’ll, uh, go upstairs,” she said to the air, hurriedly closing the door.  Neither replied; Mary Margaret was sheltering in David’s arms while he held her tight.  Emma had to give him credit for that, at least.  He’d obviously come here to make sure Mary Margaret was okay, not for any other reason, and now he was being a shoulder that she could literally cry on.  He was what she needed right now, the man she was in love with, and who was Emma to get in the way of that?

So, Emma shut her better judgment up and headed upstairs, pulling her phone out to text Sidney.  Maybe Sidney knew something about Merryweather that they could use, or could write an article to put pressure on her.  Trying to figure out how to get Gold on their side was still a bust, but maybe the only honest reporter in town could do the trick.   She stayed upstairs until after David left, waiting for an answer from Sidney while she poked through some old town records that she’d brought home.  Emma found a little bit on Merryweather, though she wasn’t sure if any of it would be useable, but at least it was a start.  Sidney, however, responded to her text within fifteen minutes. 

_I’ll see what I can’t dig up,_ he sent back.  _I heard of a girl disappearing recently.  Might be related._

_Who?_ Emma texted immediately.  No one had sent any missing person cases her way.

_Victoria Scadlock._

That made Emma’s eyebrows knit together, but Sidney was right.  Emma had released Victoria from jail almost two weeks ago, and she hadn’t seen her since.  There had been no public rows with her jerk of a husband, no further attacks, and when Emma had asked the district attorney about pressing charges, Spencer had just grimaced and said that he didn’t think there would be any further problems.

_Archie said she missed two appointments,_ Sidney added after a moment.  _Heard Scadlock talking about how he sent her to the Basement so she’d finally stop bothering him._

_Tell me what you find out,_ Emma replied immediately, wondering how this all tied together.  Victoria Scadlock was a good looking woman.  Mary Margaret was, too, particularly when she took the time to do her hair and look like something other than a schoolteacher.  What kind of business was Merryweather running?  Emma was starting to get asylum-like vibes off of this, starting to think there was something big and dangerous hidden underneath a more respectable veneer, and her instincts were lighting off.  So, she spent a little more time digging into Merryweather’s past, losing herself in that until she heard the front door open and shut again.  Putting the files aside, Emma rose from her seat on her bed.  By the time she walked downstairs, Mary Margaret was in a slightly better mood.

She was also staring at a pile of cash sitting on the kitchen table.

“I told him he didn’t have to,” Mary Margaret said softly, her eyes full of wonder.  “But he said that Regina wanted to help, too, and that this is from both of them.”

“I…that’s a lot of money,” Emma said, stunned.

“I barely know her,” Mary Margaret continued, staring at Emma like she would have the answers.  “Why is she being so nice to me?”

“That’s a good question,” Emma replied, thinking—almost against her will—about the past that Regina claimed to share with Mary Margaret.  “Maybe you were friends in a past life or something,” she added lamely, and was rewarded by a little laugh.

“Or before this curse of Henry’s?”

“Yeah.  Something like that.”

* * *

  

That same evening, Belle snuggled up against her husband after he put their daughter to bed, slipping an arm around his waist and looking up at him.  His lips twitched into a smile immediately, but she saw calculation flash through brown eyes, and Belle knew that perhaps her efforts to persuade him were a _bit_ transparent.  Then again, he knew her way too well.

“Will it make you happy if I help Mary Margaret?” Rumplestiltskin asked before Belle could even open her mouth.

“Well, yes,” she replied.  “I just…it’s terrible, what Cora is doing to her.  And it’s not that I want Cora to realize that you remember, because I don’t.  I don’t want to cause trouble for you with her…I just want to help.  If you can do it without her realizing what you’re doing.”

The mention of Cora made her husband grimace, and Belle hated herself for reminding him.  Rumplestiltskin tried so hard to shield Belle from the damage Cora had done to him—both physically and emotionally—but she knew.  She knew him better than he wanted to admit she did, too, and Belle understood that Rumplestiltskin was very frightened.  He hated being helpless, and Cora was able to make him feel that way.  In some ways, Belle was fairly sure _that_ was the root of Rumplestiltskin’s problems more than the actual abuse was; he’d spent centuries proving to himself that he wasn’t powerless, only to find that he was.  In some ways, but some was enough for Rumplestiltskin.

Fortunately, Cora appeared to have been distracted enough over the past two weeks that she summoned him rarely.  Belle was so glad for that, and not only because she treasured her evenings with her husband.  She thought she could help rebuild his scared psyche a bit if only Cora would leave him alone, and so far the Evil Queen had been strangely considerate.   _I know he’s clever enough to find a way to help Mary Margaret without letting Cora realize what’s going on,_ she thought, watching the pensive look on his face.  Rumplestiltskin was one of the smartest people Belle had ever met, and she had faith in him.

“All right,” he said softly.  “If it will make you happy.”

“Of course it will,” Belle replied, coming up on her tiptoes to kiss him lightly.  “I always knew you were a good man underneath that monstrous mask you like to wear.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “Don’t start with that.”

She just smiled.  “Too late.”  Then she cocked her head to study him, wondering if that was too easy.  “I expected to have to convince you.”

“Well, you’re still welcome to try the convincing part if it’s interesting,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her neck gently.  “But I thought that I could skip straight to the ‘making love to my wife’ part if I agreed more quickly.”

Belle giggled.  “And there I thought that I would have to bribe you,” she joked.

“Well, perhaps I should have held out longer,” Rumplestiltskin replied, leaning in to kiss her.  Belle let her arms wrap around his neck, treasuring this moment.  Even after a month of living together and being able to kiss in this Land Without Magic, she never tired of it.  Or of him.

“I think you’re doing all right,” Belle assured him, pushing the door to their bedroom open.  She’d ask him for details tomorrow.  Tonight, Belle just wanted her husband.

* * *

 

_2 Years, 10 Months Before the Curse_

Rolling to his feet, David lashed out with his sword at the berserker shadow that had been dogging his steps for the last hundred or so yards.  He’d spent those hundred yards—and what felt like forever—dodging and slaying four vicious wolves, a giant bat that foamed from the mouth with hugely terrifying teeth, and an odd rock creature that had tried to crush him.  He’d managed to slay all of those creatures, but the shadow remained with him, periodically throwing miniature bolts of lightning or fireballs his way, usually at the least opportune moment.  It was obviously as much a part of the ‘gauntlet’ as the other creatures were, but it was far cleverer and faster than the others.  David had tried to kill it when it first showed up, and it had thrown him halfway across the troll bridge without seeming to exert itself at all.  The trolls hadn’t been happy, and tried to charge him for passage a second time, but David had managed to sprint away before that could become a mess.

Then had come the first two wolves, followed by the bat, and then the other two wolves.  He was dripping sweat and freezing cold now, feeling like he’d been through a whirlpool of magic and power, or like he’d been running all day and was ready to drop.  David had no idea how long it had taken him to make it those hundred yards, but he was exhausted already.  Of course, as soon as he had killed the rock creature—after dodging its rainbow of sparks that seemed to be made of acid and getting his leg burned rather badly—the shadow attacked once more.

The shadow dodged his sword thrust and launched another fireball; David jumped aside just in time, but felt the searing heat as the fireball skirted by his right cheek.  Pivoting on his left foot, he feinted left and then brought his sword arcing around in a sweeping cut to the right, hoping to catch the shadow’s midsection and end this once and for all.  Finally, his attack connected, and the sword bit into substance that seemed more solid than a simple shadow could be.  In fact, it hit hard enough to make his wrists sting immediately, but David gritted his teeth and continued the cut, finally sawing the shadow in half.

It crumbled to the ground, collapsing into wisps of darkness that looked like fog.  The mess pooled at David’s feet as he heaved a sigh of relief.  Hopefully, Snow was around the next bend, but if not, he’d keep fighting until he got to her.

Then the two pieces of the shadow picked themselves up off of the ground, each throwing fireballs at the prince.  Yelping, he barely rolled away in time.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me!” David swore as he picked himself up, then promptly hit the ground again to avoid another fireball, this one from the lower half of the shadow.  _How can_ legs _throw a fireball?  How the heck did it grow hands?_

And the damn thing had grown hands.  Little stubby ones, sticking right out of the top of the legs. It didn’t seem to have a head, or even feet any more—had those turned into the hands?—but it did have pretty good aim.  Despite not having eyes.  At least the top half had eerily blue glowing eyes.

The top half of the shadow seemed to snarl, making a rattling noise that David had finally figured out indicated that it was about to throw lightning bolts at him.  So, he threw himself aside for the umpteenth time, dodging the lightning bolts and closing in with the bottom half of the shadow-demon-thing.  _An armless, feetless, headless, and torso-less monster,_ David thought to himself.  _Thing._   Whatever it was, a second strike from the magical sword dug in deeply enough, and this time David cut it in half vertically.  The two legs—each with their own tiny hand flailing—fell to the ground, again collapsing into a ball of fog.  This time, however, the pieces seemed to stay like that, and didn’t reconstitute into two _more_ attackers.

Unfortunately, the top half of the thing hit him with a tiny bolt of lightning while he was distracted, making David howl in pain.  This one hit him square in the left side, right at the bottom of his ribcage, and it _hurt_.  Staggering, David wheeled on the shadow and did the one thing that it probably hadn’t believed he would do: he charged.  It was a last-ditch, desperate maneuver, one that no swordsman in their right mind would try unless they had no other choice. However, since that pretty much defined David at the moment, he figured it was worth a go.

Split in half, and lacking the legs that seemed to do most of the directing when it was flying, the top half of the shadow moved much more slowly than David was expecting.  So, he hit it head on with his body instead of just with his sword, sending it into a snarling pinwheel.  Twisting right, David slashed once, then twice, and then three times, cutting the upper half of the shadow into six misshapen pieces.  With one last snarl—and a final lightning bolt burning out of its flopping left hand—the shadow demon collapsed into another puddle of shadowy fog.  This one didn’t get up, either.

“Good riddance to you, too,” the prince told the mess at his feet, panting.  He took a moment to catch his breath, doing a quick check to make sure he wasn’t any more hurt than he’d already been, and then strode for the corner up ahead.  He had to be getting close now.  He had to.

Of course, there was an ogre waiting when David came around that corner, and it immediately tried to smash his head in with a club. 

Fortunately, he was quick enough on his feet to dodge the giant club as it came crashing down, wheeling away from the roaring creature and opening the range before it could take another swing.  Whoever had set this trap up—undoubtedly Queen Cora—had obviously not expected David to have any experience at all with ogres, but he and Snow had come across a trio of them while they’d been on the run from Cora the first time.  He hadn’t known anything about them, but Snow had, and that had been when David had learned to go for an ogre’s eye to kill them.  Of course, that worked much better if one had a bow or at least a good set of throwing knives, but David hadn’t thought to bring a bow, and he wasn’t very good at throwing knives, anyway.  So, he’d have to improvise.

Dodging again as the ogre lumbered towards him, David tried to judge the distance and see if he could just make it past the monster.  He could see a glass coffin not far behind the ogre, and Snow had to be there, but what would he do when the ogre chased him?  No, he had to kill the creature before he went for Snow, even if she was almost close enough to touch.

A sudden gust of cold air warned David that the club was coming at him again, and he dropped quickly, rolling away and then jumping to his feet.  An ogre was too tall to stab in the eye, so he had to take a chance.  _It’s now or nothing!_ Reaching back, David flung the magical sword with all his might, watching it flip end over end as the ogre jumped forward to take another swing at the prince.  But the ogre never managed to raise its club.  Instead, the sword hit and the ogre rocked back on its heels, wailing out a pathetic noise of pain that suddenly rattled to a stop.  It collapsed in a heap, suddenly silent, and David waited a moment before approaching, breathing hard and unable to believe his luck.

The ogre wasn’t moving, but David yanked the sword out just to be sure, watching dead limbs twitch and deciding that was just a reflex.  Despite his desire to run straight to Snow—he could hear her screaming hoarsely, calling that she was sorry, with her voice echoing painfully from within the glass coffin—he had to pause and make sure that no other creatures were going to come jumping out at him.  _Is that it?_ he wondered tiredly.  _Surely something else is going to come out.  Does Cora think that those were enough creatures to stop anyone who was really determined?_ Chest still heaving, David looked around the cave, but he could see nothing but the dead ogre and the glass coffin.  Was it finally safe?  Had he made it through?  There was only one way to find out, so he jogged over to where the coffin sat upon on a dais made of rock, bracing himself for some other trap to spring itself.  But even once he reached Snow’s side, nothing happened, and David was finally able to look at where his love lay trapped. 

Snow’s hair was fanned out around her, tangled and matted.  Her beautiful face was thin and pale, and sweat rolled off her forehead as she twisted and twitched.  She was whispering now, not screaming, but David could barely make out the words.  Her eyes were moving rapidly underneath her closed eyelids, right then left and then right again.  Her expression was wild and desperate, and looking at her made Rumplestiltskin’s words echo through his mind. 

_“Nasty little curse, that one.  And not so little,”_ the Dark One had said.  _“Those cursed have been known to kill their own True Loves before they can be saved.”_

There was only one way to find out.  Sliding the cover of the coffin aside, David whispered: “Snow?”

He didn’t know if she could hear him or not, but if a nightmare curse was anything like real nightmares, she should be able to.  So, David reached out to touch her hair gently, hoping to rouse her from the terrible dreams obviously racing through her mind.  For a long moment, Snow continued to twitch and to whisper unintelligibly, although he was able to catch a few words.

“Sorry…didn’t want to…everyone dead because of me…mother…”

“Snow!” David tried again, shaking her gently.  But she continued to babble until a scream tore out of her, broken and hurt, making her entire body convulse.  Certain he wasn’t going to get through to her, David finally leaned over, praying that she remembered his love for her and hers for him.  His lips were inches from hers, and this had to be the end, didn’t it?  He could save her, could bring her back.  Suddenly, however, Snow’s eyes flew open, beautiful and desperate, and she reached for him.  David’s heart leapt.

Only for her hands to land on the sword Rumplestiltskin had given him and for Snow to stab it right through him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, it was time for a Snowing cliffhanger. For anyone who is curious, the new deputy (Gary Rathbone) is Guy of Gisburne. We haven’t seen him in the show, but I couldn’t resist pairing him up with Keith. 
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Thirty-Seven: “A Nightmare Come to Life,” where ‘Lacey’ visits Mary Margaret and Emma, August goes to Mother Superior with questions, Cora sends Hook to the Basement, and Rumplestiltskin faces the consequences of his choices. Back in the past, Charming and Snow’s story continues.


	37. Snow Falls

_2 Years, 10 Months Before the Curse_

David fell back with a cry.  Having a sword shoved through your gut _hurt_ , and the only good thing about the way he landed so hard on the ground was that it forced the sword most of the way out of him.  Gasping for air and seeing stars, he struggled to clear his vision, because he could hear Snow sitting up and—

“Charming?” she gasped, sounding broken. 

“Yeah,” he managed, clutching at his stomach.  It was strangely dry, but sore as hell, and he was pretty sure that he was in shock.  Any moment now, blood would start pumping out from between his fingers, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about that. He was going to die, but he could still save Snow first.  One of them had to survive this hell.  “Right here,” he panted.

“Oh, Charming, no—” For a moment, her expression looked sane but horrified, until David could see the nightmares overtake her.  Her hands came up as if to shove him away, but he was still on the ground next to the coffin.  “Stay away!  Don’t come closer!  I’ll kill them all!”

David didn’t want to know who everyone Snow thought she’d kill, or was threatening to kill, were.  He just staggered to his feet, not noticing when the sword slipped out of his gut until the blinding flash of pain made him collapse back to his knees.  Dizziness tore through him; the world was starting to spin madly.  “Snow,” he whispered raggedly. “I love you.  I know you might not be able to hear that right now, but—”

Her scream, wild and tormented, cut him off.  Hearing her in so much pain was enough to give David strength, and he shot to his feet, not caring about how badly he hurt.  He had to get to her before it was too late.  Snow’s hands came up to stop him as he leaned close to her, but sanity flashed through her eyes again, and with it recognition.  They both only lasted a split second, but her hands closed on his tunic and held on tight even as David moved to kiss her.  She was fighting it, he knew, fighting desperately against the horrors Cora had cursed her with.

Then their lips touched, and a wave of golden light and pure magic raced out from the pair, making the very air around them tremble with power.  David staggered, and suddenly Snow was supporting him as the strength seemed to seep out of his bones.  He’d made it.  He’d done it. He’d saved her.

“You found me,” Snow whispered, reaching up to touch his face.

Her touch was like heaven, and he had to smile, despite his lightheadedness.  “Did you ever doubt it?”

“Truthfully?  The glass coffin gave me pause,” was her answer, but David could see the giddy laughter in her eyes.

“I will always find you,” he replied, turning serious.  “I love you.”

Snow kissed him again, and for a moment, David felt like the world was finally right side up, like he could do anything, so long as she was by his side.  Like _they_ could do anything together.  He’d never thought he could love someone the way he loved Snow, but she was the other half of his heart.  The better half of his soul.  Then, suddenly, she pulled back.

“I hurt you!” she gasped.

“It’s nothing,” David tried to reassure her, wondering when the shock would wear off and the dying part would begin.

“I _stabbed_ you,” Snow realized, and climbed out of the coffin before he could stop her.  Her hands immediately went for his midsection, and David braced himself for pain that never came.  Snow’s eyes flashed up to meet his, confused.  “Didn’t I?”

Realization hit David like a ton of bricks, and he started to laugh.  “I can’t believe it,” he managed between fits of laughter, shaking with mirth.  “He said the sword couldn’t hurt me, but…I just can’t believe it.”

“Who said?” Snow demanded.

“Rumplestiltskin,” David replied, still laughing, as he wrapped his arms around the woman he loved.  “He helped me get here.  And he enchanted the sword so that it couldn’t hurt me.”

“Oh,” she said, glancing down at where the wound should have been.  “I’m still sorry.”

“Don’t be.  You were worth it.”

Snow’s answer was to kiss him again, and David would fight his way through a hundred gauntlets every day if that was what it took to keep this amazing woman by his side.

* * *

 

Belle made sure to knock on their door before Emma left for work on Tuesday morning.  After all, the sheriff needed to be present for this, and Belle didn’t want to risk having this conversation in the sheriff’s station where anyone could walk in.  Rumple’s plan was solid—his plans always were—and she appreciated having a part to play in it.  For once, she felt like she was truly helping break the curse instead of standing idly by while others did all the work.  So, Belle showed up at Mary Margaret and Emma’s loft at 7:15 AM on January 10th, her shoulders squared and ready to find a way to help.

Emma opened the door, looking like she was almost ready to leave for the day.  Seeing Belle made her eyes go wide in surprise.  “Lacey.  Is everything all right?”

“Of course.  But I did want to talk to you.  Do you mind if I come in?” Belle replied, struggling not to roll her eyes.  She supposed that she shouldn’t be surprised that Emma assumed that ‘Lacey’ was there because something had gone wrong in her life, or that Emma probably blamed Rumplestiltskin for that.  _Gold_.  _He’s Gold to these people.  I must remember that._

“Sure.”  The sheriff stood aside and let her in; Belle entered the apartment with a smile, glancing around curiously.  It was nicely decorated, tasteful and not overcrowded with stuff, and much larger than the small apartment she’d shared with Renee before the fire.  Mary Margaret sat at the table, looking brave but sad, and Belle’s heart went out to her.

She’d never met Snow White, but she was sure that she would like her.  She seemed strong and courageous, like the kind of hero Belle had always wanted to be.  Cora hated her for reasons utterly beyond her control, but Snow had still managed to stand up to her stepmother and even defeat her.  She hadn’t done so alone, of course, but no one could fight every battle alone.  Belle knew that better than most.

“Thank you,” she said to Emma, and then turned to include Mary Margaret in the conversation, speaking carefully.  “I talked to Mr. Gold about your, uh, situation, and he thinks he’s found a way he can help.”

“Gold?  Helping?” Emma echoed as if the two words did not belong in the same sentence.  “This ought to be good.”

But Belle’s eyes were on Mary Margaret, whose head had snapped up like a frightened rabbit’s.  Her eyes, however, shone with cautious hope.

“He’s really not as bad as you all think he is,” Belle felt obligated to say, and that was the truth.  Even Gold hadn’t been what Emma seemed to think he was.  “He’s just…just a businessman.”

“You can say that again,” the sheriff muttered.  Much to Belle’s surprise, Mary Margaret spoke up, her voice stronger than Belle would have expected.

“What do I need to do?”

“Mr. Gold is willing to extend a loan to you to cover the costs of what you owe Madam Merryweather,” she explained.  “He still doesn’t believe that you could prove that you didn’t sign the loan, not in court, but he _can_ buy out the loan.”

“And replace it with owing him,” Mary Margaret said glumly.

“He’s not going to make you work for an escort company,” Belle countered bluntly, and watched Mary Margaret swallow.

Emma snorted.  “I’m still not sure how owing _Gold_ will be any better.”

“Because he’s willing to adjust the terms of the loan that Mary Margaret already owes him, and simply continue payments for _this_ new loan once that one is paid off in five years,” Belle replied simply.  Interestingly enough, that had been Rumple’s idea, as well, but Belle knew that he didn’t want Snow White broken.  No, he wanted her strong enough to help her daughter face Cora down, and for that she had to have a fighting chance.

“Why would he do that?” Mary Margaret’s voice had gone quiet again.

“He’ll get his money either way,” Belle pointed out.  “He hardly needs it _now_ , so he’s willing to make this change…if Emma will co-sign the loan.”

“Why does he want me to co-sign it?”

 _Because no matter how much I try to tell him he doesn’t need it, he still wants to have a hold on you in case worse comes to worse,_ Belle couldn’t exactly say.  Nor could she point out that Rumplestiltskin firmly believed in collecting every favor he could, for reasons he’d not specify, even to her.  Instead, she shrugged.  “I didn’t ask.  But it is his requirement.”

Emma frowned, but Mary Margaret stood up and came over to look Belle in the eye.  “You convinced him to do this, didn’t you?” she asked gently.

“I asked him,” Belle said as honestly as she could.  “It was his idea.”

Neither of the women, Belle noticed, asked for details.  They probably both thought she had to do terrible things to convince him, and for a moment, she hated them for that assumption.  Oh, they weren’t wrong about Rumplestiltskin in some ways; he _was_ the Dark One, and he rarely did things out of the goodness of the heart he claimed not to have (even if Belle knew better).  But they were also very mistaken in many other ways.  Particularly when they presumed that she was with him unwillingly and she was some sort of concubine.

“Then thank you,” Mary Margaret replied, and suddenly Belle found herself enveloped in a tight hug.

“Don’t thank me for doing the right thing.  Just come by the shop in an hour or so if you’re both willing.”

“Of course we are,” Emma replied when her roommate looked her way, her voice firm.  “We’ll be there.”

* * *

 

The same morning, August visited the convent.  The nun who met him was clumsier and younger than the writer would have thought any fairy would be, but at least she smiled at him in a friendly manner as she led him to Mother Superior’s office.  The spacious room at the back of the convent was more luxuriously appointed than August would have thought, but at least that meant the couch he settled onto was comfortable.  That didn’t, however, mean he wasn’t a little bit weirded out.  He hadn’t seen Mother Superior up close since coming to Storybrooke, and had only talked to her on the phone a handful of times over the years.  Somehow, she’d tracked him down and called him when he turned eighteen, asking about Emma and where she was, which had led to the two of them talking every other year or so.  Still, the Blue Fairy looked _really_ different from how he remembered her.

 _And she dresses a lot more conservatively, too.  Thank goodness!_ August thought, trying not to smile.  He remembered asking his papa as a boy why the fairies wore so little when good women were supposed to dress modestly, and Geppetto had not had an answer for that.  Nowadays, August might be tempted to ask that question himself, which meant it was a good thing that he met Mother Superior in a nun’s habit.

“You took a chance coming here, child,” Mother Superior said softly, waiting until the door closed and the other fairy was gone.

“I came in the side door, like I was going to confessional,” August answered.  “I don’t think anyone saw me, and even if they did, they’re under the curse and not paying much attention.”

“The Evil Queen’s spies are everywhere,” the elder woman reminded him primly.  “You cannot be _too_ careful.”

“Is that why you never told me that Emma had a kid?” he demanded, deciding to get straight to the thing that was bothering him.

Mother Superior blinked.  “It didn’t seem relevant.  The child has become the Evil Queen’s grandson, and—”

“And he’s Neal’s son, isn’t he?” August cut her off, needing to know.  If he’d realized that there was _any_ chance of Emma being pregnant that with the watches he never would have done what he did.  And he’d only done _that_ because Mother Superior had told him that Emma needed to be separated from Baelfire at all costs.

“That hardly matters.”

“Yes, it does!” August snapped, feeling guilt rear up and make his leg ache.  _I promised to be selfless, brave, and true.  What am I doing with all these lies?_ he wondered brokenly.  What was he doing with any of this?  He never should have left Emma, and never should have forced her away from a man that she loved.  And he never should have scared Neal away from Emma.  He’d ruined two lives that day, and he’d done it because _this_ fairy told him it was for the best!

“Pinocchio, child, we have done only done what we must to protect Emma,” Mother Superior said softly, laying a hand on his as she spoke his true name.  It was the first time that August had heard that name directed at him in twenty-eight long years, but that made him feel no better.  “She was not safe with Baelfire.”

“Why not?” he asked bitterly. 

“Because the Savior could not be allowed to remain with the son of the Dark One,” was the blunt answer.

August gaped.  “The son of _who_?”

“You did the right thing, August.  Henry, sweet as he is, does not matter so long as he calls the Dark Princess his mother, and he _cannot_ ever be allowed to know whohis real father is.  It is my hope that he will follow his adopted father when the curse breaks, but we cannot count on that.  You must keep this secret, my child.  All of our lives might depend upon it.”

“I…I think I understand,” he said slowly.  August had never asked who ‘Baelfire’ was when Mother Superior had told him to frighten Baelfire away using his real identity, but now it all made sense.  _Neal seemed like a good guy, though,_ he thought, feeling that sting of guilt again.  _And he loved Emma._

“Good,” the Blue Fairy smiled, and squeezed his hand.  “Now go with my blessing, and help Emma break the curse.”

Promising to do so, August made his way out of the convent, passing a grumpy looking shorter man on his way out.  The security guard (or was he a janitor?) was talking to the clumsy nun-slash-fairy, but August paid him no mind.  His own thoughts were too jumbled, thinking of the young woman who he had sent to jail.  _I never would have called the police if I knew she was pregnant,_ August told himself to quiet his conscience.   Emma had probably given up the kid because of being in jail, but she hadn’t had to, had she?  _I didn’t know,_ he thought again.  _It’s not my fault._

Ever so slowly, his wooden shin became a wooden knee, joining to a soon-to-be wooden thigh.

* * *

 

_2 Years, 10 Months Before the Curse_

They were approaching the bridge when the three trolls seemed to appear out of nowhere.  Last time David had seen them had been on the opposite side of the bridge, when the shadow-demon thing had sent him sailing halfway across it and the trolls had tried to charge him a second fee for crossing.  Then, he’d just managed to outrun them—trolls were a lot of things, but they weren’t fast moving, not over flat ground, anyway—and go about his business. But now David and Snow had to make it _back_ across the bridge in order to leave the cave, and instinct told them both that getting out of the cave before Queen Cora knew that Snow had been woken up was much safer than any alternative.

“Friends of yours?” Snow asked with a smile.

“Not exactly,” David replied, shifting his grip on his sword.  He’d paid the trolls once, and although David had tried to drive a hard bargain, he knew that he didn’t have enough gold left in his pouch to pay them a second time at the same rate.  And he knew enough about trolls from stories that his mother had once read him to know that trolls _never_ accepted less gold than they thought they were due; they always came out on top of any bargain they made.  That was why he’d tried so hard to talk them down the first time, but David had been in too much of a hurry to save Snow for to haggle too much.  Now, however, he was about to pay the price for that rush.

“How much gold do you have?” Snow asked, driving right to the heart of the matter.

“Not enough.”

“All right, then,” she said slowly, glancing around and studying the high cave walls and deep chasm that the trolls so jealously guarded.  “No other way across?”

“None I saw when I was on my way in,” David replied, gesturing.  “The exit to the cave is right around that corner.”

“And it goes without saying that the sooner we get out of here, the better.”

“Yeah.  I don’t suppose they’d take a promise of later payment, would they?” David wondered, but Snow shook her head.

“No. Particularly not if you mention being a royal,” she added the last sentence quietly.  “They think that royal blood tastes better than anything else in the world.  Except gold, of course.”

“Right.  I don’t think I want to know how you know that.”  David grimaced.  Now was not the time to mention that he wasn’t actually of royal blood; Snow still believed he was George’s son, albeit one raised as shepherd.  “Any ideas?”

“We fight?”

“I was hoping for something a tad more, uh…”

“Intelligent?” she suggested with a grin, and David had to grin back.   “Sometimes you have no choice and just have to do what you have to do.  I’m glad you’ve got two swords with you.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”  David had almost forgotten that he was wearing his own sword, the one he had inherited from his dead twin brother.  But he’d never taken that sword out of the scabbard on his belt, and somehow it had stayed with him throughout all of the fights.  He still had the magical sword Rumplestiltskin had given him, too, which meant that at least they’d both be going into this mess armed.  Now he drew his own blade and offered it to Snow.  “Here.”

She smiled.  “You know how to give a girl the best gifts.”

That made David laugh, and they stepped towards the trolls side by side, striding towards the bridge.  There were only three trolls, after all.  How hard could this be?

* * *

 

How in the world _had_ Lacey talked Gold into buying out Mary Margaret’s loan?  Emma had burned to ask the former librarian that question, but had stopped herself.  Firstly, because as badly as she wanted to know the answer to that, she also _didn’t_ want to know.  She knew what Moe French—and most of the town—thought was going on between Lacey and Gold, but the image of the two of them together in the shop the other day just wouldn’t leave her mind.  Not only had Lacey’s kid seemed perfectly comfortable around Gold, but Lacey herself seemed to have utterly no fear of the man.  Thinking of that brought Emma’s mind back several more months, to the encounter she’d witnessed between the two of them the day Ashley gave birth.  Then, Gold had been an absolute jerk to Lacey, but there had definitely been an undertone of a relationship present.  Henry seemed to think that they belonged together, that they were Beauty and the Beast, but fairytale stuff aside, maybe there was something going on between them.

And maybe that something wasn’t quite as terrible as everyone in town seemed to think. 

 _What about Renee?_ Emma thought suddenly, almost stopping in her tracks when the idea hit her.  Renee didhave brown eyes to her mother’s blue, didn’t she?  Didn’t _Gold_ also have brown eyes, too?  The idea was farfetched, but if Lacey and Gold had been together as long as Graham hinted they had, maybe Gold was… _Nah.  Can’t be.  He’s too possessive to leave his kid with a single mother who isn’t well off,_ Emma told herself firmly, shaking her head and pushing the door to the pawn shop open.

Unfortunately, Lacey wasn’t present in the shop when Emma and Mary Margaret walked in; Gold was alone, reading a book behind the counter with a calm and curious look on his face.  When he looked up upon their entry, however, his expression betrayed no surprise at all.  _Well, at least Lacey seems to have warned him that we were coming, even if she isn’t here_ , the sheriff thought, glancing at Mary Margaret.  Her roommate looked nervous as hell, and Emma gave her a reassuring smile before stepping forward.

“We’re here about that loan,” she started.  Might as well get that out of the way and find out if Gold really was going to do what Lacey said he was.

“I imagined that you were,” the pawnbroker said coolly, placing a bookmark in his book and straightening.  “I already have the contract drawn up, if you’ll give me a moment.”

“Sure.”

He limped into the back, and Mary Margaret turned nervous eyes on Emma.  “Are you sure you want to do this?  My credit’s not exactly good, and I don’t want to drag you down with me.  I don’t even have a job right now.”

“You’ll get one,” Emma reassured her.  “And yeah, I’m sure about this, okay?  Let me help you.”

“Thank you,” Mary Margaret said with feeling, just as Gold returned from the back, a manila folder in his hands. 

Wordlessly, he extended the folder to the two women, and Emma let Mary Margaret take it, looking over her roommate’s shoulder as Mary Margaret opened the folder and started to read the contract.  Something caught Emma’s eye right away, though, and she glanced up at Gold.

“A handwritten contract.  Really?” she asked, looking down again.

“I suppose I’m just old fashioned, Miss Swan,” the pawnbroker replied, and Emma had to admit that his handwriting was downright beautiful.  And _very_ old-fashioned indeed.  But it was very legible, too, and there didn’t seem to be anything odd about the contract, except a clause where it stated that payment for this—and Mary Margaret’s previous loan—could be deferred for up to four months while Mary Margaret found a job.

“You’re giving me time to find a job?” Mary Margaret asked in surprise.

“It does seem a wiser investment on my part, dear, doesn’t it?” Gold countered, and didn’t he have an answer for everything?  Still, Emma couldn’t argue with that.

“Was that Lacey’s idea?” Emma couldn’t stop the words from coming out, but she was slightly surprised at the enigmatic smile that crossed Gold’s face.

“Miss French has a kind heart,” was all he said, and the sheriff couldn’t figure out if he approved of that or not.

“Yeah, she does,” she retorted instead of pressing further.  “And I’d hate to see it broken.”

“As would I, Sheriff,” Gold replied, and then shifted his gaze to Mary Margaret.  “Does everything seem to be in order?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, it does,” the former schoolteacher replied, nodding.  “I’m ready to sign if Emma is.”

“Just show me the dotted line.”

It was a good deal, and maybe too good, but at least Emma knew who had caused it.  She would have been a lot more suspicious if Gold had proposed this on his own, because there was no getting around the fact that he was a tricky bastard.  Interestingly enough, Lacey’s actions did seem to make him appear a little more human; like any other male, he apparently could be manipulated by the woman in his life…whatever role that woman was filling.  So, Emma signed after Mary Margaret did, and watched with interest as Gold scrawled an ‘R. Gold’ on the lender’s signature line.

“Please tell me that you’ve got multiple copies of this and we don’t have to wait for you to draw up another one by hand,” Emma said dryly.

Gold laughed.  “I’m not so old fashioned that I don’t believe in using a photocopier.  In fact, I believe you have one at the sheriff’s station, so if you’d like to make copies and return the original to me, I would appreciate it.”

“You’ll trust me not to change anything?” she challenged him.

“You’re the sheriff, Miss Swan.  I’ll trust in that.”

* * *

 

Three days passed before anyone noticed the change, and by then it was too late.  Deeming that sufficient time had passed, Cora sent Hook over to the headquarters of Very Merry Escorts to confirm that Mary Margaret Blanchard had taken up residence in the “house” and check in with Cora’s favorite fallen fairy.  He wasn’t particularly pleased with the assignment, even though he’d once had an on-again off again relationship with one of the ‘girls’ that Merryweather now kept in the Basement.  Most residents of Storybrooke didn’t seem to know that the Basement existed, but those that were aware of the club/brothel underneath Very Merry Escorts didn’t seem to understand that it hadn’t _always_ been there.  Killian, on the other hand, had been awake for every one of the last boring twenty-eight years, and that meant that he remembered. 

Cora had twisted her precious curse into creating the place, turning what was originally a semi-legal escort business into something far darker.  Apparently, her precious little chef had managed to wander out and make friends with a red haired beauty (one who had been a mermaid, if Killian’s time in Neverland was any judge).  She took immediate offense to that, and promptly forced Merryweather to create the exclusive club called the Basement.  It was an invitation only, anything goes kind of place, and for a while, Killian had enjoyed it.  He’d been one of the charter members, both rich enough to buy himself a place and far enough in Cora’s good graces that the mayor thought he needed rewarding.  But nights with Mirabella Greenburg turned rather pale when he realized that she really had no choice in the matter, and that the poor girl had been moved from the asylum to the Basement, just transferred from one prison to another.

He’d rather liked her, more than anyone since Milah, and Hook wondered who she had been more than once.  But the only one who would remember that would have been Cora, and he couldn’t exactly ask her for the identity of one of her ‘special’ prisoners, particularly since Killian knew that those who were in the asylum—and in the Basement, as well—were people who had somehow managed to infuriate Her Majesty.  So he kept his mouth shut and concentrated on other liasons, ones of a much more consensual nature.  Killian might have been a pirate, but he was no rapist, and he’d liked Mirabella too much to do that to her.

Perhaps someday he’d see her again, but until then, he was stuck doing Cora’s bidding, and that meant he was sitting in the foyer of the expensive mansion, waiting for Madam Merryweather herself to show up.  He’d never met the fallen fairy in question back in the Enchanted Forest—Hook didn’t have much truck with fairies at all, truth be told—but he had met her plenty of times here, and had usually found her a cultured if mischievous lady.  She was certainly interesting, anyway.

“Captain O’Malley,” Merryweather purred, gliding into the room.  Like Cora, she was always expensively and impeccably dressed, but Merryweather favored light colors and pastels in her wardrobe.  Often, she wore flowing silks instead of her expensive business suits, and today was one of those days.  It reminded Killian of home in an oddly painful way; he’d never thought that he’d miss the place, but sometimes he really did.

“Madam Merryweather.”  Prompted into being old-fashioned himself, Killian bowed over her hand and kissed it, and watched the platinum-haired woman smile.  “It’s always pleasure to be in the presence of such a beautiful lady.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she replied lightly, and then gestured him into a comfortable chair in the parlor.  “What can I do for you today?”

“I’ve actually come on a matter of…curiosity,” he started, trying to figure out how to phrase this without outright mentioning Cora’s involvement.

“You mean that you’re here on behalf of the mayor,” Merryweather said immediately, smiling slightly.  _Well, I never thought she was stupid. She can’t be, if she manages to keep this place appearing legal at all,_ the pirate thought to himself.

“I am,” he admitted, abandoning caution.  “And if you know that, love, you know what information I am here for.  So, how is the new lass doing?”

“She’s not.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t have a new girl, Captain,” was the level response.  “Unfortunately, Miss Blanchard was able to find someone to buy her loan out.  I believe that Mr. Gold did so, though you’d have to ask him his reasons.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Killian managed to say after a moment of staring at the establishment’s matron.  Gold?  Gold was almost as bad as the Dark One whose memories he did not have.  He was cold blooded and mercenary, bad enough to make even a pirate look like a hero.  He didn’t just _buy_ loans out from anyone.  Merryweather had to be jesting.  Didn’t she?

“I am afraid not,” she replied, smiling that annoyingly superior little smile of hers.  “The amount that old Mr. Blanchard appeared to owe me has been paid in full.  I believe that means that _Ms._ Blanchard is no longer my concern.  Please deliver my apologies to the mayor.”

“I’m not your errand boy,” Killian growled before he could stop himself.

Merryweather laughed lightly.  “Of course you aren’t, dear.  I would consider it a personal favor if you would do so, though.   And I would be so glad to give your regards to Mirabella.  I believe she’s missed you.”

The last two sentences threw Killian for a loop like he hadn’t thought possible, and his heart hammered into his throat briefly before he could shove it back down.  Whoever Mirabella was, she didn’t matter.  She couldn’t.  And she sure has hell didn’t miss him, because no one knew better than pirates how whores—willing or otherwise—did not miss their customers.  He’d frequented too many brothels over the years to have any illusions.  No matter what world they were in, they were all the same.

“I’ll tell Cora,” he managed to growl in response, ignoring the bit about the woman he’d once been fond of.  Besides, he had bigger fish to fry on the romantic front these days; far more useful ones.  “She’s not going to be happy.”

“Well, then she should not have left so much to chance,” Merryweather replied bluntly, and for a moment, Killian found himself wondering how much the madam knew.

“I’m sure she’ll take that under advisement,” he replied, rising to leave.  “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Captain.   _Any_ time.”

Killian left before that unsettling woman could say anything else; there was something in her almost purple eyes that really unnerved him.  He hadn’t liked her much when he was a customer down in the Basement, and now he remembered why.  Damn Cora for sending him to do her dirty work.  The mayor had probably figured that sending Cyril O’Malley, the notorious womanizer, down to an escort service/brothel wouldn’t get anyone’s attention, but he was sick of letting her use him.  One of these days, she really was going to go too far, and then he was going to have to decide if ‘winning’ on her terms really was winning at all.

But not today. Today, he needed to tell Cora that her latest plot to wreck vengeance on her stepdaughter had failed, and hope she took her fury out on someone else.  Preferably Gold.

* * *

 

_2 Years, 10 Months Before the Curse_

A few minutes later, after the three trolls turned into six, David started really regretting that thought.  He and Snow had battled side by side, shoving two of the trolls off the bridge and making it to the center, but that was when the seventh and eighth trolls showed up, swarming up from underneath the bridge and blocking their path.

“Where did Cora get these guys?” David asked Snow as he ducked under a wild swing from the black-haired troll who seemed to be their leader.

“Probably in some deal or another!  She loves to do that, to make people do her bidding.”

“You’d think that they’d want better employment than working for the Evil Queen,” David quipped in return.  This fight was not going as well as he wanted it to, not by a long shot, but at least they were holding their own.  They were down to six trolls again—now five, as Snow killed the shortest of the bunch, who seemed to be trying to tear her throat out with his teeth at the time—and those odds weren’t too bad.

A sudden blow between his shoulders sent him staggering, and David watched the world whirl in front of his eyes.  Catching his balance—barely—he managed to swing at the offending troll, but his attacker danced out of reach, cackling lowly with laughter.  Breathing hard, David swung to face the now three trolls who were crowding in on him, trying to send him off the edge of the bridge, and noticed that Snow was having the same problem with her two.  It was funny how the trolls seemed to see him as the bigger threat, because Snow had dealt with three of them so far and David had only really overpowered two.  Princess or no, she’d been fighting with a sword for a lot more years than he had, and David knew that Snow was actually a better swordswoman than he was.  She was just plain talented, and he was a shepherd with a few days of training and a lot of luck on his side.  Granted, George had made sure that the finest swordsmanship instructors he could find had polished up David’s skills, but Snow’s years of training still showed.

Wheeling back to face the trolls, David lunged towards one and then feinted towards another, parrying the axe one of them had as he did so.  He had to keep them busy, and then maybe Snow could pick hers off one by one and then they could get rid of these three together.  David was no fool, and he knew that the only way they could win would be as a team, so he danced between the two on his left, and tried to get near Snow so that they could combine their defenses.  Unfortunately, the third troll noticed what he was doing, and suddenly something swept David’s feet out from under him.  He hit the stone bridge with a crash, and felt bones and muscles give.  Nothing was broken, but it hurt like hell, and one of the trolls immediately leapt on top of him, not even giving David a chance to catch his breath.

He tried to get his sword up, but another troll landed on that arm, making David grunt in pain.  Then, suddenly the axe was at his throat, and David knew that he was done for.

“Snow, run!” he tried to shout, but one of the trolls hit him in the face and he saw stars.

“Charming!” he heard her shout, but then the trolls’ laughter overshadowed her concern.

“Hmmm…pretty princess is not allowed to escape.”

“We can’t eat her,” one of the others complained.

“Says who?” replied the first troll to speak, and David could see him licking his lips from where he sat on David’s chest, holding the axe at his throat. 

Breathing like this was getting hard, but David tried to throw them off, anyway, only to find that trolls were a lot heavier than they looked.  Snow, however, was closer to the other end of the bridge than he was, and if she was willing to leave him, she could make it to freedom.  And then this would have been worth it.  “Run!” he wheezed, ignoring the way the axe pressed down until it made him hiss in pain.

“I’m not leaving you,” Snow replied firmly, turning to face the trolls with her sword still in hand.  “Get off him.”

“Go back in your coffin and we’ll discuss it,” their long haired leader replied with a grin.

“Not going to happen,” David put in from where he still laid on the ground.  His chest was burning.

Snow reached up, pulling something off of a string tied around her neck.  “Get off of him, or I’ll turn you all into bugs,” she said fiercely.

That made the trolls laugh uproariously.  “You’re no sorceress!” the leader cackled above the others’ laughter.  “The _Queen_ is a sorceress, though, and she’ll make mincemeat of you!”

“I still say we eat her.  Royal blood—” the one sitting on David tried to argue, only to be cuffed in the head by the leader.

“I’m not going to warn you again,” Snow said.  “Get off of him and let us go, or you won’t be eating anyone _ever_ again.  I may be no sorceress, but this is dark fairy dust, and you don’t have to be a sorceress to use this.”

 She brandished a small vial, filled with what looked like dirt to David, but he wasn’t going to ask.  Snow had never mentioned having anything like that, but he did recall that she’d worn the vial when they were on the run, and maybe she was telling the truth.  But it didn’t much matter if the trolls were fooled, anyway.  A good bluff was as good as a solid threat, so long as it made the people you were up against do what you wanted them to.  And right now, David would take what he could get.  The trolls were watching her warily, which meant they were at least taking Snow’s threat at face value, even if they didn’t actually believe her. 

“Well?  Make your choice,” Snow told them, and if she was bluffing, David never wanted to bet against her.  She had the best poker face he’d ever seen.  Even _he_ believed her, and he wasn’t sure that he should.

A moment of silence passed: David could see the trolls exchanging glances.  The one sitting on his chest was starting to look nervous, and David could feel the axe against his chin starting to shake ever so slightly. 

“Do your worst,” the leader of the trolls leered, stepping towards Snow threateningly, his long black hair sweeping around him like a cloak.  _He_ obviously thought she was bluffing, and the prince could practically see the visions of rewards dancing around the troll’s mind.

And Snow did.  Sprinkling a little bit of dust into her hand, Snow flung it at the black haired troll.  He managed to sneer while she did, but then there was a loud _crack_ , and suddenly a cloud of smoke surrounded the troll leader.  When it vanished, so did he, and suddenly there was some sort of insect crawling about in his place, making tiny squeaky noises of distress.  Despite the seriousness of his own situation, David barked out a laugh.  That would teach these trolls not to mess with Snow White!  The expression on her face was fierce when she turned to look at the remaining four trolls, the vial still in hand and obviously ready to fell another of them.

“Who’s next?” Snow demanded, and David watched the trolls exchange nervous glances.

Ever so slowly, the troll on his chest removed the axe from the vicinity of David’s throat, easing himself to his feet with wide and frightened eyes.  The others seemed to feel the same way, and they slowly started backing away from David’s prone form, although one of them was so nervous that he actually tripped over the prince’s legs. 

“Go on,” Snow prompted them.  “Get out of here, and if I ever find you serving the Evil Queen again, I won’t be warning you.  I’ll just turn you straight into bugs, you understand?”

“Yes, yes, we understand,” the troll who had been sitting on David replied, and then the quartet turned and fled.

Suddenly grinning, Snow stepped up and offered David a hand to help him to his feet.  She was small and slight, his princess, but she was surprisingly strong for her size, and she pulled him up easily.  “Thanks,” he said with an answering grin, and Snow kissed him.  “ You rescued me.”

“I think we’re even now,” she replied with a smile that David felt down into his very bones.  “Though don’t make a habit of it.”

“Where in the world did you get dark fairy dust?” he couldn’t help asking as they turned to walk off the bridge together, hand in hand.

“It’s a long story,” Snow laughed.  “The short version is that I stole it from my stepmother back when she first enchanted my father.  I always thought I would use it on her, but it seems like that this was a better purpose.”

“Well, I’m certainly grateful,” David replied, and leaned in to kiss her again.

The journey home would be a long one, but they’d won.   This round, anyway.  And they’d done it together, rescuing one another, and that was what counted.  Of course, they weren’t out of the woods.  Snow would have re-flashes of the nightmare curse for years afterwards, dreams she could not escape without David there to wake her, and she remained significantly underweight and malnourished from her time in the cave.  Magic had kept her alive and functioning, had kept her from starving or dying of dehydration, but the curse did not seem to care if she came out of it in good shape. They were lucky that Snow had done so well in the fight against the trolls, but she’d almost collapsed a few steps outside the cave, leaving David to catch her.  He did, of course, and all but carried her to his horse.

In the end, the dwarves—who had set out to find Snow on their own with a bit of help from a fairy who Grumpy knew—found the prince and princess, and brought them back home to their little cottage.  It was on the way back to George’s kingdom, at any rate, and a good place to rest.  While there, David finally discovered why Snow was so fond of these strange little men, and friendships that would last a lifetime were formed.

* * *

 

The moment the phone rang, Rumplestiltskin knew what it had to be about.  The last three days had been almost eerily quiet, but ever since he’d signed that contract with Emma and Mary Margaret, he had known this was coming.  Belle had been so pleased, however, that he couldn’t let himself regret buying out that loan.  After all, what was a few hundred thousand dollars to him?  Cora had kept her promise and made him rich, and even if Mary Margaret never paid him back, his finances would survive just fine.  He did have enough dirt on Merryweather to make sure that she didn’t tell Cora, but in the end, he hadn’t had to use that, anyway.  Maleficent, in any form, was almost as much of a trickster as Rumplestiltskin himself was, and even when cursed, she didn’t appreciate being used.  So, she’d kept her mouth shut for three days, though Rumplestiltskin had not been such a fool to imagine that it would last.

He ignored the phone, anyway.  He was half asleep, buried in Belle’s arms and entirely too comfortable to deal with Cora at her worst, and Rumplestiltskin decided that _not_ answering the phone couldn’t actually make things much worse.  Besides, it was after ten at night, late even for Cora’s oh-so-polite invitations, and he could legitimately say that he had been in bed.  Because he was.

“Umm…?” Belle stirred slightly, and Rumplestiltskin had to smile as he looked at her.  His wife had never woken up quickly or well—he’d done most of the late-night child care back home, except when Gabi was hungry—and an odd corner of his brain loved watching her in her sleepy state.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he murmured as the phone finally stopped ringing, bending to kiss her on the forehead.  “It’s not important.

“But now I’m awake,” she muttered sleepily, blue eyes peeking open to look at him.  They’d crawled into bed early once Renee was asleep, and Belle had left Rumplestiltskin rather worn out about an hour ago.  Now, however, the groggy look in her eyes was replaced with desire, and Rumplestiltskin found himself smiling back.  “Might as well make use of it.”

“Do you have something specific in mind?” he asked, shivering as Belle’s hands shifted to trail down his naked body.

“I bet we can think of something,” she replied, leaning in to kiss him.  He responded eagerly, shifting to pull her closer and reveling in the fact that after so many years, he had a woman he loved and who loved him, and they could finally be together.

Wrapped in Belle’s arms, Rumplestiltskin forgot all about Cora.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes! I’m sorry about the long delay between updates, particularly after that last cliffhanger. Unfortunately, we just moved across several states, and real life put a cramp in posting. 
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Thirty-Eight: “Strengths and Weaknesses,” in which Rumplestiltskin faces Cora’s wrath, Henry shows Emma new pages in his book, and Regina confronts Henry about his visit with August. Back in the past, Cora wants a favor from Rumplestiltskin and Regina meets Tinker Bell.
> 
> In the meantime, if anyone is interested in nominating this story (or any of my others) for the Espenson Awards on tumblr, I would be greatly flattered. I have a few nominations already, but you need five to make it into the final group.


	38. Strengths and Weaknesses

Unfortunately, the curse’s magic recognized Cora’s commands via voicemail as well as they did in person, and Rumplestiltskin felt magic tugging on his limbs when he finally checked his messages the next morning.  He knew that he could spin excuses and avoid it for some time, but although the coward in him wanted to put it off until Cora actually dragged him to her house, he knew intellectually that doing so was a very bad idea.  Sooner or later, he’d have to face the music, so he listened to the voicemail and barely managed to logic his way out of it.  After all, _tonight_ was over, wasn’t it?  Cora had been referring to last night, and right now was morning.  Besides, he was cleaning up breakfast dishes while Renee tried finger painting on the table with oatmeal. 

Then the phone rang again right before he could put it down, and Rumplestiltskin bit back a groan.  Belle glanced his way—she’d seen him tensing as he listened to the voicemail, undoubtedly—but he managed to keep his face straight.  Barely.  “I’ve got to take this one, sweetheart.”

Belle just squeezed his arm wordlessly; perhaps Rumplestiltskin had not been so good at hiding his terror as he hoped.  He’d gone two weeks without Cora calling him, and he’d almost managed to forget her horrible position in his life.  He supposed that she’d been so busy trying to make her _dear_ stepdaughter miserable that she hadn’t had time for him; between battling the Savior and continuously trying to tear down Snow White, the Evil Queen was rather occupied.  Rumplestiltskin had enjoyed the reprieve, but now it was over.  _And you have no one but yourself to blame for that,_ his curse whispered in his ear.  _You should know better than to listen to bleating little weak hearts._

He swatted the voice aside with a silent snarl; Belle was not some mere bleating heart.  She was his wife, and she’d had a good point.  Otherwise, he would not have given in.  Irrigated by Cora and by his curse, he picked up the phone, knowing who it had to be.

“Yes?” he snapped.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Cora purred, but he could hear the steel under her congenial words.

“It is on a Sunday morning,” he replied, because that was how Gold would have tried to deal with her.  Gold had been clever, but not clever enough, and sometimes it annoyed Rumplestiltskin to have to pretend to be that clueless.  “I’m busy.”

“With your little concubine, I have no doubt.  But she can wait,” the mayor retorted, dropping all pretense at being friendly.  “I called last night and you didn’t answer.”

“I just got your message, dear,” Rumplestiltskin replied.  “I was even contemplating calling you back. You seemed…concerned.  Is there a problem?”

After all, Cora’s message would have sounded innocent to the untrained ear. She had said that she needed to talk to him about something important _tonight_ , and that he should come by as soon as he could. Preferably _now._   But she’d never tried to command him via message before, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t need to let her know that it would work.  Modern technology and magic always made for strange bedfellows, and there was no knowing what would work and what would not.  _Let her wonder about this one._  

“Yes, and it’s one I’d like to discuss with you in person.  _Now_ , if you please,” Cora said darkly, and Rumplestiltskin’s heart sank.

Yes, he knew what this was about, and no, it wasn’t going to be enjoyable at all.

* * *

 

_1 Year Before the Curse_

“I need a favor,” Cora announced as she appeared. 

She’d found him right after he sent young Ella (not to be a maid much longer) off to her ball and finished killing a fairy.  It had been a good day’s work so far; he’d set up an integral piece for the coming curse—not that Cora realized she would cast it yet—had gotten to dispose of an annoying little vermin, and was about to head home to Belle and Gabrielle, who Rumplestiltskin did not like leaving alone after what had happened with the damn Cyan fairy.  Just thinking of that made his blood boil and made him wish he could kill _this_ fairy all over again, but he managed to put a sarcastic grin on and wheel to face his former student.

“What, want me to induce another miscarriage on your dear stepdaughter?  I thought you managed the first one rather admirably on your own,” he said viciously.

Instead of the triumph Rumplestiltskin had expected to see on Cora’s face, she frowned deeply.  “No.  I made sure that won’t be necessary ever again.”

_No, you didn’t!_ he almost sang out, but managed to stop himself in time.  There was no need to let Cora know that he’d managed to reverse that little infertility curse she’d put on Snow, having sent that potion through Regina months earlier.  But Snow wasn’t pregnant at the moment, either—at least not that Rumplestiltskin knew of—so he wasn’t sure what she wanted.  Other than to annoy him.

 “Well, good for you,” the Dark One said instead, twirling his hand and stepping in close to her.  “So what is it that you want?”

“Maleficent.  I want her distracted.  I don’t like her friendship with my daughter,” Cora replied primly, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t bother to hold back his laughter.

“Oh, my.  That’s rich, coming from the ‘Queen of Hearts.’  Or is it the Evil Queen these days?  Both titles have such a ring to them,” he taunted her.  “Are you enjoying your exile while Snow and Charming rule your kingdom?”

“That’s a temporary setback, I assure you,” Cora snapped. 

“Then why don’t you tell me what you’re offering, _Your Majesty_?” Rumplestiltskin drawled, enjoying the way rage rolled off of her in waves.  Oh, she was getting close, Cora was.  Closer and closer to that fine edge of fury and madness that would drive her into casting his curse.  He’d helped the young charming couple out by ensuring that Cora could not harm them in _this_ world, but he knew that he had to string Cora out a little bit longer.  Snow White needed to conceive a new child, first, and then that child needed to be born.  _Unlike the last one._   He cocked his head and made a show of considering her request.  “Why should I help _you_?”

“Because I’m willing to give you Sir Perceval’s ring in exchange,” Cora replied, her expression under control once more.

Rumplestiltskin had been prepared to refuse—what did he care if Maleficent helped Regina rescue Daniel from Cora, after all?  He knew that Regina had asked her friend to help, and that Maleficent was contemplating accepting, but now…well, that was a tempting trinket.

“Sir Perceval of Galles?” he pressed, just to be sure.

“Of course.”  She smiled innocently.  “A ring that will protect its wearer from all manner of harm, including magical.  Now, while I know _you_ would never need to wear such an object, Rumple, surely you have some small use for it?”

Of course he did.  Rumplestiltskin had enchanted a ring of that very sort for Belle when he’d asked her to marry him, but it was certainly not the thousands year old ring that Sir Perceval had worn.  _That_ ring had been rumored to have been enchanted by Morgan le Fae herself, and was powerful enough to be rumored as a Secondary Power.  It could do protect in ways magic cast by the Dark One could not, even when that Dark One was trying to protect his own True Love.  _Gabrielle could wear in on a chain around her neck,_ he thought contemplatively, and knew that Cora had him.

“Let me see it,” Rumplestiltskin demanded, not bothering to pretend he wasn’t interested.

The ring, gold with a small cluster of emeralds around a diamond, appeared in Cora’s hand, deposited there by a brilliant purple swirl of smoke.  Even from a dozen feet away, Rumplestiltskin could feel the power radiating off of the ring.  It was neither light magic nor dark; no, that ring was enchanted by a careful combination of the two, artfully done by an expert at her craft.  Rumor said that Morgan herself had gifted the ring to Perceval over a millennium ago, but no one knew where it had gone since.  Momentarily, Rumplestiltskin contemplated asking Cora if the ring was real, but even a blind man would have been able to sense the power surrounding that small ring.  It was real, and he wanted it.

She cocked her head at him.  “Do we have a deal?”

Rumplestiltskin managed a smile.  “Of course we do.  You know me too well, dear.”

And she did.  He already knew how he’d deal with Maleficent, though; that was easy enough.  He knew that she’d preemptively cursed her princess’ daughter’s True Love into becoming a yaoguai, and finding him and reuniting him with Princess Aurora would be simple enough.  So would giving the prince and princess a bit of protection, just enough to keep Maleficent annoyed and distracted.  He had no idea why Maleficent was so determined to curse her _second_ sleeping princess out of the same family, but he had a vague idea that it had something to do with the way King Stefan had slighted her years ago.  Either way, Rumplestiltskin didn’t much care.  He accepted the ring from Cora, and vanished before his former student could ask for anything more.

* * *

 

He’d arrived at nine o’clock on Sunday morning.  By lunchtime, Cora had gagged him, saying that his cries were giving her a headache.  By dinner, when she finally untied him from the bed downstairs, Rumplestiltskin was a shaking and shivering mess.

“Get dressed,” Cora ordered.  “But take a shower first, would you, dear?”  Her smile was predatory.  “I’d like you presentable for dinner.”

“As if you care,” Rumplestiltskin grumbled, still out of breath and with every inch of his body aching.  He moved slowly, but didn’t argue; time in the shower was time away from Cora, and he felt absolutely terrible, not to mention caked with sweat and a little of his own blood.  So, he did as she commanded, shutting himself in the basement bathroom until he felt vaguely human again, and then finding his cane waiting for him outside the door.  For a woman who delighted in torturing the sanity out of him, Cora could sometimes be strangely considerate, although he hated her no less for that fact.

Slowly, Rumplestiltskin made his way up the stairs, contemplating just walking out the front door instead of listening to her.  But Cora had made her point rather well that day, and he knew that he could not afford to cross her.  Not yet.  _When the curse breaks, it will be different,_ he promised himself, promised the rising rage within him.  His own curse did not take this any better than Rumplestiltskin did, although the demon living inside him greeted each new pain and each new humiliation, with fury rather than with fear.  Rumplestiltskin, on the other hand, had found out that he really was just a man under that so very dark curse, and the spinner he had been tended to come out when Cora hurt him.  He hated himself for that, hated his own weakness and his own fears, but there was little he could do about them until the curse broke.

And then he would tear Cora apart with his bare hands if he had to, listen to _her_ scream and beg.  Rumplestiltskin was done with this game, and would not let it stand for a moment longer than he had to once he had power again. 

Unfortunately, today was not that day, and he still had to eat dinner with the bitch before he could go home.  Briefly, Rumplestiltskin wondered what Belle and Renee were doing right now, but he pushed them out of his mind as quickly as he could.  He couldn’t afford to think of them right now, couldn’t afford to have Cora picking up on his worry and his love for them.  As far as she knew, Lacey was just an expedient for Gold, a maid and someone to sleep with that wasn’t _her._   He needed to keep things that way.

“Well?” he demanded, finding Cora waiting for him at the top of the stairs.

“Is that any way to greet your lover?” she purred, stepping forward immediately to brush her fingers against his face.  He flinched, but was glad he’d shaved; Cora seemed to like stubble there, and he wasn’t in the mood to even try to please her.

“You’re not my lover,” Rumplestiltskin snapped.

Her pout was theatrical.  “Oh, don’t say that.  Not when we know one another _so_ very well.”

“Are we going to eat, or stand here and chat?” he replied gruffly, slapping her hand away.

“None of that now,” she whispered, leaning in to brush her lips against his.  Rumplestiltskin tensed but managed to stay still, not responding but not jerking away.  He didn’t want her touching him, but if he didn’t force her to use one of her damn caveats, he had more options reserved for when he wanted them.  She smiled.  “Better.”

“Not particularly,” he retorted, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.  His entire body was still burning, burning from the lengthy caning she’d given him, from the bout of electro-shock torture that had followed that, and from the way she’d teased and denied him repeatedly to make him beg for release.  He wanted nothing more than to kill her now, or failing that, run away and hide in a corner, but he really had no options.

Slowly, Cora ran a hand down his front, pausing to straighten his tie and then dipping inside his shirt briefly, caressing welts she’d made there not so many hours before.  Hissing, Rumplestiltskin twisted away from her, and then braced himself to be told not to.  But that seemed to be the reaction that Cora was looking for; she smiled and gestured towards the dining room.  “Come,” she said congenially.  “Let’s eat.  Christopher has prepared something wonderful, I’m sure.”

“Of course he has,” Rumplestiltskin sighed, pausing to straighten out his clothing before limping after her.  He’d always found that his limp was so much worse after Cora was done with him—and he _hoped_ to hell that she was done with him for the night.  Other pains seemed to aggravate his bum leg, and everything was stiff and sore. 

Cora just gestured Rumplestiltskin into his usual chair, and he paused to glare at her before sitting down.  Of course she knew that it would hurt; what would she do if he refused to eat with her?  That would probably wind up with him back in the basement, so Rumplestiltskin chose to endure a bit of discomfort instead of a few repeat lessons.  Sitting would be uncomfortable, even agonizing, but that beat treatment that was becoming straight up torture.  So, bracing himself, he sat. 

Pain shot up from his back and behind as he did so; pressure on the welts and the burns—never too deep, and never too dangerous, but painful all the same—roared to life and left him gasping.  Several moments passed before Rumplestiltskin could get a lid on the agony; Gold had been somewhat used to hiding things like this, but it had never been quite so bad.  In fact, he couldn’t imagine a day when Cora had packed so much pain into so many hours, and he really wanted nothing more than he wanted to go home and crawl into his own bed.  And take some painkillers.  His prescription for his nagging leg injury was going to be useful tonight.

_I would really like magic, but bringing it before the curse breaks is just folly.  There is no need to give Cora that advantage, not like this._

“I wanted to chat,” she said as if she waited every day for him to swallow his pain and stop his eyes from watering.  “Firstly, about why in the world you felt the need to buy out the loan that Mary Margaret owes to Madam Merryweather.  That doesn’t make much business sense at all, and I was curious about your motivations.”

Fortunately, Rumplestiltskin had been prepared for this question, and he wouldn’t have bought out that loan at all if he hadn’t already had a good answer prepared.  “Of course it makes business sense,” he replied, rolling his eyes.  “What _wouldn’t_ make any financial sense for me would be to let that loan—and it’s rather peculiar method of payment—exist outside of my control.  After all, it does me no good if Ms. Blanchard is locked away working for Madam Merryweather, now, does it?”

“I fail to see how it does you any harm,” Cora replied, but he could hear the edge in her voice.

“Ms. Blanchard already owes me a great deal of money,” Rumplestiltskin replied as dispassionately as he could—which was rather cold blooded, if he did say so himself.  “And there’s nothing in the terms of the loan that her father took out with Merryweather to guarantee _my_ payment.  If she worked for Merryweather, that would only pay off that debt.  Mine would go unpaid.  This way, I ensure the security of my investment.”

Cora’s eyes had been suspicious when he started talking, but Rumplestiltskin watched realization dawn in them.  She was no fool, Cora, and she might guess that she’d been outmaneuvered.  But why?  She knew no reason for _Gold_ to do such a thing.  And even if she’d realized he was Rumplestiltskin, which she hadn’t, there was no reason for him to be so kind, either.  Except for straight up business.  _That_ he could speak of easily, because if Mary Margaret had to go work at Very Merry Escorts—or in the Basement, as Rumplestiltskin was quite certain that Cora had in mind for her destination—the money she owed Gold wouldn’t have been paid.  And that was his out.

“That hadn’t occurred to me,” Cora admitted after a moment.

He smiled darkly.  “That’s because you’re a politician, dear.”  _And because you give yourself too much credit for being able to control people,_ he didn’t add.  _The curse is weakening, Cora.  Otherwise, these things could not be happening._

Their conversation paused as the chef came in to deliver their meal, which, of course, smelled delicious.  It always did, for Cora would accept nothing but the best.  She continued to study him, having apparently decided to believe his reasoning and moved onto watching his thinly-veiled discomfort with satisfaction.  Cora even went so far as to shift her foot under the table, lifting it so that it brushed against the inside of his calf and watching Rumplestiltskin flinch.  He didn’t _want_ her touching him, and this was only a reminder of everything that had happened earlier.

Finally, poor Prince Eric departed, and Cora waited until she’d taken a bite of a very nice chicken picata before asking: “Do you know anything about this newcomer in town?”

“A newcomer?” Rumplestiltskin echoed, for once not even faking ignorance.  Oh, he’d heard through Belle that someone had wandered into town, but he assumed it was just another lost tourist.  That had happened two or three times over the last twenty-eight years, and Cora always had Graham dispose of them.  Usually the sheriff just chased them out of town, but there had been at least two—a father and son?—whom Rumplestiltskin was fairly sure she sent the pirate after to kill. 

“Yes.  Apparently he’s staying at Granny’s and making himself quite at home,” the mayor replied.  “Talking about staying, even.”

He didn’t ask what the source of her informant was; clearly, Gold’s own network was lagging, and he needed to talk to Dove about that in the morning.  He’d been so focused on Belle and Renee that he had little time for anything else—well, anything other than shepherding the Savior along the right path, and dealing with Regina’s intriguing attempt at having a love life.   But this was an interesting development.

_There were two,_ he reminded himself.  _Two through the wardrobe, although the Blue Fairy lied…_   Had he not been a Seer, Rumplestiltskin would not have known about the puppet, either, but this _could_ be him.  Or it could be someone else entirely.  Perhaps someone from their world…?

“How interesting,” he murmured as he sipped the admittedly good chardonnay that the chef had left for them.  Rumplestiltskin needed something to soothe his sore throat, and a bit of alcohol might serve to numb things a little.  Not that he dared get drunk.  Gold had tried that once, and even with nothing to hide, it had not gone well.

“ _Do_ you know anything about him?” Cora pressed.

For once, Rumplestiltskin could answer with complete honesty.  “Nothing more than you’ve said.”

“Hmm.”

Unfortunately, his honesty did not save him from staying the rest of the night. Nor did it save him from Cora’s temper.  She might accept the _reason_ he’d chosen to ‘help’ Mary Margaret out, but she wasn’t happy about it.  Not by a long shot.  Cora had clearly envisioned her stepdaughter forced into prostitution and pain, and she didn’t appreciate being thwarted in that desire, even if Gold appeared to have done so unwittingly.  So, she went to great pains to visit upon him the tortures that she probably hoped some unnamed customer would have inflicted upon Mary Margaret down in _the_ Basement, and Rumplestiltskin found himself wishing he’d never met this sadistic woman.  Ever.

* * *

 

The same evening, Emma and Mary Margaret threw caution to the wind and invited the entire Nolan family over for dinner.  Henry wanted to come over to celebrate, and then he’d of course suggested that he bring his adopted father over for dinner, which made _Emma_ suggest that he invite Regina, too.  Given that Regina seemed determined to let Mary Margaret and David have a relationship, the only way to cut down on the gossip was to bring them both over, particularly since Regina seemed oddly disinclinedto get a divorce.  Mary Margaret told Emma that was because of her mother, and Emma supposed that she couldn’t blame the older woman for that.  If Regina was right and Cora _had_ set that fire on purpose—something Emma wasn’t quite prepared to believe, given that Henry was Cora’s grandson—the woman was as cold-blooded a bitch as any Emma had ever met.  She apparently had her reasons for wanting her daughter to stay married, though maybe she just wanted to avoid causing a scandal in this weird little town.

_It’s a bit late for that now!_ Emma thought to herself, watching as David helped Mary Margaret cook and Regina mixed drinks.  Henry, of course, was sitting at the table with the Book open, and Emma made her way over to him reluctantly.  _At least he’s reading, right?_

“Reading about the curse again?” she asked as casually as she could.

Henry looked up.  “Yup.  There are new pages in my book.”

“What?” Emma blinked.

“Here, take a look,” her kid told her, and Emma sat down next to him.  She was just idly curious, of course, but how in the world did Henry’s book get new pages?

Flipping back in the book, Henry showed her the new pages, which to Emma’s eyes, certainly looked a lot like the old ones.  But the story _was_ new, or at least not one she remembered at all, and Emma was pretty sure that she’d read the rest of the book—or had it read to her—at least five times by now.  But she hadn’t read this, so Emma quickly scanned the pages, vaguely aware of the fact that Regina had approached to do the same over her shoulder.  As her eyes swept over the page, Emma noticed characters that had been in other stories, like Geppetto and the Blue Fairy, but this story was about Pinocchio.  And it bore very little resemblance to the Disney movie Emma remembered.

There was a whale, at least.  Emma remembered that from the Disney story.  Along with a lonely man who wanted a child, and who was helped by a fairy.  And a puppet, of course.  But there the similarities started to end, particularly when the story wrapped up with an enchanted wardrobe whose illustration Emma _knew_ she recognized, and…with a boy being sent through with the infant, after the fairy lied to the prince and princess.

“Where did this come from?” Emma asked when she found her voice, re-reading the bit about how the boy was supposed to teach and protect the princess.  Why did that make a strange twinge happen in the vicinity of her heart?  It was just a story.

“Dunno.  It just kind of did.  I think it belonged here all along,” Henry said cagily. 

Emma shot him a look, and noticed that Regina didn’t seem to believe that, either, but the older woman said nothing.  “How does it just ‘show up’?” she pressed. “I’ve never seen you let go of this book.”

“I left it in Granny’s by accident the other day,” Henry replied with a shrug, and damn it all if she couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. Emma didn’t _think_ he was, but sometimes it was hard to tell.  “When I got it back, the story was in it.”

“Henry, you need to be more careful with this book,” Regina cautioned him immediately.  “If my mother got a good look at it, and realized that Emma is starting to believe, we could all be in big trouble.”

“Hey, what’s this about me ‘starting’ to believe?” Emma had to ask. “I didn’t say anything about that.”

Regina rolled her eyes.  “You didn’t have to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“It means that dinner is almost ready and Henry should wash up,” Mary Margaret interrupted, and Emma shot her roommate a half-hearted glare.  But Mary Margaret was such a natural peacemaker, and she had a right to hope for everyone to get along at this impromptu dinner party after the last few days she’d had.

“Sure,” Henry said, and the kid popped right up to do just that.  Sensing her opening—and _not_ to talk about this damn curse—Emma turned to Regina to ask:

“So…what _else_ do you know about Very Merry Escorts?  I’m hearing some really fishy things.”

Regina glanced in the direction that Henry had headed, as if just to make sure that their mutual son was out of earshot, and then sighed.  “Not much.  Just that people who get hired there never seem to come out again.”

“Is that all?”

A shrug, and then Regina spoke very dryly.  “Pretty much.  No one says much, and Madam Merryweather and I do not travel not in the same social circles.”

There was something else there, something Emma couldn’t put her finger on, but she couldn’t quite identify what it was.  Then Mary Margaret and David both came into the dining area, bearing steaming plates full of food, and Emma’s mind drifted away from the subject.

* * *

 

David was still inside, saying “thank you” to Mary Margaret for the hospitality (while Emma hid upstairs, Regina was sure), so that gave her a moment along with her son as they sat in the car waiting.  Twisting around to look the ten year old in the eye, Regina asked bluntly:

“Where did the new pages come from, Henry?”

“I told you—”

“Don’t lie to me,” she cut him off.  “I know you better than that.”

Sure enough, the way Henry glanced down and started fooling with his seatbelt told Regina what she needed to know.  Henry was covering for someone, and she wasn’t sure that was a good idea.  Getting Emma to believe when Regina knew where all the pieces were was proving difficult enough.  The last thing she needed at the moment was a wildcard inserting itself into the mix.  Unless Rumplestiltskin was responsible…?  _I doubt that Henry would believe Mr. Gold if he told him he could add to the book, anyway.  Though I wouldn’t put stealing the book past Rumple._

“Do you know who put the new pages in, Henry?” Regina figured a direct question was better; it gave her wily child fewer ways around answering.

“Yes,” he mumbled.

“Then you’re going to tell me, aren’t you?” she prompted him, resisting the urge to utter a threat while she did so.  Saying she would ground Henry probably _would_ frighten him into fessing up, but Regina preferred him to tell her because she’d asked, not because he didn’t want to be grounded.

“Mom, I _promised._ ”

That was a problem.  She and David had always tried to teach Henry to keep his promises, and Regina didn’t want to waste that lesson.  “What did you promise?”

“Not to tell Emma.  It’ll only freak her out,” Henry said.

“Well, then we won’t tell Emma,” Regina agreed.  “Easy enough?”

Henry’s head came up to look at her, and his ten year old gaze was almost disturbingly direct.  “Do _you_ promise?”

“I promise not to tell her until she’s ready to hear it, and even then, I won’t tell her unless I have to.  Okay?”

“Okay,” Henry nodded, and then glanced around as if to make sure David wasn’t in earshot.  But of course he wasn’t; David was still inside with Mary Margaret.  “August added the pages.”

“August?” Regina echoed, and then the truth hit her.  “That damn fairy _did_ lie!  He’s Pinocchio, isn’t he?”

Henry frowned.  “He said he got a little off track in helping Emma, but that he’s here now.  And that he’s turning to wood.”

“That shouldn’t be possible.”  Regina thought for a moment, contemplating the nature of the ‘real boy’ that Geppetto had been given.  She didn’t know the story well—Snow had shared it with her years ago, and she hadn’t managed to skim all of it over Emma’s shoulder, but she remembered that the Blue Fairy had been involved, which meant it was probably shady and had a thousand and one catches.  Even Rumplestiltskin was more direct than the Blue Fairy, and that was saying a lot. “Unless he’s…”

“Lying.  A lot,” her son supplied, a small smile crossing his face.  “He didn’t say it, but I don’t think August is really good at telling the truth.  Even if he’s supposed to be selfless, brave, and true.”

Regina snorted.  “Great. So, Pinocchio is here to fix what he screwed up, and now he thinks he’s going to help?”

“Pretty much,” Henry confirmed, and Regina scowled.

“I need to have a talk with this August Booth,” she growled.  _And it isn’t going to be pretty!_

She didn’t know what Pinocchio was thinking, coming into the game this late and thinking he could change everything, but Regina wasn’t going to let him screw up all the hard work she’d put into making Emma believe.  Of course, the idiot probably saw her as a villain—most people did, particularly with what had happened during the year leading up to the curse—so he might not listen to her, but Regina wasn’t above leveling a threat or two.  Maybe this ‘August’ would be useful.  If he was, Regina would happily employ him.  If he wasn’t, well, he could just get the hell out of her way.

She wasn’t going to let any puppet mess her family up.  Not when she was so close to putting it back together again.

* * *

 

_1 Year Before the Curse_

“Psst!  Regina!” a strange voice said from outside her bedroom window, making Regina twist in bed to look at the… _fairy_ flying outside her window.  “Can I come in?”

She blinked, and then blinked again, but the fairy didn’t go away.  No, the flying little green… _person_ was still out there, her wings flapping merrily and a friendly smile firmly in place.  For a long moment, Regina wondered if she was dreaming, but she hadn’t fallen asleep yet.  Or at least not that she knew of.

“Who are you?” she demanded, coming up on one elbow.

“My name is Tinker Bell.  I’m here to help you.”

That made Regina sit up.  “To help me?”

“Of course!  Can I come in?  It’s chilly out here, and my wings are getting tired.”

“Sure.  Why not?” Regina replied, shaking herself.  She’d never actually met a fairy—although Snow knew plenty of them, nowadays—but she’d imagined they’d be very different.  Not practically _oozing_ with a desire to be helpful, or wearing this eager and welcoming grin.  What Regina knew of fairies wasn’t terribly complimentary, although she knew that her sources were biased.  Her mother hated anything good, and Rumplestiltskin seemed to hate fairies on some principle that he couldn’t or wouldn’t explain.  Either way, the only nice things Regina had ever heard about fairies came from Snow or from books, and as much as she loved her sister, Snow did tend to see the best in almost everyone.

“Great.  Thanks,” Tinker Bell replied, floating through the partially open window and flicking her wand so that it closed behind her.

“So, maybe it’s rude to ask, but why are you here?” Regina said when the fairy didn’t volunteer any other information.  “It’s not like I have a fairy godmother or anything.”

“Why not?”

“Because…well, because I don’t.  I’m the Evil Queen’s daughter, and I’m not exactly good myself,” she replied with a scowl.  “I’m pretty sure that the closest thing I get to a fairy godmother is the Dark One.”

“Uck!  That can’t be good for you at all,” was the immediate response, but Regina shrugged.

“Actually, he’s not that bad,” she said quietly.  _Much better than Mother, anyway._

“Well, I can do better than that,” Tinker Bell replied with a smile, and then she deflated slightly. “Though I do have to tell you that I’m not a full fairy yet.  I’m still in training.”

“Then why _are_ you here?”

“To help you rescue your True Love, of course,” the fairy said as if she did such things every day. “We all know what’s happened, and the fairies can see you fighting against your mother’s hold.  But you’ll never escape without help, so that’s why I’m here.”

“The other fairies sent you?” Regina echoed dubiously.

“Well…not exactly.  I’m here on my own.  But I’m sure you’ll be worth it.”  Without warning, the tiny fairy because human sized, her wings disappearing into her body as she faced Regina as a full-sized person.  She was a tiny blond, and just as cheerful looking, but her sparkly green outfit left a lot to be desired.  Regina wasn’t quite sure what to make of her, but she looked so damn earnest.

“Right…” She strung the word out slowly, trying not to sound sarcastic but certainly sounding doubtful.  Tink, however, only smiled again, her words coming even faster as she grew excited.

“Blue—she’s the chief of our order—says you’re a lost cause.  But I think that she’s wrong.  She believes your mother has corrupted you beyond measure, but _I_ think that you just need someone to help you.  After all, if Snow likes you, you can’t be some terrible and evil creature,” the fairy told her, and Regina smiled despite herself.

“I try not to be,” she said softly, looking down at her hands.  “Mother makes it hard.”

A small hand suddenly landed on top of Regina’s; startled, she looked up into Tink’s bright eyes.  “That’s what fairies are for.  We’re here to help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who nominated this story for The Espenson Awards! It’s now a finalist for Best OUAT AU, and I am so happy that I could do a dance or two. 
> 
> Next up is Chapter Thirty-Nine: “Friends and Foes,” where Emma and Cora discuss August, Regina seeks out Errol, Killian asks Emma on a date, Belle comforts Rumplestiltskin after Cora’s ‘fun’, and Anastasia’s fate is revealed. Back in the Enchanted Forest, Tinker Bell runs into trouble and Regina visits Maleficent.


	39. Friends and Foes

One of the things that Emma had learned over her three and a half months in Storybrooke was that a lot of people didn’t own cars.  Either that, or they didn’t _use_ them for travelling around town, but most people just didn’t seem to own them at all.  She’d mostly learned that by hauling Graham around; although he’d had a truck (totaled, and he was still waiting on the insurance claim to refuse him), a lot of other folks didn’t seem to have one.  Even once Graham got the that insurance check and bought a new car, he’d have to have it refitted to allow for his wheelchair.  Emma knew that her friend wasn’t looking forward to that expense, or having to learn to drive in a wheelchair, and she was willing to drive him around anytime he needed until that day came around.

Apparently, however, her services weren’t needed today.  Or at least that was what she had to assume when she watched Keith Law, of all people, drop Graham off in front of Archie’s office.  Her deputy (who she still wished she could fire) was grumbling the entire time, but he at least helped Graham out and then sent him in the right direction.  Graham wheeled himself forward, and Archie came down the stairs to greet him.  _Does Archie’s office building even have an elevator?_ Emma wondered.  Most of Storybrooke seemed woefully unprepared to deal with a man in a wheelchair, and Emma actually couldn’t remember having seen anyone else who was handicapped since her arrival.  _And that’s just plain weird._   The only other disabled person seemed to be Gold, and he simply walked with a cane.

Watching Graham and Archie talk left a funny feeling in the pit of Emma’s stomach, though.  While she’d suggested he talk to the shrink, and was glad that he was doing so, she’d kind of expected Graham to let her know when he needed a ride.  Even after their last conversation, when Graham indicated that he didn’t want to see her romantically again, she thought that they could still be friends.  Emma didn’t want to give up on him just because Graham was feeling down—she knew what it was like to be abandoned, thank you very much, and—

“I’m glad to see that he’s gotten over his childish obsession with you,” a softly nasty voice said from her left, and Emma whirled to see the mayor standing there smirking.

“Obsession?  What the hell are you talking about?” she demanded before she could stop herself. 

“Why, I meant that ill-advised little romantic ‘fling’ of yours,” Cora replied with an eloquent shrug.  “After all, it certainly did Graham no good.  He was hurt after a date with you, and now he’s paralyzed.  I can see how any rational man would associate you with the loss of his legs and his dignity.”

Mouth open, Emma stared at the older woman for a long moment, fighting back the urge to punch her.  She wanted to, oh so badly, but she managed not to.  Just.  After all, she didn’t want to have to arrest herself for assault, and she didn’t want to give Cora the moral high ground, either.  “You really don’t know anything about _people,_ do you, Madam Mayor?”

“I know that love is overrated,” Cora replied coldly, and somehow, Emma felt like that was the most honest thing she’d ever see the woman say.  “Love just makes people do foolish things…and forget what’s important.”

“Your life must have been really terrible if you honestly believe that,” she said.  Emma didn’t pity Cora, not exactly, but if Cora _did_ believe that—and she seemed to—it really seemed like a rotten way to live your life. 

Cora laughed.  “Hardly.  I am exactly where I want to be.”

“Right.  Mayor in a small town is _everyone’s_ greatest ambition.”  Emma snorted, and then changed the subject.  “Did you want something?  If not, I’ve got rounds to make.”

She didn’t; technically it was Gary’s shift, but the new guy probably wouldn’t argue if Emma suddenly helped out.  Getting away from Cora would be worth driving an extra lap or two around town, particularly since Emma still wasn’t sure what the mayor’s deal was. She couldn’t be half as evil as Regina and Henry seemed to think she was, and Emma knew that the library fire _still_ hadn’t been pinned on anyone, but there were a dozen witnesses to the fact that the mayor hadn’t been anywhere nearby when it was set.  Overall, though, Cora was still a bitch, and Emma hated working for her as much as she liked living in Storybrooke.  _And I know that Regina thinks that Cora was somehow responsible for that new debt of Mary Margaret’s, but I still don’t get how that would even be_ possible, Emma thought with a frown, hoping that Cora would say there was nothing else and she could get on with her day.

“Yes, there was something I wanted, actually,” Cora replied, and Emma hid the desire to groan.  “This newcomer, Mr. Booth.  What do you know about him?”

“That’s easy.  He’s a writer, and a jerk.  Likes to play stupid little mystery games, and says he’s here for inspiration,” Emma replied, grateful that it was at least a straightforward question.  And even a small town mayor was allowed to be interested in visitors, even if that mayor was Cora.

“Does he now?” Cora purred, and Emma shrugged.

“That’s what he says.  I talked to him a few times, but he doesn’t seem like he’s anything special.”  Henry seemed to think that there was something going on with August, but as far as Emma had seen, the only thing unique about August was that he was an extra special pain in her ass.

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Cora said, and started to turn away.  Then she paused, glancing over her shoulder.  “Keep an eye on him, please.  I’d hate for him to upset the balance in our lovely little town.”

There was something in Cora’s tone, something threatening that set Emma’s teeth on edge, but there certainly wasn’t any way to object to what she’d said.  And Cora sort of was Emma’s boss, which meant she had to nod.

“Sure,” Emma agreed.  She’d wanted to talk to August again, anyway, so this was as good of an excuse as any.  It certainly let her walk away from Cora, too, and without having to take on Gary’s patrol as an excuse to do so.  All in all, that was a fairly decent ending to a weird conversation.

So, Emma stuffed her hands in her pockets—she’d left her gloves somewhere, though she wasn’t sure where—and started back down the street towards Granny’s, which had been where she was heading before Cora stopped her.  She’d parked her car in her normal parking spot by the sheriff’s station and then headed out to get some cocoa.  Emma’d eaten breakfast at home, but no one in town made hot chocolate quite like Granny’s did, and she had a massive craving.  The winter was just getting colder as the middle of January sailed by, too, and that meant hot drinks were definitely on Emma’s to-do list.

_There are times I really wish that I’d stayed in Tallahassee, even though things there didn’t work out like I’d hoped,_ Emma reflected, shivering as a cold wind whipped down the street.  _Even if I was young and dumb enough to hope that Neal might suddenly pop up with a really good excuse for me having gone to jail for his theft, the city wasn’t exactly a bad place to be_.  And her relationship with Neal hadn’t been all that terrible, either, or at least not in hindsight.  He might have broken her heart, but he’d also given her Henry.  Emma hadn’t known what to do with the kid when she first met him, but now she knew that she had no idea what she’d do _without_ her son in her life.

“Let me get that for you, love,” a familiar voice said, and Emma jumped back as the diner door opened for her like magic.  Of course, the gentlemanly gesture came from Cyril O’Malley, and she smiled at him.  He was certainly easy on the eyes, and interesting, too; Emma hadn’t forgotten that he’d helped her win the race for sheriff and she was grateful for that.

“Thanks,” she said easily, ducking into the diner before the cold wind could follow her.  Killian did, however, and she shot a glance at him.  “I thought you were going out.”

“Not when a lass like you has just walked in,” he said bluntly, wearing a smile that he probably expected to melt her into a puddle of desire then and there.

Yes, he was handsome, but Emma had dealt with enough handsome men to be proof against _that_.  “Save it,” she told him with a laugh.  “I’m not going to fall for your cheap charms.”

“Who says they’re cheap, love?” he asked with another sultry smile, leaning in close.

Emma just snorted and pushed him back playfully.  “You don’t really think this act works, do you?”

“Well, if it does, I’m generally not that interested,” Killian admitted, assuming a more normal expression and chuckling ruefully.  “Though you’d be surprised how often it does bear fruit.”

“On idiots, I imagine,” Emma shot back, liking him better when he was honest.

He shrugged.  “Or people who are just lonely.”

“Being lonely doesn’t mean you lose possession of your senses,” she argued ,making her way to the counter.  Emma had been lonely before, after all.  Plenty of times.  And it hadn’t made her into an idiot.

“Of course not.  But different people react differently,” the marina owner answered, matching her step for step.  That made Emma give him a suspicious look.

“What _are_ you doing, then, if not trying your cheap romance novel seduction act on me?”

“Well, I was hoping to try my _expensive_ romance novel seduction act on you, actually,” he replied with a grin.  “But if that fails, I thought I’d ask you to dinner.”

“Dinner?  Really?”

“As friends if you like,” Killian replied, spreading his hands as if to show his intentions were honest.  “To be frank, you look like someone who could use a bit of a pick-me-up.”

“Do I?  What gives you that idea?” Emma turned to Ruby before the marina owner could answer.  “Can I get a large hot chocolate to go?”

“With whipped cream and cinnamon,” she said immediately, grinning.  “Coming right up.  And good morning to you, again, Killian.  You forgot your change.”

“Of course I didn’t, love.  That was for you.”

Ruby rolled her eyes, but Emma swore she saw the waitress wink as she headed back for the hot chocolate machine.  “Save it, playboy.”

Apparently there was an old friendship there, and it did increase Killian O’Malley’s standing a bit in Emma’s eyes.  Flirting aside, Ruby was a pretty good judge of character, and if she liked this guy, perhaps there was a bit more to him than leather jackets and money.  Emma shot her unexpected companion another look as a thought suddenly occurred to her.  _I was looking for information, and he’s just the right type of guy…maybe I can find something that Sidney hasn’t been able to yet,_ she thought, wondering briefly why the reporter hadn’t gotten back to her already.  They were supposed to set up a time to talk today, and yet Sidney still hadn’t texted.

“I actually was looking for some help with something,” she said, cocking her head and giving him a little smile that Emma knew drove playboys mad.  “Maybe you could help me.”

“Say you’ll go to dinner with me, Swan, and I’ll do whatever you like.”  His grin was downright salacious now, and Emma would have groaned if it didn’t play right into her hands.

“I need information,” the sheriff told him bluntly, turning to lean her back against the counter and face him fully.  “About this place they call ‘the Basement’.”

Killian tensed immediately, and Emma saw the playfulness drain right out of his expression.  “Not here,” the marina owner said softly, his voice suddenly somber.  “Don’t mention that here.”

Had he seemed any less serious, even wary, Emma might have accused him of having her on.  But the look in Killian’s eyes was guarded, and she didn’t like the way his eyes suddenly flitted around the room, looking to see who might be listening.  His reaction fit with what she’d heard so far, too.  _No one_ talked about this Basement, almost like it was something out of that _Fight Club_.  But what Mary Margaret knew about the place indicated that the Basement was a far worse place than any screenwriter had dreamed up, and that put Emma on edge.

“Then where?” she asked, not allowing him to squirm off the hook now that she had him there.  If he wanted to go out to dinner with her, Emma would damn well make him pay for it. 

“I’ll drop by later,” was all O’Malley said, and then with a nod—this one normal and a little bit flirty—to Ruby, he pushed away from the counter and headed out of the diner without another word.

“Weird,” Emma muttered to herself, accepting her drink from Ruby and paying for it.  That was definitely not what she’d been expecting, but it meant that this was probably time to go for another fishing expedition down in the town records.

* * *

 

Getting out of his car was less painful than getting into it, but only just.  Rumplestiltskin watched colors flash before his vision as he limped out of his car port and then up his front walk, heading up the stairs by instinct and habit alone since he couldn’t really see straight.  He supposed that he should have headed to the shop; he was usually opening by now, even if he had spent the last month or so opening later than his habit from before Belle and Renee came back into his life…but he couldn’t bring himself to care.  Not today.  Today he was just _done._

The door creaked a bit when he opened it, and he fumbled with his keys as he came through, his fingers not wanting to work right and his head still spinning.  Walking was hell, and going up the steps had been, well, _bad_.  Cora’s anger hadn’t burned itself out on Sunday night; she’d wanted another session that morning, and Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure he could handle this any longer.  Certainly not if it kept on like _this_.  Every inch of his body hurt, and he was quite certain that he’d be bruised for weeks.  Hell, the welts weren’t likely to fade before—

“Rumple?” Belle’s voice interrupted his thoughts as he stood numbly in the front hall, trying to gather the strength to head up the stairs and shower again.  He desperately wanted to wash Cora’s touch away, wanted to wash away the pain and the humiliation, even if he knew such a thing really wasn’t possible.  There hadn’t been time to shower again this morning after Cora had finally untied him, and he _hated_ that.  After all, Cora couldn’t be late to the office—not unless it was _her_ doing.  She wasn’t about to let him be the cause of it, and that meant he needed to head out of her house before she did.  Not that he wanted to be there without her.  Not at all.

Hands touched his shoulders, making him jump.  He’d drifted a bit, lost himself in thoughts and pain again, and Belle had somehow approached to stand in front of him before he remembered to respond to her saying his name.  Now her voice dropped to a worried whisper.  “Rumple?” 

“Yeah.  I’m here,” he said, hating the way his voice cracked hoarsely.

Belle didn’t say another word; she just reached out and pulled him into her arms.  Part of Rumplestiltskin wanted to flinch away, but that part was unimportant.  Cora might have been vicious in her abuse the night before, but this was Belle, and he trusted her in ways he’d never trusted himself, so he let himself sag into her embrace, trying to ignore the way pain shot through his back when her arm brushed just a bit too low.  But she still heard his hiss of pain, and that made her pull back to look at him.

“How bad was it?” Belle asked softly.

“Bad,” he answered, not wanting to talk about it but knowing that lying to her was a fool’s errand.  Belle would know, and…and he needed her.  He needed her understanding and her gentle touch to wipe away the horror of the last twenty-four hours.

“What can I do?”

“I don’t know,” Rumplestiltskin answered honestly, swallowing.  “I need to take a shower.”

“All right.  I’ll get Renee in front of the TV or something, and then I’ll come up,” she promised, and Rumplestiltskin hated how shaky his nod was.  He wanted to be alone but he didn’t, and at least Belle seemed able to read his expression.

She squeezed his free hand, the one not desperately gripping his cane for balance, and smiled again, leaving Rumplestiltskin to slowly work his way up the stairs, hating this very human body of his and hating its vulnerabilities. 

It was like being that poor spinner again, helpless and afraid, unable to even adequately protect his wife and child.  Oh, he had power here, but it wasn’t the kind of power that he _needed_.  Cora could trump him, and so often did; even though he had used his formidable mind to run circles around her and accomplish his goals, she _still_ was able to bring him so low and hurt him, making him feel like he was that spinner receiving yet another beating from bullies who dished it out because they could.  Or from people who didn’t want to pay full price for the best thread they could find in the whole of the Frontlands.  How many times had he gone to market with quality wares and come back with a few coppers instead of the money he had earned?  Being abused like this brought back memories that Rumplestiltskin had thought buried forever, and he didn’t like that one bit.

_Be patient,_ he told himself as firmly as he could, finally reaching the top of the stairs.  _You are not some poor spinner.  You are the Dark One, and even if Cora has the upper hand_ now, _she won’t have it forever.  You’ll have your vengeance, and then your family will be_ safe. _Forever._  

But he didn’t feel safe as he stripped off his suit and climbed into the shower, resisting the urge to look in the mirror and discover how many of the welts had burst open and were bleeding.  At least some of them were, judging from the way the hot water and the soap stung, but Rumplestiltskin gritted his teeth and washed them out, anyway.  He’d gotten practice with such things centuries earlier, and if tears leaked out of his eyes while the water steamed down his face, there was no one there to see.  He could see his own hands shaking and despise himself for the weakness, however, so he did his best to make them stop before he climbed out of the shower to dry himself off.  Belle deserved better.  She deserved a man who could—

“You look terrible.”  Belle was standing right there in the doorway, with a compassionate look on her face that almost collapsed his knees right out from under him.  “Oh, Rumple.”

She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him again, and Rumplestiltskin let himself sink into her embrace.  Milah had never been so understanding; she’d told him on numerous occasions that he _deserved_ what the town bullies did, that he should just find some corner to hide in.  Her only worry had been how they’d make a living when he was injured, or how she’d get money to gamble away.  But Belle was not Milah, and although Rumplestiltskin had needed next to a lifetime to understand that, he did now. 

“I love you,” he whispered raggedly, trying to pretend another tear wasn’t busy making its way down his cheek.

“I love you, too,” Belle replied, kissing that same cheek and not commenting.  “Let’s get you cleaned up.  I brought the antiseptic spray up, and some bandages.”

“Thanks.”  Rumplestiltskin bit his lip, and then tried to force a smile for her.  He loved her more than words could ever say, but he could see that same love shining in her eyes, and somehow, that gave him strength. 

Belle just kissed him gently and went to work, leading him into the bedroom and slowly cleaning out the wounds and patching him up, and then finding Mr. Gold’s painkillers and feeing Rumplestiltskin those along with some oatmeal she’d brought up.  She wouldn’t even listen to his protests that he should open the shop that day, instead spearing him with a glare that booked no argument and telling him to get in bed and stay there.  Exhausted and hurting, Rumplestiltskin obeyed, and let himself drift off as his wife held his hand gently.

* * *

 

This time she sought him out.  Regina was done with being miserable, she was finished with waiting for happiness to find her, and if she was going to watch her sister and David be happy, Regina was not going to deny herself the same opportunity.  So what if Errol Forrester was an outlaw beneath the firefighter he’d been cursed into becoming?  Regina had seen his true self when he’d rushed into a burning building to save people he barely knew, one of them _her_ beloved son.  And she’d started to get to know him, here and now, with time moving and people slowly returning to who they had been before.  She didn’t know if anything would come of this, but she was tired of sitting around and waiting for life to find her.  Regina was going to seize life by the horns and take a chance.

So, she dropped by the firehouse that morning on her way to work, having guessed that Errol was the type who got to work early so that he could leave early.  She had to be careful, lest Cora notice, but Regina could already see her mother deep in conversation with Francis Scadlock—another person whom Regina had _no_ idea who he really was.  He’d become one of her mother’s closest toadies lately, probably because Cora had his heart, but possibly because he had been an ally back in the Enchanted Forest.  Regina knew that her mother had spent the last few months before the curse recruiting allies of her own, carefully assembling a group who would be either beholden to her or shared her goals.  Cora was no fool, and she had prepared for this curse slowly and carefully.  Scadlock might just be one of those, or he could be some poor sot who had no choice.

“Regina!” a surprised voice made her head turn as Regina stood outside the doors; the firefighters were all bundled up against the cold as they hauled the big garage doors open, obviously getting ready to wash their one fire truck despite the chilly January weather.  Errol walked over to her, handing a bucket off to one of the other men.  “What are you doing here?”

Suddenly, she felt so very awkward.  Regina had never approached a man before like this, not even Daniel.  She’d kind of fallen in love with him by accident, and this was all new to her.  Even her cursed self had never really done this; the memories her mother gave her insisted that David had courted _her_ , not the other way around.  So, she shuffled a little before she scraped up the courage to say: “I came to see you.”

The smile on his face was reward enough, and Regina found herself smiling back like an idiot.  “You did?”

“Is something wrong with that?” she answered, not sure if she was sounding coy or hostile, but either way, Errol seemed pleased. 

“No.  Not at all.  I mean…I just didn’t expect this.”

“Neither did I, to be honest,” Regina admitted.  “But I…well, I realized that I just wanted to stop being miserable—I’m sorry.  That sounds awful, doesn’t it?”

“Not really,” he replied.  “I have read the papers, you know.”

Regina shook her head.  “I didn’t mean that.”

“Then what did you mean?” She’d never known his voice could be so gentle, but something in it talked to her very soul.  Still, somehow Regina found herself staring at her feet, trying to explain that she was drawn to a man she’d met a handful of times and that it was….nice.

“David and I, well, we’ve known that we weren’t in love for a long time.  I’m glad he’s found someone who can make him happy,” she replied, forcing herself to look up into Errol’s warm eyes.

“What about you?  How are you supposed to be happy, then?” he asked softly, reaching out as if to put a hand on her arm and then obviously stopping himself.

“I don’t know.”  Damn it all, how could she be so honest with this man? So much truth made Regina uneasy, and yet she was _still_ talking to him.  She’d sought him out, even when she knew how many uncomfortable truths tumbled out of her mouth around him.  “I’m trying to figure that out.”

“Here?”

“Maybe.”  Regina took a deep breath, and then forced herself to say: “Do you want to, I don’t know, go out for dinner or something?  Nothing fancy or anything, just not…Granny’s.”

The smile that split his face was big enough to make Regina’s world spin a little bit.  “I’d love that,” Errol answered, his eyes lighting up.

“Wednesday, maybe?” Regina offered, since it was a day that David worked late and Henry was with Emma.  She was often so lonely on Wednesdays, fighting off the urge to go shake Snow until she remembered who she was, and Regina thought it would be a good day to enjoy herself for once.

“Wednesday it is.”

* * *

 

_1 Year Before the Curse_

“You can’t hold me here!” the fairy howled, and Cora laughed.  The tiny green woman was stuck in a glass jar, one crafted with Cora’s magic and all the darkness she could muster.  The trap had felled this ‘Tinker Bell’ nicely, stuffing her away for safekeeping while Cora reminded her daughter where her loyalties lay.  Now, of course, the fairy was in Cora’s chambers.  She’d make a nice decoration.

After a silencing spell, perhaps.

“Of course I can, dear.  Who is going to rescue you?” Cora replied with a smile, sitting down in her favorite chair and crossing her legs.  Here she could relax, but Cora never allowed herself to forget that she was queen, even in the privacy of her own chambers.  A fairy would make an excellent decoration for an evil sorceress to have.  She’d often wondered why Rumple killed them all and didn’t keep one as a pet, but now perhaps she would start her own collection, Cora thought, fingering the fairy’s wand.

“Blue won’t stand for this!”

“I’ll send her your wand and tell her that you’re dead,” Cora replied, regretting the necessity.  “That should remind her not to _ever_ send someone to muddle in my affairs again.”

“But she didn’t!  She—”

“She didn’t send you?” she asked when the fairy abruptly shut her mouth, looking horrified. “Does she even know that you’re _here_?”

Tinker Bell said nothing, and Cora felt a very un-queen like giggle rising, although she clamped it down.

“Oh, that is _wonderful_ ,” she replied.  “Thank you for telling me that.  That means I will be able to keep your wand _and_ this lovely gift of pixie dust that you so helpfully brought along.  Tell me, did you think that it would help you breech my defenses?”

“It should have worked,” the green-clad fairy said mulishly, and Cora laughed again.

“Against someone less powerful, perhaps.  But not against me.”  She rose, gathering magic as she did.  Perhaps a freezing spell was in order, too?  Oh, not one that would change the fairy’s temperature, just one that would keep her still, making her into a nice ornament.  _No, I like her flying around helplessly, stuck in that little jar.  It reminds me of what I will do to this entire world._

She was losing the war, Cora knew.  Soon enough, she’d be forced to retreat to the summer palace, a place she had chosen and prepared with no small amount of satisfaction.  Snow had once loved the place, but it was nestled against the mountains and was an easily defensible location.  Cora could keep her armies there, and even if her nauseating little stepdaughter and her idiot husband thought they’d managed to exile her, they would not be able to storm the castle without losing thousands upon thousands of their own men.  They would sign a peace treaty, of course, and then Cora would wait.  She would plan.  And when her moment came, she would be ready.

But first she had to punish her daughter for yet _another_ attempt to rescue her precious stableboy.  It was time to send Daniel back to the dungeons for good.  _He really is outliving his usefulness,_ Cora reflected, waving a hand at the indignant fairy and silencing her.  The stableboy was becoming a waste of valuable dungeon space, but this fairy, now _she_ might eventually be useful.  Time would tell.

* * *

 

To be honest, Killian had rather hoped that Emma would forget about her question, even if that meant he’d have to wait longer before he was able to take her out on a date.  Firstly, he wasn’t sure how much information he should share, and secondly…he didn’t want to admit to the beautiful and independent sheriff that he’d ever frequented such a place.  He knew why she was interested, of course; Cora’s thwarted attempt to send Mary Margaret straight into Merryweather’s dangerous embrace all but ensured Emma would be interested.  But that didn’t make Killian comfortable with his sudden position in the middle of this mess, and not for the first time, he wondered why he’d allied with Cora in the beginning.

_Don’t do this,_ Killian told himself firmly, staring blankly at the clock on his office wall.  _You know your reasons, and if you had to make the same choice again, knowing only what you knew at the time, you’d do the same bloody thing.  You can’t change the past.  All you can do is move forwards_.  Besides, it wasn’t like his alliance with Cora wasn’t still bearing fruit in many ways.  It was just uncomfortable on a personal front, and, well, Killian Jones had learned to quiet his conscience a long time ago.  A pirate captain with a conscience never lasted very long.  His crew would kill him if the enemy did not, and Killian had never been anything but a successful pirate.  He knew what he wanted, and he’d always been able to take it.

The problem was that figuring out if what he wanted _now_ was important enough to burn bridges to get.  Cora was a reliable if vicious ally; was he prepared to step away from that because he was attracted to a woman who seemed willing to oppose her?  Mere attraction did not seem enough reason to abandon the winning side, although if the winds shifted…

“Have a sec?” a voice interrupted his thoughts, and Killian whirled his chair around to stare at Emma Swan.  For a moment, he floundered, wondering how she’d made it into his office without his assistant saying anything, and then he remembered that he’d sent his assistant home for the day an hour earlier.

“For you, Swan?  Any time.” he replied, coming back on balance with a smile sure to leave any other woman weak at the knees.  Unfortunately, their sheriff was a bit harder to seduce, and she just smiled back casually.

“Great.  I wanted to have that conversation that you seemed determined not to have inside Granny’s,” she replied, coming into the office and shutting the door behind herself.

Tensing, Killian’s mind whipped quickly through his options.  Yes, he could tell her a little and Emma would probably never know where he got the additional information.  Or, he could fall back upon his original mission from Cora, telling Emma _more_ truth and attempting to gain her trust.   Cora would like that, even if she didn’t approve of his methods.  And…he wanted to get closer to Emma Swan.  For himself, not for Cora.  To do that, he had to tell her at least a little more than rumors could.

“Right.  Of course,” he managed to say, coughing to cover his discomfort and gesturing her into a chair.  “What exactly do you want to know, love?”

“Everything you can tell me about the Basement,” Emma replied immediately, sitting down and staring at him with an unsettlingly direct gaze.  She was a gorgeous woman, really, but it wasn’t her looks that drew him in.  Killian liked her strength, her brashness, her willingness to fight for what she wanted.  That reminded him of Milah, and although he usually avoided women of that exact same sort, he didn’t want to avoid Emma Swan.

“You may not want to know about that place,” he warned her, feeling obligated to.  “It’s dangerous.  More dangerous than you know.”

“I can take a little danger,” she retorted, cocking her head and giving him a smile that made Killian want to bend her over the desk then and there.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” the pirate replied, his voice low and gravelly.  Damn this woman and what she could do to him!  He had a feeling that she was doing it on purpose, and part of Killian found that annoying.  Usually, he was the one using seduction as a pry bar, and having someone turn the tables on him was not so comfortable.  Particularly when he was fairly sure that Emma Swan was doing it on purpose.

“So, are you going to tell me, or did I drive out here for nothing?” she asked bluntly, and suddenly the coy smile was gone and Emma was all seriousness.

Killian sighed and relented.  “What do you know?”

“Rumors only.  People say there’s a brothel under Very Merry Escorts, where women who owe Madam Merryweather money disappear and never come out again.”

“They’re not wrong,” he said cautiously, quickly deciding what to share and what not to.  “The Basement isn’t a brothel, not officially.  It’s an invitation-only club, where the female companionship is, uh, open-minded.”

“‘Open-minded’ meaning what exactly?”

“Meaning anything goes, love.  Things that would turn your innocent stomach,” Killian said, matching her bluntness and watching Emma flinch. 

“I’m hardly innocent,” she snapped.

“Compared to them, you are,” he answered darkly, his mind tripping back over the years to things that he guessed and half-knew.  Killian had never been one of the patrons with the nasty type of vices, but he knew some of those who were. Most of them had probably been cursed to be that way by Cora, but others… He cleared his throat and continued:  “I’ve never seen evidence that the girls are forced to be there, mind.  But there are few rules, and I’ve never seen any of them leave.”

“That sounds ominous as hell,” Emma said after a moment, studying him.  “How do you know all this?”

There was the question he’d been dreading, but Killian had been prepared to give a half truth.  “Most influential business owners have a standing invitation,” he replied.  “I visited a few times, years ago.  It never was much to my taste.”

Part of him felt guilty for saying that, and the memory of Mirabella Greenburg’s face slipped through his mind without warning, leaving Killian feeling a bit queasy.  Emma, however, seemed to accept the answer at face value, for which he was very grateful.  Instead of asking him for details on his visits—which had numbered rather more than a ‘few’—she said:

“So, how do I get in there?”

“You don’t, love.”  At least that Killian could say with confidence.  “Both judges are frequent patrons, and neither will give you a search warrant.  I believe the District Attorney visits as well.  You won’t find a legal way in there, particularly not with the mayor on Merryweather’s side.”

“Of course she is,” the sheriff spat bitterly, and then sighed.  “Thanks.  I suppose I owe you dinner now, huh?”

Killian gave her a wan smile.  “I’ll hold you to it,” he promised.  “Shall I call you, then?”

He’d meant to ask her out tonight, but talking about—and avoiding—his own memories of a woman that he’d unexpectedly developed feelings for had put Killian off of his game.  He didn’t want to think of Mirabella, but now he was, and that put a serious damper on his ability to seduce Emma.  Cora still wanted him to do that, to distract and influence the Savior as much as he could. Now that she’d taken Graham out of the picture, Killian even figured that he had a chance, but tonight was not going to be that night.  So, when Emma smiled at him, Killian just showed her to the door and promised to call, wishing he was delaying things just as part of the act of seduction. 

He much preferred it when things were that simple.  Having a conscience simply got in the way.

* * *

 

“Too many people have seen her,” Madam Merryweather had said when Anastasia arrived a week ago.  “She has to go downstairs.”

Francis hadn’t so much as twitched; he’d delivered her like she was a paper to be dropped off on a route, and then departed with barely a nod at the _woman_ who ran this dressed-up whorehouse.  They called the upstairs business an “Escort Service”, but to Ana it looked like a bunch of women who worked there because they had no choice.  Most of them seemed to owe Merryweather—whoever the hell _she_ really was—money, but at least they got to go home at night.  Downstairs was another matter, and that, of course was where they sent Ana.  _So much for the Evil Queen’s promise to take care of Will and I if we were loyal,_ she thought with a scowl.  Apparently Ana’s apology to the sheriff was evidence of her disloyalty, and Cora had ordered Will to bring her here.

Madam Merryweather had inspected her like she was an object for sale when Will—still thinking he was Francis Scadlock—had delivered her, but it had been Mr. Horn who brought Ana downstairs.  Mr. Horn seemed to be the nicest person in the place, but even he wasn’t very kind; he delivered Ana to the small dormitory that the girls shared, and left her there with the others, leaving them to explain her duties to her.  That hadn’t taken long; Ana might have brought up in a nicer household, but she knew what a whorehouse was, and had already guessed what her role was.  Cora had made her position very clear: if Ana misbehaved, Will would die, and that was that.

She’d do what she had to if it kept Will alive, but that didn’t mean Ana would be grateful for it or gracious about anything she was forced into.  At first, she’d wanted to hate the other women down there, who seemed to have accepted their horrible lot in life, but once she got to know them, Ana realized that they’d just been down there too long.  _It’s this damn curse,_ she thought angrily, picking at the skimpy clothing Talia had given her.  Talia Rose was the nicest of the other girls, an auburn haired beauty who still seemed able to find a smile and a kind word for everyone.  Her best friend, Magnolia Souci, was just the opposite; the oriental beauty was angry and quiet, rarely speaking.  The most vicious _patrons_ tended to choose her, and Ana found herself feeling very sorry for the strong young woman after her first night.

Calliope Benson was the fiery redhead, a bitter dreamer who had seen her dreams dashed one too many times.  She spoke occasionally of falling in love with Cora’s chef and being sent down here for the crime of making Anderson _happy_ , but Ana saw the way her face softened when she whispered her lover’s name.  Calliope was the only one who seemed to remember how she wound up in the Basement; as far as the others knew, they’d been here for their entire lives.  Most accepted it, although none did so with as much grace as the only _male_ entertainer, William Paris.  Ana often thought that he and Talia had been in love at some point, perhaps before the curse, because she could see the knowing looks they shared without being aware of it.  But they were kept apart except at meals, so nothing much came of that.

“Why does everyone just go along with this?” she asked _again_ at the end of the first week, turning to look at Mirabella Greenburg.  Mirabella was a small boned, blonde woman with a strong sarcastic streak and more brains than the rest put together, which easily made her the unofficial leader of their messed up little society.

“Because we have no choice,” Mirabella answered bluntly.  “No one out there cares about us, and every time one of us has thought that someone _did_ , we turned out to be wrong.  We can rot for all they care.  The only people who care about us is each other.”

Ana swallowed.  “My husband…”

“Delivered you here, didn’t he?” Mirabella countered with a shrug.  “Probably got paid a pretty penny for you, too.”

“He didn’t—”

“Oh, give it up.  No one’s going to save you, Ana,” the other woman said, but there was compassion in her voice that made the words hurt even more.  At least she accepted that ‘Victoria’ wasn’t Ana’s real name, and called her by one she knew; that was the only consolation of being in this horrible place.  “We just have to stick together.”

“I know.  I just—”

“You just what, dear?” a new voice cooed, and both woman spun to face their so-called employer.  Madam Merryweather rarely came down to the Basement outside of business hours, and she almost _never_ entered their dormitory, but there she was, standing in the doorway and watching the two women sit together on Mirabella’s bed.

“Nothing,” Ana said quickly.  She’d learned quickly that mouthing off was a bad idea in this place.  The muscle (most of them formerly the Evil Queen’s guards; she recognized some of their faces) dealt with that viciously, although they were careful to never let bruises show where customers might mind them.

Merryweather floated into the room, looking half-distracted, and half-threatening.  Ana didn’t know how the woman pulled that off, but somehow she did.  Just looking at her gave you the impression that she would order tea in the same dreamy tone that she’d order a girl beaten half to death for customers’ entertainment.  She was dangerous and distracted all at once, a combination that Ana wouldn’t have believed if she hadn’t been on the receiving end of one of Merryweather’s ordered ‘discipline’ sessions her first evening there, when she’d tried to leave and tried to object to being locked away.  Now, purplish eyes focused on her, however, and it was clear that Merryweather wasn’t buying the lie.

“You have other family here,” Merryweather said lightly, almost singing the words as she ran a finger across the pink-painted wall, her eyes inspecting the ceiling idly.  “I’d hate for anything to happen to them.  Wouldn’t you?”

Under normal circumstances, Ana would say that her mother and her full sister could hang themselves for all she cared; they’d gotten what they deserved when Ella rose in the world and they didn’t, but she didn’t want them _dead_.  Even if her mother hated Will, and her sister had married some two-bit noble and lorded it over her, that didn’t mean Ana wanted to see them hurt.  She didn’t want anyone to hurt Ella, either, even if they’d never gotten along.  Ana was done being the evil stepsister now that she’d realized life really _wasn’t_ what her mother raised her to believe, and they really had treated Ella horribly.  But that wasn’t the point.  The point was that this horrible woman was threatening her _family_ , and family was family, even if Ana didn’t like them very much.

“I didn’t do anything!” she objected.

Mirabella tried to lay a hand on her arm, but Ana jerked away, glaring at the frightening woman who only smiled back.

“Well, then you don’t have to worry, do you?” she asked as if she’d never threatened anyone before, and then abruptly turned to the silent man who trailed her.  “I was thinking of repainting the room.  What do you think, Mr. Horn?”

Ana just stared as the conversation took a right turn.  _What kind of horrible woman is she?  And_ who _is she?_

* * *

 

_1 Year Before the Curse_

Maleficent was many things, but chief amongst those was that she was easily distracted.  Regina didn’t mind that about her friend, but there were times when Maleficent’s ability to wander off mentally drove her insane.  They were having tea inside the Forbidden Fortress, just chatting about this and that and trying to ignore the way the world was changing around them.  Cora had expressly forbade Regina from visiting Snow, but she hadn’t said anything about Maleficent, which meant Regina could finally get out of her mother’s toxic castle and see _someone_ other than Rumplestiltskin.  And frankly, the Dark One was not the best at socializing.  Distracted or not, Maleficent was far better for that…and Regina needed someone to talk to after that debacle with Tinker Bell had ended in Daniel back in the dungeons forever.

“You were saying?” she prompted the so-called Mistress of All Evil. Personally, Regina thought it was a rather pretentious title, but since Maleficent had worn it for at least three centuries, Regina supposed she could give her a pass.  _Even if Mother is giving her a run for her money on that front these days._

“What _was_ I saying?” Maleficent replied dreamily, purple eyes turning to Regina.  She was still petting that damn unicorn of hers, too; Regina was ready to swear that if that pet was human, she’d have married him. 

“Can the act, will you?” Regina snapped, but there wasn’t much vitriol in it.  She rather liked Maleficent for who she was, and when one was friends with a six hundred year old fallen fairy, you just kind of had to accept them the way they were.  “You don’t lose track of nearly as many conversations as you _pretend_ to drift out of.”

Maleficent laughed, smiling in a way that most people would never see.  It softened her expression and made her look younger.  She and Regina hadn’t known one another for long—they’d met by accident less than a year earlier—but she was quickly becoming one of the few true friends Regina had ever had. 

“Well, this time I _did_ forget,” the fallen fairy said.  “Enlighten me?”

Regina bit back a groan.  “Something about a yaoguai.”

“Oh, yes.”  Now Maleficent was scowling.  “Rumplestiltskin appears to have been bored, or someone made a deal with him.  I’m not sure which, but he sent someone to break the yaoguai curse on the prince I saddled with it.”

“Pity,” Regina replied, not quite understanding her friend’s desire to sic a sleeping curse on some empty-headed princess (she’d met Aurora, after all, and was not impressed).  But she did understand Maleficent’s frustration at being thwarted.

“It’s more than that.  Now I have to come up with some _other_ way to send the fool off to the other side of the kingdom—or better off, even further away—so that he doesn’t wake her.”

“Are you certain they’re True Love?”

“Depressingly so,” the other sorceress grumbled.  “And of course, _her_ parents know how this works.  So they’ll just send for the boy immediately if I curse her.”

“Are you still going to insist on using a spinning wheel?” Regina couldn’t help teasing her friend a little.

Maleficent glared.  “It’s tradition.”

“I will _never_ understand you,” she replied with a smile, sipping her tea.

“Someday, perhaps you’ll have a princess whom you hate enough to curse her children as well,” was the grated-out answer.

“Mother’s got that market cornered in my family, thanks,” Regina snorted.  “I think she’ll be trying to curse _Snow’s_ grandchildren at this rate, all because she hated Queen Eva.”

“Yes, your mother does take holding a grudge to a new and very special level,” Maleficent agreed, and then gestured abruptly at her unicorn.  “You should tell her to get a pet.  It makes everything _so_ much better.”

Regina almost spat out her tea, and had to cough several times after she hastily swallowed, her throat burning a bit from the heat.  “ _You_ can tell her that, thanks!”

Maleficent just shrugged airily.  “Perhaps I shall.”

“Please _do_ tell me before you have that conversation with Mother.  I want to watch.”

Maleficent only smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter Forty: “Unexpected Allies,” where Mary Margaret searches for a job, Henry visits Mr. Gold, and Tony Rose (cursed Gaston) tries to pry Lacey away from Gold.  
> Back in the past, Cora interrupts Snow and Charming’s wedding, and then has to go to Rumplestiltskin for help.
> 
> In other news, this story has been nominated for Best AU in the Espenson Awards on Tumblr! Thank you so much to everyone for the nominations!!!! If you would like to vote for it, or any of my other stories that have been nominated (Original Powers and Remember), please drop by theespensonawards (dot) tumblr (dot) com. Voting starts on Monday!


	40. Unexpected Allies

January would be over in two weeks, and Mary Margaret still hadn’t found a job.  She’d tried everyone she knew and people she didn’t, but most of them wouldn’t even talk to her.  Those that did hear her out were usually apologetic, but they still didn’t offer her jobs.  Some of them just threw her resume—slender though it was, because all she’d ever wanted to do was teach—in the trash right in front of her.  After a week of job hunting, she was more than discouraged; she was downright depressed.  Storybrooke Daycare had been running a help wanted ad in the _Daily Mirror_ for months now, but when she applied, suddenly they no longer had funding to hire someone else.  Fagin’s Group Home had been looking for a tutor before Mary Margaret had even started teaching at the elementary school, and yet now they weren’t interested.  She couldn’t even get a job substitute teaching at the middle school or the high school, thanks to the way Ms. Cole had blackened her name with her fellow principals.  All in all, Mary Margaret was lost.

Even Mother Superior had turned her away when she inquired after a secretary job at the convent, telling Mary Margaret gently that she was destined for better things.  That kind response had almost made Mary Margaret cry on the spot, but she’d managed to keep it together until she got home.  She was beyond caring what kind of job she was ‘meant’ to have.  Mary Margaret just wanted a _job_ , any job, something that could pay the bills so that Emma wasn’t left hanging with them all on her own.  Unfortunately, no one in Storybrooke seemed to be hiring.  _Or at least no one wants to hire a woman who tempted a loyal man into an affair, and who is suspected of murder, too,_ she thought sadly, staring blankly at the Jobs section of the _Daily Mirror_.

Now she was waiting for Emma to meet her in Granny’s for a late lunch, because Emma had insisted she was spending too much time cooped up in the loft while she wasn’t job hunting.  Mary Margaret was grateful that her roommate cared so much about her, she really was, but right now she just wanted to bury herself under the covers instead of enduring the stares she _still_ got when she went out in public.

“You okay?” a voice asked suddenly, making Mary Margaret jump.  Her head jerked up from the Jobs section to stare at Ruby, who was watching her worriedly.

“Yeah,” Mary Margaret answered as bravely as she could, ignoring the gnawing feeling of hopelessness in her belly.  “I’m all right.  Just tired.”

“Job search going badly?”

“Well, I’m not sure _going_ is the right word for it, to be honest,” she replied with a sigh.  “I seem to be going a whole lot of nowhere.”

“That sucks,” Ruby said bluntly, but a smile softened the words as the redhead slipped into the chair across from Mary Margaret, putting her elbows on the table and popping her gum nosily.  “But, you know…Granny does have an opening here.”

Mary Margaret sat up straight so fast that her back cracked.  “She does?”

“I mean, it’s waitressing.  Nothing glamorous, or even much fun, but—”

“Would she hire me?” Mary Margaret asked before Ruby could start listing the reasons she _shouldn’t_ be a waitress.  No, it wasn’t anything like the jobs she’d ever dreamed of, but at this point, a job was a job.  And Granny was honest, at least.

“Of course she would,” Ruby replied with a grin.  “We’ve only known you for forever.”

A giant weight lifted off of Mary Margaret’s shoulders, and for a moment, she felt like she could fly.

* * *

 

Regina tried not to smile as she watched Snow— _Mary Margaret!_ —grin wildly at Red.  Or Ruby Lucas, as she was known here.  At least those names were similar, and from what Regina could tell, the wolf girl hadn’t changed much under the curse, despite her skimpy wardrobe and rather…promiscuous attitude.  Given the way the one encounter between Red and her mother had gone back home, that was something of a minor miracle.  Perhaps there was something hidden behind the scenes?  Regina was a little surprised that Red hadn’t wound up in the Basement because of her friendship with Snow and her actions back in the Enchanted Forest, which meant there was probably some skeleton lurking in Ruby’s closet that was bound to explode and hurt someone sooner or later.

But that wasn’t her problem at the moment.  Right now, Regina was in Granny’s to see the puppet, not to worry over the werewolf.  So, she shoved that thought aside to worry over later, and intercepted August W. Booth as he tried to walk into the dining room.

“A word, Mr. ‘Booth’?” Regina purred, watching blue eyes go wide with terror.

That reaction was a little nice, even if she didn’t really relish most people fearing her.  This one was different, though.  This one was trying to turn her son against her, _and_ trying to manipulate her niece.  Regina wasn’t going to let that happen.  The Blue Fairy’s little puppet could go hang himself for all she cared, so long as he stayed away from her family.  _Snow_ was the one who liked Blue.  Regina never had.

“I’m actually meeting someone—” August tried weakly, and Regina smiled.

“No, you aren’t. And if you are, they can wait.  Let’s go to your room and talk.”

* * *

 

_2 Years Before the Curse_

They thought they were safe.

They thought today was a _happy_ day. 

But they were wrong.  Cora would _prove_ them wrong.  She would not allow Eva’s bratty little daughter to marry her precious True Love and thus gain a happy ending.  No, that prince was meant for Regina, just as Regina was meant to be queen of both kingdoms.  Eva’s daughter was nothing.  Cora had meant to destroy her bit by bit before killing her, to make Snow suffer as Cora had suffered, but perhaps death was the only option.  Today.

She had tried being subtle.  She had tried using proxies.  Cora had even given King George the chance to choose her daughter several times over, but the fool had gone to war against her instead of doing the wise thing.  But no.  The fool had jilted Cora’s daughter multiple times, so now Cora would take the choice out of his hands.  _Perhaps I should kill him, too_ , she thought to herself, studying her reflection in the mirror and smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in her dress.  It was red and black, of course, tastefully jeweled and immaculately assembled.  She would outshine them all, even the bride.  As well she should; Cora was the Queen of Hearts, and she would not give her stepdaughter even the briefest taste of victory.  But she would not kill George, she decided, going back to the question she had asked herself.  No.  She wanted him to know he had lost, along with his empty-headed prince of a son.

No one else had managed to do it for her, so she would kill Snow herself.  Today. 

Casting one last look at herself in the mirror, Cora drew on her magic and let purple smoke swirl around herself. She supposed she _was_ powerful enough to change the color if she so chose, but purple was the color of royalty, so she rather liked things the way they were.  She was the Queen, after all, and Snow White was nothing but a traitorous bandit who sought to steal what was rightfully Cora’s.  _Just like her mother._

The crowd gasped as she appeared, just as the two started saying their nauseating little wedding vows.  People leapt back from Cora, crying out in terror and pressing desperately into one another to get away from her.  For a moment, Cora reveled in their fear, drinking it in and listening to the sheep bleat while she smiled.  Who needed love?  _This_ was power, this was everything she had ever wanted and more.  She had her own kingdom, where her very whim was law, and yet other kingdoms feared her as well.  She was the most powerful monarch in the entire Enchanted Forest, able to do whatever she pleased.  _Oh, Regina,_ she thought, spying her daughter in the crowd near the happy couple.  _Why can’t you see that_ this _is what you are destined for?_

“I seem to have missed receiving my invitation, dear Snow.  But I know you couldn’t have forgotten your beloved stepmother on purpose, could you have?” she asked, gliding forward with a smile on her face.

Up near the dais, George gestured futilely at a pair of guards, but a flick of Cora’s left hand sent them flying back.  They hit the wall with a crash, their armor rattling, and she never even bothered to look at the king.  No, she never took her eyes off of her suddenly pale stepdaughter or the feckless prince who had foolishly allowed her to draw his sword.

“You know you are not welcome here,” Snow replied, her voice stronger than Cora would have expected.  But then, three years had passed since she had last seen Eva’s brat face to face, and Snow was not a crying child any longer.

“I’m hurt that you would say such a thing,” Cora replied, continuing towards the pair.  “I know our kingdoms are at war, but such things should not stand between family.”

She shot a pointed glance at Regina with those last words, for she knew that Snow considered Regina family.  As much as that irked Cora, the knife cut both ways; if Snow wanted to call Regina her sister, she had to accept Cora as her stepmother.  And she could see the irritation on Snow’s face as that point slid home, which only made Cora’s smile widen.  One did not need their heart to sense victory, after all, and as long as she spoke of family and indicated that her presence here represented a truce, no one would guess her true motives.

 _Truces are for the weak.  Those with power_ do _as they please._

“Then if you are here as family, I am sure you want to offer us congratulations,” Prince James spoke up from Snow’s side, gently reaching out and directing the sword she still held to point at the ground.

“I certainly do,” she purred, and watched George shove forward.  Regina was still watching her with wide eyes, obviously expecting her mother to do something, but the girl was smart enough to keep her mouth shut.  _Perhaps her loyalties are adapting,_ Cora thought with a smile.  _Or maybe she simply fears for her darling stableboy._ Either way, Regina clearly knew that her presence here was enough to anger her mother, and knew better than to do anything to foil her.

“Then be welcome,” the king said, meeting her eyes angrily although his expression was welcoming.  A consummate politician, George was, and there were times Cora contemplated making him her third husband.  He’d be worthy of the role, at least, although she would have had to make sure he never stabbed her in her sleep.  “We will, of course, be happy to extend a truce to you in honor of the wedding festivities.”

“I’m sure you are,” Cora replied.  Words were important; she did not promise to abide by any such truce.  Another few steps and she would be too close to fail, so she started gathering magic around herself as she covered the last twenty feet between herself and her Eva’s irritating daughter.  Soon she would be rid of—

“Wait a minute!” another voice cried, and Cora paused to look at a red haired peasant girl dressed in her finest, topped off by an absurdly bright red cloak.  You could always see the peasants; no matter how hard they scrubbed, they brought with them the stench of desperation and barbarism.  So, she turned to the peasant with contempt she did not bother to conceal, wondering why this nobody would be so brash as to address a queen so.

“Your peasants are quite without respect, dear,” she sneered at George.  “You should do something about that.”

“Red—” the prince started at the same time, but the peasant girl cut him off, glaring at Cora.

“You’re working magic,” Red snapped, sniffing the air.  “Dark magic.  You want to kill Snow.”

Cora blinked.  There was something about this Ruby that made her instincts prickle.   “Now, why would I want to do that?” she asked, playing for time and enjoying herself, just a little.  _The reasons are too long to list._

“I don’t care why,” the girl retorted, stepping in between Cora and the couple, loosening her cloak as she moved.  “But I’m not going to let you do it.”

“You can’t stop me, you pathetic little girl,” she replied, calling a fireball to hand and abandoning all pretext of keeping the peace.  This foolish peasant had stepped into the _wrong_ place and—

And transformed into a werewolf.

Cora had almost no time to react.  No sooner had the peasant girl dropped her cloak and transformed than the snarling wolf leapt straight at Cora, teeth flashing in the bright light of the ballroom.  Twisting desperately and flinging magic at the werewolf, Cora managed to avoid the claws and found out—much to her displeasure—that the legends were true.  Dark magic didn’t actually work to defend oneself against a werewolf; her defensive spell bounced right off of the wolf as she landed and turned around for a second attack.  Instinct guided Cora—instinct and rage, for she was there to kill Snow and would not let some peasant werewolf distract her—and she flung an attack at the wolf instead of trying another defensive spell, but although it burned the wolf’s fur and created a terrible smell, the creature launched itself at the queen anyway.

Too late, she realized that she should just teleport away and kill Snow another day.  Cora disappeared in a swirl of smoke, but not before teeth latched into the meat of her upper left arm and _tore._

Her scream echoed in the hall long after she was gone.

* * *

 

Fortunately, the puppet was smart enough to head back to his room without Regina having to give him more than a weak shove; she wasn’t at all in the mood to play games.  This idiot was trying to manipulate her family, and Regina wasn’t going to let that happen, no matter _how_ good he claimed his intentions were.  So, she strode in the room on his heels and closed the door tightly, standing in front of it in case Geppetto’s (no longer so little) boy got any bright ideas about running away.  She didn’t think he would, but there was no way to know, and Regina only wanted to have this conversation once.

“Look, I don’t know what you want, but you can’t just go bullying people in this world,” August objected.  It was easier to think of this leather-clad adult as August rather than as Pinocchio, because she’d met the boy back when he’d been a redhead and seeing him with dark hair was just plain odd.

Regina snorted. “Sure I can.  What are you going to do, complain to my mother?  Something tells me you’d like to stay _far_ away from her.”

That made him flinch, and Regina gave him a cold smile.  Finally, he asked: “What do you want, then?”

“I want you to stay away from my son, for starters,” she said, not mincing words.  “Whatever agenda you have, leave Henry out of it.”

“Henry is Emma’s—”

“He’s _my_ son,” Regina cut him off in a snarl, feeling her hackles go up.  It was one thing to share Henry with Emma; Emma was starting to matter to her, and Emma was Snow’s daughter.  That made Emma family, but this jerk didn’t have any right to tell Regina that Henry wasn’t _hers_.  She’d raised him, and she’d throw August into a wood chipper before she let him change that.  “And he’s not some tool in your game.”

“I’m not playing any games,” the puppet argued.  “I’m—”

“Trying to help Emma break the curse, I know.  What the hell do you think _I’m_ doing?  You’re late to the game, ‘August’,” she told him, rolling her eyes.  “I’ve been working on Emma for almost four _months._   And if your master plan is to annoy Emma into breaking it so you can see your dear papa again, you’re really not doing so well.”

“Don’t you dare bring my father into this!”

Oh, so he _did_ bite back.  Good.  Regina bared her teeth.  “What, you’re the only one who can cast stones?  Emma told me that you fed her the whole ‘Dark Princess’ line and told her not to trust me,” she told him fiercely.  “But here’s a news flash for you, puppet.  Emma’s my _niece._ Snow is my _sister_.  No matter what the Blue Fairy taught you to believe, that matters.  And I’ll protect them both from anyone who comes after them, even you.”

“I’m not a danger to them,” August said, his blue eyes wide.  Was he confused?  Probably.  He’d been brought up to think of Regina as a villain, probably never knowing how many of her ‘terrible’ deeds were done because her mother forced her to.  _And he probably doesn’t care_ , Regina thought angrily, remembering how she’d felt all those years ago, forced to hurt people—even those she loved—to save Daniel.  _Never again,_ she vowed, trying to ignore the fact that she’d do the same thing to protect Henry if it came down to it.

“You’d better not be,” she said, and he clearly heard the warning in her words.  “Try to convince Emma all you want.  But if you try to drag my son into your plots, I will make you regret it.”

“You don’t scare me.”

Regina smiled.  “I’m not trying to.”

* * *

 

_1 Year Before the Curse_

She was still locked in her room.

Two days earlier, Tink had appeared like some miraculous savior, a fairy who was going to help Regina rescue her True Love.  They’d had a plan, and a good one, and they’d even successfully snuck Daniel out of the palace.  Tink had created a distraction that seemed to have worked, and so far as Regina knew, the supposed incursion by the Blue Fairy (and a horde of other fairies) into her mother’s lands had drawn Cora away.  But somehow her mother had seen right through the ruse, and there had been a trap waiting for the three of them on the road as they escaped.

Now Daniel was back in the dungeons, having _again_ been tortured to prove a point to Regina.  And she had no idea where Tink was.  Her mother had said something about glass bottles and what a glittering ornament the fairy would make before taking Tink’s wand and banishing Regina’s friend to somewhere unknown.  Then she’d locked Regina away and left her to stew, telling her with a smile that she _could_ escape if she wanted to.  Cora was certain that Snow would take her in.  But Daniel would pay the price.

 _I should never have gone along with Tink’s plan,_ Regina thought, pacing to the window, to the door, and then back again.  _I knew better._   Daniel had been treated fairly well since Regina had given Snow that damned apple, and Cora had kept her promise to do so even after Charming had broken the Nightmare Curse.  He’d been restricted to the castle, of course, but he’d been mostly free.  Regina had been able to spend time with him—when she wasn’t doing her mother’s bidding, of course—and Daniel had even gained back the weight he had lost during his lengthy stay in the dungeons.  _Lengthy_ first _stay,_ she thought dejectedly, kicking uselessly at the carpet in her chambers.  Because Regina’s actions had sent him right back there, after far too short of a time away.  There were times she thought she was destined to be unhappy.

“Pacing is beneath you, darling,” her mother’s voice came without warning, and Regina whirled to face her.  “Do try to conduct yourself as your station in life demands.”

“I’m worried about Daniel!” The words burst out of her before she could stop them, and Regina briefly contemplated pleading with her mother for her (former) husband’s freedom.  But she’d tried that before, and Cora never cared.

“You should have thought about that before you put your trust in a fairy,” Cora said with a shrug.  “That never goes well.  They all think you’re evil, Regina.  Why work with them?”

“Tink was different.”

“Yes, and incompetent.”

Snarling wordlessly, Regina contemplated attacking her mother.  But that had never worked, either, and would only get Daniel hurt in the end.  However, Cora must have seen the magic building with her frustration, fear, and fury, because she nodded approvingly when Regina forced the desire back.

“I’m glad you’ve learned your lesson.  Perhaps it means we will not have to go down to the dungeons again.”

Going down to the dungeons only meant one thing: that Cora would hurt Daniel for Regina’s benefit.  So, she shook her head quickly.  “We don’t,” Regina said softly.  “Please, Mother.  I had to try—I wouldn’t be your daughter if I didn’t—but I know the consequences.  There’s no need to hurt Daniel to remind me.”

She hoped that acknowledging the ways she was like her mother—even if Regina secretly hated every one of them—would provide a sop for Cora’s ego and make her mother back down.  And it seemed that Regina was partly right; Cora nodded slightly, looking almost like she approved.

“You do realize that he’ll remain there for good, my dear,” she said, and Regina’s instincts told her this was a test.

 _Play the good little daughter.  Be contrite.  Behave yourself,_ she thought.  _Be what she wants, and maybe there will be another chance._   After all, it had worked last time, even if the saving Daniel part of her plan hadn’t.  Still, the words stuck in her throat.  “I understand.”

“Good.”  Dark eyes studied her intently.  “Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” Regina promised quietly.  _But I won’t stop planning, either.  And I won’t be your precious Dark Princess, either. I’m never hurting my family again, no matter what you say._

She and Daniel _had_ had a chance to discuss that, at least, and he’d finally started to convince her.  By now, they’d both realized that Cora wasn’t actually going to kill Daniel; if she did, her only hold on Regina would be gone.  So, they would work with that.  Regina still hated the idea of watching Daniel be hurt, but she wasn’t going to let her mother make her hurt Snow again, either.  She was going to have to walk a fine line between the two, but she was going to find a way.  Somehow.

* * *

 

When the bell rang to signal someone’s entrance into the shop, Rumplestiltskin had not expected his visitor to be young Henry Nolan.  His mother—either of them—would have not been a surprise, but having the young lad drop by without any of his parents was a bit unexpected.  Still, since Rumplestiltskin had nothing against Snow White’s grandson, he didn’t mind the visit.  In fact, given how Cora seemed hell bent on killing the lad, he found himself a bit fonder of him than he had anticipated.  _Besides_ , the quiet voice of memory reminded him softly, _he reminds you of Bae._ Thinking of his son, particularly now that he was so close to finding him, was bittersweet, but Rumplestiltskin managed to shove the thoughts aside and focus on the ten year old who had walked into his shop.

“Hello, Henry.  What can I do for you?” he asked.

He’d always been nicer to the boy than he might have been, even as Gold, Rumplestiltskin reflected.  But the curse had given Gold a lost son, too—although the curse had interpreted what happened to Baelfire as death—and Henry had tugged on his heartstrings as well as Rumplestiltskin’s.  Specifically when the boy looked at him with a smile that tried a little too hard to be innocent, with hidden mischief dancing in brown eyes.

“I came by to see how Miss French and Renee were doing,” Henry replied brightly, bouncing up to the counter, storybook held tightly against his chest.

“Did you now?” Rumplestiltskin asked, resisting the urge to ask to see the book.  He’d known that the curse would create something of that sort, that their stories _would_ be told, but he hoped the controls he’d put into place kept too many stories from being shared in too much detail.  The last thing he wanted was Cora picking up that book and realizing that he and Belle had been married, or that they had a child.

 _No one knew about Gabrielle back home, and that means she ought not be in the book,_ he reminded himself.

“Yeah.  I tried to run into her, but she doesn’t seem to get out much now that she’s working at your house,” the boy replied, and Rumplestiltskin felt a flicker of guilt.  Suspicion, however, followed quickly on its heels.

“Did your mother put you up to this?” he asked.

Henry looked at him like he was a little crazy.  “No.  Why would she?”

“I believe she thinks that Lacey is in danger with me,” Rumplestiltskin replied honestly.  But not _too_ honestly.  Words were his trade, after all, and this boy was clever enough to be wary of.

“Why would she be in danger with you?”

He shrugged.  “You’d have to ask Emma that question.”

“She’s not here,” Henry pointed out.  “So, can I ask you something else, Mr. Gold?”

“You just did,” Rumplestiltskin pointed out with a small smile, watching the ten year old react with a typical amount of childish frustration.  But Henry pushed past that remarkably quickly.

“Can I ask you a _few_ questions, then?” he said, and the boy was indeed a quick one.

“How many is a few?”

“I don’t know yet.  That’s why I said a few.”

That made Rumplestiltskin laugh softly.  He enjoyed games such as this, and hadn’t expected a child to make such an intelligent opponent.  But he’d drawn this one out long enough, and Henry had earned his answers if he was going to ask the type of questions Rumplestiltskin thought he was.  “You are a clever boy, aren’t you?” he asked, and then continued as Henry beamed: “Ask away.  Though I will not guarantee that I’ll _answer_ your questions, of course.”

“You will.”  A brilliant smile.

“Oh, will I?”

“I think you care for Lacey,” Henry replied immediately.  “I think you’re in love with her, and that you’re meant to be together.”

“I’ve yet to hear a question,” Rumplestiltskin pointed out, trying not to be taken aback by the boy’s confident response.  _What_ is _in that book?_

“How’d you do it?” Henry asked, and Rumplestiltskin blinked.  When he didn’t answer right away, the lad continued: “No one else in this Storybrooke manages to get their happy endings, but even my grandmother couldn’t keep you apart.  Though I bet she tried.”

 _Not as hard as she’s going to if she figures out the truth, she hasn’t,_ he thought to himself, trying to fight back the half-smile that automatically came up when he thought of the answer to Henry’s question.  After a moment’s contemplation, Rumplestiltskin answered truthfully.  “I apologized when I was wrong,” he said softly.  “And I told her the truth.”

“Do you love her?” the boy asked, cocking his head and looking at Rumplestiltskin with trusting brown eyes that reminded him heartbreakingly of his own son.

“Would you believe me if I said yes?” he replied curiously.

“Yeah.  I don’t think you’re as bad as everyone says you are.”  Another smile, and this one almost tore the floor out from under the Dark One’s feet.  He could not allow himself to trust this boy just because he reminded him of Baelfire; there was too much at stake, and when the curse was broken, there was no knowing what side the Savior or her parents would take.  Rumplestiltskin would not hold the child’s lineage against him, but he could not afford to forget it, either.

“Oh, Henry,” he said softly.  “I’m that bad…and much worse.”

* * *

 

As fate would have it, ‘Lacey’ French actually was actually out shopping while Henry was busy asking about her.  Having left Renee with Dove’s girlfriend—Rumplestiltskin’s jack of all trades really was such a useful man to have on call, and Rumple had left Belle with plenty of cash to pay Marie when she needed to get out—Belle felt safe leaving Renee at home.  Besides, Marie Page was one of the few people allowed in the rambling pink mansion that the curse had given Rumplestiltskin in lieu of his castle back home.  That didn’t even take into account the fact that Belle was fairly sure that she recognized Marie from Caerleon.  While the young woman hadn’t been involved with Dove back home, she was fairly certain that Babette wouldn’t argue about having fallen for him once she woke up.

She’d just finished a bit of a shopping spree at Modern Fashions (Rumplestiltskin insisted that Belle spend whatever she liked, and she _did_ enjoy nicer clothing that that which Lacey had always worn, despite telling herself that she shouldn’t) when a familiar voice came from behind her.

“Hey, Lace!  Wait!”

Sighing, Belle turned to watch Tony Rose jog towards her, crossing the street to the honking of several cars’ horns.  One of those was Keith Law’s beat up old truck—which the lecherous deputy sheriff had tried to invite her for a ride in _so_ many times—and Belle gave herself a mental kick when she half-contemplated the thought of Gaston being hit by a truck.  He’d never been terribly stupid, just absolutely unwilling to use the brains he’d been born with, and a good, hard, smack might improve his intelligence level…but it was still cruel of her to have that thought.  So, she pasted a smile on her face and waited for her ex-betrothed to catch up with her.  _And Lacey’s ex-boyfriend.  I’m so glad the curse didn’t actually make me marry him or something like that_ , Belle thought with a slight shudder.

Still, she really hoped that the memories Lacey had of sleeping with Tony were just provided by the curse, and that actually hadn’t happened. 

“Hi, Tony,” she said to get her mind off of that unappetizing possibility.

“Hey,” he repeated, skidding to a stop in front of her and barely panting.  Tony was even more fit than Gaston had ever been; in this world, he’d discovered gyms, golf, and working out, which was even better for his physique than hunting had been back home.  And owning the Juvelisto Jewelry Boutique now that his parents were dead gave him plenty of money to waste on gym memberships.  He had managers to run the store for him, after all.  Tony had never been interested in working.

Now, however, he seemed to be waiting for her to say something—and hadn’t _that_ been the sum total of her relationship with Gaston, or at least when he wasn’t going on about hunting trophies or jousting tourneys—so Belle bit back another sigh.

“Uh, what did you want?  I’m heading h—back to Mr. Gold’s, now, and I can’t be too late.”  Using Rumple’s reputation as an excuse was probably the cheap way out of this conversation, but Belle really didn’t want to get stuck eating lunch with Tony.  Again.

“Working you hard, is he?” Tony replied, and Belle _thought_ it was supposed to sound sympathetic.  She wasn’t sure.

She shrugged.  “It’s a good job, and it gives Renee and me somewhere safe to stay.  He’s been good to both of us.”

“C’mon, Lace, you can say a lot of things about the old bastard, but not that he’s _good_ to anyone,” her ex replied, and Belle bit back the urge to shake him and scream to the universe that she loved Rumplestiltskin. 

“What, do you think I’m lying?” she couldn’t stop herself from demanding.

“I think you’re making the best of a bad situation,” Tony said, sounding more perceptive than she usually gave him credit for being.  “You’re good at that.”

But Belle was done being told that she was in a horrible situation, that she was being used, exploited, or otherwise abused by the man she had _willingly_ married.  She was happier than she had been since Rumplestiltskin left for prison before the curse was cast, and she was not going to let a big lug like Gaston ruin that.  Even Lacey would have been happier with Gold than she would have been with Tony; Belle knew that Lacey’s fondest dream was that Gold would ask her and Renee to move in with him, even if Lacey had known that wasn’t really possible.  With her last conversation with her father fresh in her mind, she looked the taller man straight in the eye and said firmly:

“Look, Tony, if you’re here because of anything my dad said, you can forget it.  I am exactly where I _choose_ to be, and Gold isn’t forcing me to do anything.  He’s not that type of man, and _I’m_ not so weak that I wouldn’t walk away if he tried.  Do you understand?”

“Lace, I just want to give you a better chance—”

“I make my own choices,” Belle cut him off.  “And this is my choice, okay? I’m flattered that you’re worried about me, but it really isn’t necessary.”

“I can’t believe that you’d willingly live with _him_ ,” Tony replied, obviously not bothering to understand the bulk of what she’d said, and Belle didn’t bite back her sigh this time.

“Goodbye, Tony,” she said, going up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.  “I’ll see you around.”

Without waiting for a response, Belle turned on her heel and headed up Main Street, walking quickly to bleed off some of her frustration.  She didn’t understand why everyone in Storybrooke was so determined to think the worst of Rumple.  They didn’t know him as the Dark One, and fearsome as Gold’s reputation was, he’d never actually _done_ anything to earn their ire.  What was wrong with these people?  She had cherished some hopes, when Rumplestiltskin told her that he’d look as human as anyone else in the Land Without Magic, that other people might come to see what she saw in her husband.  That they might come to understand that there was a man beneath the monster.  _But they seem determined to think him a monster, even though Cora is the real monster in this town,_ she thought dejectedly, shifting her bags from her right hand to her left as she walked. 

She wished that dropping by the shop wouldn’t require her to turn back in the direction she was sure Tony still stood dumfounded in.  Right now, talking to Rumple would soothe most of her exasperation away, but unfortunately, he would be at work for hours yet.  So, that meant heading home on schedule instead of visiting him.  They’d agreed that her coming to the shop too often would make people notice that he wasn’t the cold blooded villain of their relationship, but—

“Ah, Miss French.  It’s so good to see that Mr. Gold isn’t keeping you locked up in that house of his, after all,” a new voice cooed, and Belle stopped cold before she could run smack into the mayor.

She took a moment to study the older woman, finally looking at Cora through her own eyes instead of Lacey’s.  Lacey had been afraid of this woman, terrified that the mayor would take the library and her livelihood away from her, or even take Renee.  But Belle was not so afraid; she appreciated that Cora still had a great deal of power in Storybrooke, but she also knew that Cora had already taken everything from ‘Lacey’ that she could.  Or nearly, so, anyway.

“Mayor Mills,” Belle replied as evenly as she dared, trying to remind herself that she was still supposed to be Lacey.  Lacey French had been capable of bravery—otherwise she never would have been prepared to step out of that elevator when the library was burning—but she’d also been a lot more timid than Belle was used to being.  Still, she wasn’t going to dignify Cora’s remarks with a response.  Not when Cora talked about Rumple like that.

“You’re looking pale, dear.  You should tell Gold to let you out of your prison more often,” Cora said with sickeningly fake sweetness.

“It’s not a prison,” Belle said stiffly, wishing she could wear her wedding ring somewhere other than on a chain around her neck.

“You can keep telling yourself that, but it won’t make it true,” the mayor said, and if Belle hadn’t known better, she might have thought there was concern in her expression.  But Belle wasn’t under the curse, not now, and she could see the calculation in those dark eyes.  “I appreciate being desperate better than you probably understand, but be careful with Gold.  He’ll hurt you in the end.”

“I suppose you’re the expert on that,” she retorted before she could stop herself.  Belle hated lying like this, even if she understood why it was necessary.  “On hurting people, that is.”

She barely caught herself before angrier words came out, and Belle had to bite her tongue hard, lest she accuse Cora of some of the horrible things they both knew she did to Rumplestiltskin.  She’d give anything to be able to protect her husband from this horrible woman, and even if that wasn’t possible, Belle couldn’t pretend that she didn’t know.  _Besides, even Lacey knew that she hurt him.  I’m not entirely out of character right now, am I?_ Belle thought desperately, watching Cora’s face twitch furiously.

“The librarian has teeth,” Cora said slowly, her eyes flashing.  “I’d be careful where I used them, if I were you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Belle asked, her chest suddenly tight enough to give her voice the kind of quiver that Lacey’s might have had.

Cora clearly heard the hesitation, and it made her smile nastily.  “I mean that there are things you don’t want to be caught in the middle of, Miss French.  And this is one of them.”

She’d expected a more direct threat; hearing that took Belle slightly aback.  “I’m not in the middle of anything.”

“See that you stay that way, dear,” the older woman said, leaning in close.  “Mr. Gold and I have a longstanding…relationship.  And I don’t appreciate anyone interfering in my relationships.  Do you understand me?”

Blinking, Belle could only stare at Cora for a long moment.  Listening to this woman, Rumplestiltskin’s old student, tell her to stay away from her own husband was absolutely ludicrous, but it also worried Belle.    _I’ve never pressed him on_ why _she does this to him.  Rumple says that it’s only about power, but there’s something else going on in her eyes,_ Belle realized.  But what was it?  She’d given Rumple all the space she could.  She needed answers.

“I understand,” she said slowly, which wasn’t the same thing as saying she’d do what Cora demanded.  But Belle wasn’t foolish enough to say that aloud, and she let the mayor smile and walk away like she’d won.

After all, in some ways, Cora had won.  She was able to hurt Rumple whenever she wanted, and if last Sunday’s wounds were anything to go by, Cora was only growing more vicious as time passed. _Is that my doing?_ Belle wondered, suddenly feeling sick.  Was Cora hurting Rumplestiltskin more because he had invited another woman to live with him?  It would be very like him to not mention that to her, and Belle wasn’t going to let him evade the question any longer.  She needed to know.

* * *

 

_2 Years Before the Curse_

Belle hadn’t been happy to be banished to the sealed off library with their daughter, but the last person Rumplestiltskin wanted knowing about her had just arrived at his gates.  Or, more accurately, Cora had teleported into the courtyard, which was as far as any other magic user could make it into his castle.  Rumplestiltskin had learned long ago that preventing others from teleporting in gave him valuable time to prepare for their arrival, because seeing the future didn’t mean he saw _everything._ In fact, he was rather choosy about when he looked into the future and what he looked for, because there were so many puzzle pieces to hundreds (thousands!) of different puzzles, and he couldn’t even begin to sort them all.  Or want to.

So, Cora found him spinning at his wheel in his tower, surrounded by the implements of their shared trade.  He didn’t bother to turn to face her, feeling the slight ripple of magic as she walked in and waiting for her to say something.  Cora was always impatient, and Rumplestiltskin sometimes liked letting her think she could get the first word in.  Cora always seemed to think that doing so gave her and advantage, and he enjoyed that game.

Still, he _was_ curious.  He saw her less and less these days, particularly since he’d turned down her offer of a renewed relationship a year and a half earlier.  Cora’s pride was still smarting for that, and the only time she’d come to visit him since had been when she’d berated him for helping Prince “James” find her hated stepdaughter.  And yet she was here now, strangely quiet and obviously because she needed help.  _How interesting_ , Rumplestiltskin mused, allowing himself a quick glimpse into the future as his eyes traced the steadily creaking wheel.  Possibilities whirled before his eyes, one of which was quite delicious…but, alas, did not serve his purposes at all.

“Do you always ignore guests when they arrive, Rumple?” Cora finally demanded, sounding a bit peevish.

He turned to face her, still sitting at the wheel.  “Well, that depends upon how welcome they are, dearie,” the Dark One replied with a giggle and a flourish. 

“I trust I am _always_ welcome,” she snapped, and Rumplestiltskin finally noticed that she was cradling her left arm against her chest as he closed the tap to stop his visions.  She was impeccably dressed, of course; whatever dress she’d been wearing when her arm had been bitten had clearly been replaced.  _Not repaired._   Rumplestiltskin knew from personal experience that a werewolf’s bite was not something that could be healed with magic, even if it had only torn cloth.

“Do you now?” he taunted his best student, finally rising from his wheel to dance towards her on his toes. 

Cora’s chin came up; she was nothing if not full of self-confidence.  He’d always admired that in her.  “Of course.”

“Well, if you say so,” he said noncommittally, reaching her side and snatching her left arm before she could pull away.  Cora hissed in pain, twisting away and glaring at him, but she couldn’t escape Rumplestiltskin’s grip.  Finally, she stopped fighting him and let him inspect the wound, which he did for several seconds longer than necessary. 

“It won’t heal,” she finally supplied when he did nothing other than study her arm.

“Of course it won’t,” Rumplestiltskin replied, admiring the deep puncture wounds and gouges the werewolf had caused.  He’d _known_ that making sure Red and Snow became friends would turn out to be useful, but he’d never expected the wolf to bite Cora.  Thinking of _that_ occasioned another nasty giggle, and earned him another glare from Cora.  Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “Werewolf bites can’t be healed with magic, you know.”

“I know _I_ can’t heal it, but you should be able to.”

“Because I don’t exclusively practice the dark arts?” he countered, highly amused.  It was odd how Cora—who could have easily used any kind of magic she pleased, had she a heart with which to choose and embrace the light—came to him, _the Dark One_ , for healing that she assumed would work with light magic.  And of course he _could_ do light magic; his curse didn’t like it, and he generally didn’t do so unless he had to, but Rumplestiltskin had never lacked the ability to love that was required for casting such magic.

“Obviously.”  She hissed in pain as he shifted her arm, and Rumplestiltskin let her go with a shrug.

“No magic, light or dark, will heal that wound, dearie,” he told her honestly.  “And you have bigger problems than the holes in your arm.”

Cora gave him a look she’d probably reserved for Regina when she was young and stupid.  “I know that,” she snapped.  “That’s why I’m here.”

“Ah, are you looking to make a deal, then?”

“I’m not giving you another favor,” she retorted immediately, and Rumplestiltskin smiled. 

“Picky, are we?  I suppose I could just _let_ you turn into a werewolf.  It _might_ even be amusing.”  He knew his giggle got on her nerves, but at the moment, that was rather the point.

“I can make the antidote myself,” Cora snapped.

“Before the next full moon?  My dear Cora, even you’ll need far more than a month to get that potion right,” Rumplestiltskin replied, wiggling a bit.  He held his right hand up, fingers less than an inch apart.  “It’s just a _wee bit_ complicated… And it so happens that I have some on hand.  Already complete.”

“Fine.  What _do_ you want?”

“A certain magical globe in your possession,” he told her, casting his mind ahead through decades to when a curse broke in another land, to when he’d bring magic—the potion required to do so was already marinating, almost complete where it was locked away with its twin.  Then he’d need that globe to find his son, and Rumplestiltskin was not going to leave that to chance.

“It’s yours, provided you can give me the potion before I begin growing hair in undesirable places.”  To give Cora credit, she was practical woman despite her pride.  And she was a sorceress, which meant she understood how inconvenient a werewolf’s curse could be, particularly in the first month.

“As I said, I already have some, waiting just for you.” 

Rumplestiltskin wasn’t about to tell Cora that he hadn’t brewed the antidote for her, of course.  He wasn’t going to mention what he’d _actually_ needed it for several years earlier, because that would take admitting to one of his own stupider mistakes.  And that was hardly necessary.  Instead, he waited for Cora to summon the globe in question and then handed her the bright green potion that he’d had tucked away in a corner of his workroom.  She disappeared before drinking it—probably not wanting him to see her reactions to its unpleasant side effects—leaving Rumplestiltskin to tuck the globe away in his vault and return to his family.

* * *

 

Of course, Cora’s encounter with ‘Lacey’—and the fact that she could no longer get the upper hand over the supposedly meek librarian—put her in a mood to take her frustrations out on someone, and as usual, Gold was her target of choice.  He wound up spending the night at her house once again, less than a week after his last session with the mayor.  As a result, many of the old welts burst right open, and Cora really didn’t seem to care about that.  He was near to staggering by the time he got home the next morning, dizzy and hurting more than he’d been in a very long time.  Belle was waiting, but she didn’t say a word, just welcomed him into her arms with a kiss on the cheek and hands that slipped tightly into his hair.  After a night with Cora, that kind of touch from anyone else would have terrified him, but not from Belle.  Not now that he was used to being able to come home to her.

“Do you need to get cleaned up?” she asked after several long moments, and Rumplestiltskin nodded mutely.

“Then come upstairs. Babette—I mean Marie—is in the living room with Renee.  I called her about an hour ago.”

“Thank you,” he whispered raggedly, not willing to fall apart in front of their daughter but barely able to hold back the need to sob his soul out in Belle’s arms.

Slowly, his wife led him upstairs, helping Rumplestiltskin peel his clothes off once they got into the bathroom.  Actually, Belle removed his shirt and pants while Rumplestiltskin leaned heavily on the sink, trying not to cry out in pain as she peeled his shirt away from where it was stuck to his back.

“Rumple, this is bad,” Belle said softly, her hand squeezing his shoulder gently.  “I think you might need to go to the hospital.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re bleeding!  And not just on your back, but—”

“ _No,_ ” Rumplestiltskin cut her off desperately.  “I can’t.”  He’d deal with worse before, after all, and he did _not_ want word of this getting around Storybrooke, cursed or not.  And Whale would never be able to leave things alone.  He’d want to know what had happened, and with Rumplestiltskin’s luck, he’d think Belle was somehow responsible.  “I’ll be all right.”

“Rumple…”

Twisting to look at his wife, he gave her a tight smile.  “Really.  I’ve faced worse.”  _Just not all at once._

Belle frowned, giving him a look that communicated love, worry, and disbelief all at the same time.  He could only shoot her a tight smile and try to bite back his cries when Belle slowly cleaned out the wounds and bandaged him up.  Her touch was gentle, but it still hurt, and it was all Rumplestiltskin could do to face the pain—well, not bravely, but at least with a little self-control.  _Cora’s given me plenty of practice with that, at least,_ he thought bitterly.

“You’re not going to open the shop today,” Belle decreed.

“I shouldn’t stay home.”

“You’re going to.  Or you’re going to the hospital, and that’s that.  No arguing, Rumplestiltskin,” his wife told him firmly.

He sighed.  He really was tired, after all, and _really_ didn’t want to face the world right now.  “All right.”

“Let’s get you in pajamas and in bed, then,” she replied, kissing his cheek with a slight gleam of relief in her blue eyes. 

It was the _let’s_ in that sentence that made Rumplestiltskin obey without argument.  He could try to be strong, but they both knew what a coward he really was, and Rumplestiltskin needed Belle right now.  The thought of being able to lie down with his wife instead of Cora, of having Belle stroke his hair and soothe his pains and fears away, at least for a little while, was downright intoxicating.  And that was _far_ better than the thought of going to the hospital and letting Frankenstein poke at him.

“There is something that just occurred to me,” Rumplestiltskin said softly as Belle helped him into bed a few minutes later, with bandages keeping his silk nightclothes from sticking to torn sink.

“What’s that?” Belle asked as she quickly changed back into her own pajamas—which were really just a set of his that had always looked so much better on her than on him.  She’d borrowed them back when she’d been Lacey and he’d been Gold, but Rumplestiltskin still loved the way Belle looked in them.  Usually she wore a nightgown that he’d bought her, but sometimes she still wore these, and it always made him smile.

“Well, there’s one thing we can do before we go get ourselves married in this world.  Or should do, anyway,” he answered.  “I think you’re already listed as my emergency contact from back when I was Gold, but we should probably make sure I’m listed for you and Renee.”

“I don’t like thinking of anything like that happening, but you’re right,” Belle agreed, crawling into bed with him.  “Just in case.”

They _had_ been planning on going to town hall this morning, counting on Cora’s usual Monday schedule to take her for a walk around town, but there was obviously no time for that now.  They’d have to wait until the next Thursday to have an opportunity to do the deed without Cora knowing, because even if Rumplestiltskin could and would bribe the clerk, getting married with Cora in the same building was just asking for trouble.  Cora would never believe that Gold would marry his ‘doxy’, so he had to keep it from her at all costs.

But for now he had to sleep, and figure out how to heal enough to face the world the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authorial Plea for Votes: this story has been nominated for Best AU!OUAT on The Espenson Awards on Tumblr. Voting ends on the 7th, and if anyone is willing to vote for it (or for me as Best Author) I would be incredibly grateful! If you’re interested, you can go to theespensonawards on tumblr. If you’re interested in voting for any of my other stories, two others are on there as well, both “Original Powers” and “Remember”. Again, thank you for all the nominations – I feel honored to be included in a group of such amazing stories and authors!
> 
> The actual A/N: Next up, Chapter Forty-One: “The More Things Change…” in which Mary Margaret runs afoul of Cora at her new job, Killian tries to ‘rescue’ Lacey, and Belle and Rumplestiltskin discuss Cora. Back in the past, Snow and Charming finally finish getting married and Rumplestiltskin makes the stupid mistake referenced in this chapter.


	41. The More Things Change...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Regina flashback in this chapter takes place before her misadventure with Tinker Bell.

Her first day at the diner was…interesting.  Mary Margaret had been a meticulous teacher, always well organized and never one to let her class spiral out of control.  She’d always had a plan and never needed to deviate from it.  Because of that, she was used to having things just so while at work, which meant that working at the diner was a shock.

Lunch hour at Granny’s was barely organized chaos.  Mary Margaret handled breakfast okay, particularly since Ruby was showing her the ropes and she didn’t have to wait any tables by herself, but one of the other waitresses called out sick at lunch, which meant she was promptly thrown off the deep end and left to serve the back tables on her own.  Granny had laughed when Mary Margaret had expressed concern, pointing out that none of the repeat customers were going to get their noses too out of joint if she messed up their orders, and if they did, just to send them her way so that she could straighten them out.  Forcibly, if need be.  Feeling more grateful for the support than words could express, Mary Margaret did her best, but her head was spinning by the time the bulk of the lunch crowd walked out.

“Having fun yet?” Ruby asked, coming up next to her with a smile.  Mary Margaret was trying hard not to lean on the counter, but her feet were killing her and she had had _no_ idea that waiting tables could be this hard.  Still, she managed to give her friend a tired smile.

“I think so.  It’s just…a lot for the first day.”

“Relax,” the redhead replied lightly.  “You’re doing great.  Really.”

Mary Margaret sure didn’t feel like she was, but at least no one had yelled at her.  “Honestly?”

“Really,” Ruby repeated, reaching out to give her a half hug.  “Now, Granny said you can go take a break and get something to eat.  Meals are on the house when you’re working.  Did you know that?”

“Um, no.  I didn’t…really?” she couldn’t help asking, hating how foolish she felt, but everything was so new.

“Really.  Just don’t eat like Leroy and no one will complain,” the other waitress joked, and Mary Margaret finally was able to grin back.  Leroy seemed to be making up for lost time since his release from the asylum, and Mary Margaret had heard Granny complain that he was going to empty her freezer all by himself with his appetite. 

“I don’t think I could manage that,” she replied, her smile feeling natural for the first time all day.

“Well, then, you should be fine.  Go on, I’ll cover your tables while you’re eating.  I’ll get something when you’re done.”

“Thanks, Ruby,” Mary Margaret said feelingly, and turned to head into the back, reaching to untie her apron strings as she went.  But then someone new walked into the diner, and Mary Margaret froze.

“Will wonders never cease?” the mayor said acidly, her eyes fastened on Mary Margaret.  “Are they actually letting you touch peoples’ _food_ , Miss Blanchard?  Remind me never to sit at your tables.  I’d be terrified you’d poison me.”

A hush fell over the diner, and Mary Margaret felt like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights.  She’d never understand why Cora hated her so much, but the mayor obviously _did_ , and she seemed to delight in finding ways to humiliate Mary Margaret.  After all, no one in town doubted who had put Francis Scadlock up to writing that horrible article that accused Mary Margaret of killing her father, even though there wasn’t a shred of evidence to support that charge.  The D.A. had even publically said he wasn’t going to press charges!  Mary Margaret was grateful for that, of course, but she was also thoroughly sick of Cora’s inexplicable vendetta.  She’d never been one for revenge, and firmly believed in taking the moral high ground, but enough was enough.  So, she squared her shoulders and looked the mayor in the eye, digging up courage from somewhere deep inside herself.

“Madam Mayor, did I wrong you in a past life?” she asked, briefly thinking of this curse that Henry believed everyone was under.  “Because you seem to dedicate an inordinate amount of time to making me miserable, and I, for one, think that time could be better spent making this _town_ better.  Don’t you?”

Cora actually went a little white with anger, although she controlled her expression remarkably well.  “What I do is my business, dear,” she snapped.  “And this town is _my_ business, not yours.”

“I never said it was,” Mary Margaret shrugged.  “I was just voicing a concern.  I don’t think you’ve made that illegal yet, have you?”

“Of course not,” the mayor said coolly, obviously back on balance.  “I simply think that most people have more sense than to listen to an adulteress and a murderer.”

“I didn’t kill my father!” she exclaimed before she could stop herself. 

“That anyone can prove,” was the smooth response.  And then a smile.  “Yet.”

“I—”

“That’s enough!” Granny’s voice cut through the argument, and Mary Margaret was glad for the interruption.  The old woman had stalked in from the back, and now stood behind the counter with her hands on her hips, glaring at Cora.  “Madam Mayor, if you are here to order something, please sit down and do so.  Otherwise, stop harassing my employees.”

Mary Margaret could have hugged Granny for the way Cora stared at her in shock, even if the expression only lasted for a moment.  “Clearly, you and I need to have a talk about your hiring standards,” the mayor hissed.

Granny just snorted.  “There’s no law on the books for that, lady.  I checked.”

“But there are plenty of others, Mrs. Lucas,” Cora retorted, her back straight and eyes blazing.  “Don’t think I can’t find one to shut your precious little diner down.”

“My landlord’s a lawyer,” Granny replied with a shrug.  “And given how profitable we are for him, I think that he’ll be happy to help us stay open.  Try barking up another tree.”

If Mary Margaret had ever seen Cora that angry, she couldn’t remember when.  Still, a strange voice in the back of her mind told her that this was nothing; Cora could do far, far worse.  Now, however, the mayor stared at Granny as if wishing she could burn her to ash by nothing more than the force of her glare.  The innkeeper, however, just looked back at her as if bored, and it was Cora who finally gave.  Without a further word, the mayor turned and strode out of the diner, obviously plotting murder—though not literally, of course—but out of witty retorts.  Mary Margaret could only gape, because she couldn’t remember _anyone_ having gotten the best of Cora, even Emma, and someone had just done it to defend her.

“Thank you,” she said, turning to face Granny.

The old woman smiled.  “Say nothing of it, girl.  You were doing fine on your own.  I just provided a bit of backup.”

There was nothing Mary Margaret _could_ say to that; she just stepped behind the counter and hugged Granny tightly, feeling like she had more than one friend for the first time in a very long time.

* * *

 

_2 Years Before the Curse_

The rest of the wedding went by without a hitch, thankfully.  The bishop led Snow and James through the rest of their vows, and just like that, they were married.  It was a huge and showy affair, nothing like Regina’s own tiny ceremony with Daniel thirteen years earlier, but it was the way the bride and groom looked at one another that really mattered.  That, and the way Cora had been run out of the wedding by a werewolf, of all people!  Regina couldn’t hold back her own little smirk every time she thought of that; she had no idea that Snow had somehow befriended a wolf girl, but she was certainly not going to argue.  In fact, she was _still_ gloating inside about watching her mother get bitten.  The horrified expression on Cora’s face was a sight she was going to treasure for a long, long time.

“So,” she said bluntly, walking up to Red as the wedding banquet got into full swing. “You’re the wolf.”

The girl turned to size her up, looking Regina straight in the eye.  “And you’re the Dark Princess.”

Regina shrugged.  “I’m still trying to find out who came up with that title.  It’s not very fitting,” she replied, gesturing at her own pale blue dress.

“You _are_ the one who gave Snow a poisoned apple,” Red pointed out, her expression none too friendly.

“Snow knows why I did that,” Regina replied stiffly, deciding that she could admire the wolf without _liking_ her one bit.  “And I think that’s between the two of us, don’t you?”

“ _I_ think that if you try anything like that again, I’ll bite you worse than I did your mother.”

Regina laughed.  “I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” she said honestly, glad to see that Snow had earned such loyalty, even if it was from an obnoxious peasant.   “Snow is my sister, and I’m no danger to her.  I’m not my mother.”

Red nodded stiffly, tensing when King George headed their way.  “You’d better not be,” she said, and retreated.

Regina, of course, had no such option.  She had to turn to face her sister’s father-in-law and sweep him a respectful curtsey like the princess her mother had made her into; she was too well-bred to do anything else.  She didn’t have to like _him_ , however, though Regina did at least admire the fact that George’s very competent armies were currently pushing her mother’s forces back, slowly turning the tide of the war in George’s favor.  She’d never known Leopold well, or at least not before her mother had enchanted him so nastily, but she rather thought that her late stepfather would prefer George’s son ruling the kingdom by Snow’s side to Cora keeping it.  Leopold would certainly be happy for Snow today, a thought that made Regina sneak a glance her younger sister’s way.  Snow was still glowing with happiness, and yes, that made this mess worth it.

_I only hope that I can feel that way someday,_ she thought to herself, remembering the short time she’d been happy with Daniel.  But Daniel still lived, and Regina was even able to share her life with him.  In a way.  Cora might have given him rooms in the palace, but he was still obviously a servant, in no way considered Regina’s equal.  Someday, perhaps when Snow won, Regina would be able to overturn the annulment of their marriage.  That hope kept her going, kept her mouth shut when Cora demanded her allegiance, and gave Regina the strength to face the future.  Her heart would always be with her sister, no matter what her mother made her do, and she hoped George could appreciate that.

“We need to talk, Princess,” George said bluntly, and Regina allowed him to lead her to a quiet corner of the room.  He wanted her to betray her mother, of course, which she would not do—she couldn’t, not without endangering Daniel.  But that didn’t mean she couldn’t help in small ways.

In the end, she and George came to an understanding.

* * *

 

Gold’s kept woman really was quite easy on the eyes, Killian reflected, crossing the street to catch up with Lacey French as she walked out of Storybrooke park, holding her little girl by the hand.  Her constant shadow was there as well, and the pirate would have given his left hand to be able to tell Dove what a monster he worked for.  After all, that left hand was definitely _not_ his original hand, given that it lacked the scars on the knuckles that Killian remembered too well—along with the courtesan that had given them to him—and it would have been nice to pry Gold’s loyal henchman away from him.  But the curse hadn’t made Dove into an intellectual genius, which meant Killian had to wait for the half-giant looking man to remember before he could count on him steering well clear of Rumplestiltskin.

The same, however, should not be said for Lacey French.  She was a pretty thing, particularly when she smiled, and there was something in her blue eyes that Killian really did find quite attractive.  She seemed more confident now, and was certainly better dressed, bedecked in designer clothes that probably cost as much as she used to earn in a month.  _So, Gold likes his whore to dress prettily,_ Killian thought without much surprise.  _I suppose that might help her stomach being with the monster_.  Designer clothes or no, Lacey French deserved better, and Killian supposed that he owed her something for almost having burned her to death.  _Like a warning._ He still felt guilty about that, and had certainly bought Errol Forrester plenty of drinks to give his silent thanks to the firefighter for saving all three lives that day.

“Miss French, do you have a moment?” he asked, falling into stride next to her and ignoring the suspicious glance Dove was giving him.

“Of course.  It’s…Mr. O’Malley, right?” she asked, and Killian flashed her a smile.

“Captain O’Malley, actually.”  The correction was half automatic and half designed to impress; what woman _didn’t_ like a man who had his own ship, after all?  Very few, in Killian’s experience.

Lacey, however, laughed.  “Right.”

“I’ll get straight to the point, love,” he replied, putting on his best open-and-honest face.  “I’d like to offer you a job.”

“I have a job,” the young woman replied, blinking.  Her surprise made her stop cold, and Killian was glad for it; he’d rather not carry on this conversation while walking about town, and the smaller audience, the better.

“Mamma?” the little girl asked, and Lacey looked down.

“We’ll go home in a minute, honey,” she said, and although Killian rather admired most mothers, he decided then and there that she couldn’t hold a candle to Emma Swan.  _I really need to stop thinking about her, particularly now,_ he thought.  Apparently, his attempt to divert himself away from his present distraction was not going to work, or at least not like this.

“Go to shop?” was the immediate response, which made Lacey chuckle.

“Only if you’re good and let me finish my conversation with Mr. O’Malley.”

“Okay!”

Killian had waited as patiently as he could, but he was glad when Lacey turned to look at him once more.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a charming smile.  “She’s three.”

“It’s no problem at all, love,” he reassured her, and watched a strange tick cross Lacey’s face.  _Interesting.  She doesn’t seem to like that word._   Making a mental note, Killian continued: “I realize you are currently…employed with Mr. Gold, but I’d like to offer you something better.”

“Offering me something better would be difficult since you don’t know the details of my current job,” she answered, blue eyes focused on him rather intently.

“Tell me the details and I’ll be sure to do better, then.”

That seemed to make Lacey uncomfortable.  “Mr. Gold…prefers to keep that between us.”

_And you’re going to try to tell me that you’re not his whore.  Right,_ the pirate thought.  Not that he had anything against women who sold themselves; in this case, he rather admired Lacey’s intelligence in finding the richest man in town to act as her benefactor and somehow managing to keep his attention.  Gold had never seemed interested in women, but Lacey had finagled her way straight into his house, designer clothes, and what appeared to be a very comfortable life.  Had she done that with anyone other than Gold, Killian would have cheered her on, but Gold was the demon he’d wanted to kill, and this girl had no idea what she’d gotten herself into.

“Then I’ll simply have to guess,” he said with a dismissive shrug.  “I’ll put it to you straight, lass.  I’ll offer you a job at the marina, pay enough to take care of you and your daughter both—with money to spare—and an apartment on the upper floor that’s very nice.  With no unpleasant strings attached.”

He figured she’d get the hint on the last part.  Killian didn’t want her to sleep with him, not unless she wanted to, anyway.  And he certainly wasn’t making it a condition of the job offer.  _Not that I’d mind taking another woman off the Dark One.  It would serve him right, even if this girl can’t hold a candle to my Milah._ Lacey was not, however, a fool, and he could see that she’d understood him in the way her back straightened and she met his eyes squarely.

“Thank you for the offer, Mr. O’Malley, but Renee and I really are quite happy where we are,” she said, and now it was Killian’s turn to blink.  What kind of idiot _was_ the girl?

“Look, I know what kind of man Gold is, and—”

“No.  You don’t,” Lacey cut him off, her voice firm.

For a moment, Killian could only stare.  “Love, he’s a monster.  He might play at being the gentlemen, but sooner or later your heart is going to wind up in his hands, and he’ll—he’ll not treat it kindly at all.”

Now was _not_ the time to think of the horrified and pained look on Milah’s face, to think of the love in her eyes when she said her last words to him.  He was trying to be a gentleman and warn Lacey French off, even offering to take care of her.  It was the right thing to do, and he was _trying_ to help.But if she was stupid enough to stand by Gold, Killian wasn’t going to be held responsible for what happened. 

“Thank you for the offer,” Lacey said again, all politeness but with a hard edge in her voice that it was impossible to miss, “but I’m afraid I must decline.”

“If he’s threatening you…” Killian trailed off, allowing Lacey to fill in the gaps.  But she only shook her head.

“He isn’t, but I appreciate the concern.  _Everyone’s_ concern.”  The irony in the last two words was quiet, but it was there all the same, and he could sense annoyance.  Bending down, Lacey picked her daughter up, making the little girl giggle with delight.  “Have a good day, Mr. O’Malley.”

_Captain_ , he thought belatedly, but didn’t say it as she—and her silent shadow—strode off, heading towards the demon’s shop.  After a moment, Killian shrugged to himself.  He’d tried.  He’d given her an opportunity to get away from Gold, and the girl had refused even his most gentlemanly efforts.  _Be it on her own head, then._   Not everyone wanted to be saved, and if she was with Gold willingly, well, that was that.  He supposed that it was time to figure out if Gold really liked her, or if she was just a possession, some pretty thing he liked to own.

Doing that was certainly preferable to the job Cora had given him the previous evening, at least.  The Evil Queen really was living up to her name lately, and even if Killian didn’t enjoy doing her bidding, now was hardly the time to defy her. Particularly not when her decision, distasteful as it was, had served him as well as it had served her.  Unlike the French girl, _Cora_ was no fool, and she was a thousand steps ahead of the sheep who she had cursed twenty-eight years earlier.  And they were all sheep, this town, sleepwalking through life, even now that time had started moving.  They let her manipulate them, and no one fought back.  _All but one._

Blonde hair caught his eye, and Killian found himself smiling without meaning to.  Emma Swan was nothing like the rest of this stilted little town, and he _liked_ that about her.  He was not sure, however, that he liked her companion nearly as much, however; seeing who Emma was with gave him pause.  Did Cora know that her beloved daughter was spending time with the Savior?  Of course, the two of them appeared to be watching their mutual son head towards the park to play with some friends, but they still made an odd pair.  Killian watched them for a moment, wondering if he should wander closer to eavesdrop on their conversation and then deciding not to.

Perhaps Cora would like to know about this.  Her gratitude was always useful, and there were many things Killian wanted.  Many things indeed.

* * *

 

“I had the strangest conversation today,” Belle said to her husband that evening as they washed the dishes.  She rather liked the very homey environment of working in the kitchen together; it was so different than in the Dark Castle, where magic did all the work (particularly after Rumplestiltskin refused to let her clean), but Belle found Rumple’s domestic qualities very endearing.  Watching him do the dishes was actually rather adorable.

“Oh?” he asked, holding a hand out for a dishrag with which to dry the pan he’d made stir fry in, and Belle handed it over.

“Yeah.  The fellow who owns the marina—what’s-his-name O’Malley—offered me a job,” she told him, and watched Rumplestiltskin tense.  When he answered, his voice dropped dangerously.

“Did he now?”

“It was kind of sweet, if a little creepy,” Belle replied with a shrug, but her eyes were on the suddenly closed-off expression Rumplestiltskin wore.  “Why are you worried?”

“He’s dangerous, sweetheart,” was the immediate answer, but Belle could hear the legions of words left unsaid.

She gave him a hard look.  “And?  Who is he?”

“A pirate.  One who…crossed paths with me long ago,” he answered evasively, but apparently Rumplestiltskin had forgotten that she’d weaseled that story out of him years earlier.  Not without a lot of effort, or a lot of clamming up on his part, but he _had_ eventually told her the truth about what had happened to his first wife, and about the pirate who had stolen her away.

“Hook?  He’s Hook?” she asked, and got a choppy nod in response.  “Why would he be talking to me, then?  Unless he has his memories…?”

“I believe he does, yes.”  Rumplestiltskin’s face contorted into a sneer.  “He must have made some sort of deal with Cora prior to the curse, though I have no idea what.  And that means he’s a danger to you.  If he—”

She put a hand on his arm to calm his temper before it could start to rage, but the gesture did little good until Belle snatched the pan he’d forgotten to finish drying out of his grasp, put it on the counter, and grabbed both of her husband’s hands in her own.  “He offered me a job, Rumple. He didn’t try to defile me, or steal me away.  And besides, it wouldn’t work, anyway.”  Belle gave him a conciliatory smile.  “I’m only interested in you.”

“I know _that_ ,” he snapped defensively, trying to pull away.  Belle didn’t let him, and after a moment, Rumplestiltskin sighed.  “But I don’t trust him.  He’s out for revenge, and while he probably can’t kill me, he wouldn’t ever hesitate to go after those I love.”

“Like Cora,” she said softly, thinking back on when they’d first married, when Rumple had told her how many enemies he had and had warned her that many of them would want to hurt her.  Belle understood that—the incident with the Cyan fairy had made the point rather well—but Storybrooke was so much _smaller_ than the Enchanted Forest had been, and those enemies seemed to be everywhere.

Not that knowing about his enemies would ever make Belle flinch away from her husband.  Rumplestiltskin was her True Love, and she would fight for him no matter what happened.  But knowing what was going on certainly helped, and there were times that she knew her cagey husband needed to be cornered into answering.  Now appeared to be one of them; he sighed quietly and just nodded, offering no additional information and clearly hoping she’d change the subject.  Belle knew how unhappy talking about what Cora did to him made Rumple, and she wasn’t going to press that topic tonight, or at least not directly.  But the encounter with the pirate turned marina owner—who was either trying to steal her or ‘rescue’ her—had made her think of a lot of things, and she wasn’t in the mood to let him evade tonight.

“What is it between you two?” Belle asked, tugging him closer to her.  When he limped a step and swayed slightly, she gave herself a mental smack; she was always forgetting about the leg that had never been a problem back home, except during their blissful stay in Amorveria.  “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.”  His smile was slight, but he bent to kiss the crook of her neck, and Belle shivered as warm breath tickled her bare skin.  Somehow her foolish mistake had decreased the tension between them, and Rumplestiltskin looked more tired than frustrated now.  “You know I’ll forgive you anything.”

“Just like I’ll forgive you for any of your past misdeeds,” she reminded him, turning so that her forehead rested against his.  A slight shudder ran through Rumplestiltskin, and then Belle felt him relax as she squeezed his hands again.  “No matter how terrible you think you are.”

“Belle…”

He said nothing more, so she shifted slightly to kiss him on the cheek, watching his eyes shut.  Rumplestiltskin hated talking about Cora, and Belle hated pushing him into it, but she needed to know.  And she wasn’t in the mood to let him evade, either, so she ignored the unspoken plea to leave the subject alone. 

“Please tell me,” she whispered.  “Whatever it is, I won’t hold it against you, Rumple.  I promise.”

His answer was to bark out a snort of laughter.  “Are you sure you want to know?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she said more emphatically than she meant to, and then nestled her forehead against his once more to lessen the sting of her snapping.  “Please.  I need to understand.”

She needed to understand why Cora hurt Rumple so badly.  He’d told her more than once that it was about power, that Cora did it because she _could_ , but Belle had seen too many of the wounds to fool herself into thinking there was not something intensely personal about them.  No woman did that to a man who meant nothing to her.  There was too much anger evident in the burns and gashes, and Rumplestiltskin’s reaction to them was too…not quite broken, but _wounded_ in a very emotional way.  The pain frightened him, Belle knew, but the emotional damage was far worse than just the pain.

“I almost married her,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, his voice almost too quiet for Belle to hear.  Still, she almost jerked back—and could feel that he was expecting her to—in surprise.

“You _what_?”

Belle could feel his wince.  “I almost married her.  I…I loved her, once.”

“Oh, Rumple.”  Suddenly, everything made sense.  He’d told her once that Cora had ripped her own heart out, but if Rumplestiltskin had _loved_ her… “Is that why you were so convinced that no one could love you?”

“I never said—”

“You never had to,” she cut him off gently, and Belle felt him start to withdraw, mentally as much as physically, so she squeezed his hands.  “What happened?”

“She was a miller’s daughter,” he explained after a moment.  “Nothing and no one important.  She got caught sneaking into a royal ball, and the king was going to put her to death.  But then she boasted that she could spin straw into gold, and...”

“And so you taught her,” Belle picked up when he trailed off, and he nodded.  “And you fell in love with her.”

“She was going to run away with me,” Rumplestiltskin continued, his voice so very quiet.  “Forget the prince who the king had promised her.  But instead she ripped her own heart out and chose power.”

“She broke your heart.”

“I think so.  I don’t know.”  He shrugged again, and Belle kissed him on the cheek once more, impressed by his honesty.  She knew it didn’t come easily to him, telling her things like this, and she was so proud of him.  “I think I loved the _idea_ of her as much as I loved Cora.  She was delightfully dark.  She spoke to the worst parts of me, made my curse rage in passion.  I knew she wanted me for my power as much as anything else, but I…I thought it was the best I could ever get.”

Those last words stunned Belle into silence, and she pulled back to look at him, hearing the heartbroken loneliness in his voice.  She’d known that Rumple was so lonely when she came to live with him, had known that he had had no light in his life for so very long, but hearing him say that so brokenly was still a shock.  No wonder he’d been so surprised that she loved him.  He hadn’t thought he was worthy of love, had he?

“ _I_ love you,” Belle whispered fiercely, leaning in to kiss him hard and feeling Rumplestiltskin respond to her passion almost desperately.  His hands came up to cup her face, and for a moment, Belle felt him tremble.  “And I will _always_ love you.”

“I love you, too,” he replied, one of his hands tangling in her hair while the other arm wrapped around Belle and pulled her close.  “I never knew it could feel like this.  Belle, please believe me when I say that what I had with Cora was nothing like—”

“I know,” she cut him off, snaking her arms around his neck and holding him tightly.  “You don’t have to tell me that, Rumple, I know.”

And now she knew why what Cora did to him hurt him so badly.  He’d loved that horrible woman, loved her in the hesitant and lonely way he’d known how to love back then, and Cora had broken his heart.  But if that hadn’t done damage enough, now Cora was hurting him in the most intimate way possible, raping him and abusing him when he couldn’t fight back.  Belle knew enough about his life before becoming the Dark One to know how very badly that brought up all of his old demons, to know how determined Rumplestiltskin was to never be helpless again.  Did Cora know that, too?  She had to.  And she was doing this, anyway, intentionally hurting him when she had once been someone who he had _trusted_.  A chill ran down Belle’s spine.   _The fact that she thinks he’s Gold doesn’t make a difference,_ Belle decided coldly.  _She knows who he really is, and knows how he’d feel about that.  And Gold hated being helpless, too._

Belle had only ever given her husband permission to kill once.  She’d always tried to talk him out of it—and succeeded—because Belle felt that killing wasn’t the answer.  But in this case, she knew she wouldn’t stop him from killing the Evil Queen.  Belle wanted her dead as badly as Rumplestiltskin did, and if that made her a terrible person, she was willing to accept that.  No one hurt her husband like this and got away with it.  No one.

* * *

 

_4 Years, 5 months Before the Curse_

It was his own damn fault.  He’d been arrogant, and now Rumplestiltskin was going to pay the price.  He’d come to this village when its desperate sheriff had called him to deal with a menace, and like an idiot, he’d brought Belle along.  It was the second time he’d brought her somewhere since that mess with Robin Hood, and Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure _why_ he’d done it.  The invitation had just popped out of his mouth with no warning, and next he knew, Rumplestiltskin was bringing his maid along to Alsfeld.  He’d managed to rationalize himself into thinking that it was a decent idea; Belle could shop for potions ingredients for him whilst he dealt with the wolf problem that the town’s sheriff had called him in to solve.  It seemed simple and straightforward, and the fact that it would make his maid happy had nothing whatsoever to do with his decision.

Unfortunately, making a deal with the stingy sheriff had taken far longer than Rumplestiltskin expected, and by the time he heard the shouts and screams from the townspeople, it was almost too late.  Had Belle not called his name—clever girl that she was; she whispered his name instead of shouting it, but the quiet fear in her voice fueled that call so strongly that it might as well have been a scream—he might never have made it to her in time, but she _did_ , which meant he teleported away from the suddenly panicked sheriff and appeared at his maid’s side in the blink of an eye.

Concern for her safety had _nothing_ to do with the speed with which he arrived.  He merely assumed that the Alsfeld Wolves had simply appeared for their weekly culling of the residents.  Still, Rumplestiltskin landed right next to Belle, his feet landing in the snow with a _crunch,_ arriving in time to yank her away from a wolf that had suddenly leapt right at her.  She yelped and stumbled against him, getting her feet tangled in his and almost bringing both of them down in a heap.  But his curse endowed him with excellent reflexes, and Rumplestiltskin merely steadied his maid and swept his right hand upwards, magic sparking out of his fingers and speeding out at the wolf who had lunged so hungrily.  The red wave of power zeroed in on its target and _should_ have slain the wolf then and there, but it bounced away.

“They’re werewolves!” Belle cried; the clever girl had noticed, too, but at the moment, Rumplestiltskin had no time to admire her quick mind.

“Not now!” he snarled, twisting to watch the three now-circling wolves.  Quickly, he dug into the recesses of his mind to recall everything he’d ever read about those under the curse of the wolf, once called _loup-garou_ but now known by the more common name.  A fourth wolf joined them, and then a fifth, and the townspeople were rushing away to hide in their homes and shops.

Reptilian eyes narrowing, the Dark One watched the wolves, his mind whirling through centuries of knowledge. Some defensive spells would work on them, but fool that he was, he had just agreed to save the town from the creatures—whom the sheriff had _not_ mentioned were more than mere wolves.  Had he known?  If he had, their agreement was null and void, but Rumplestiltskin would dispose of the creatures firstand _then_ dispose of the sheriff, if need be.  But defensive magic would not do that, and using magic to slay the creatures, as he had originally intended, was out.  There were a few spells that would kill the _loup-garou_ , but they all took extensive preparation and were not something he could whip out in the next few hours.  For a moment, he contemplated negotiating with the creatures, but one look at the burning golden eyes of the pack leader dismissed that idea.

No, these wolves had learned that humans made good pack mates and better meat, and that meant that Rumplestiltskin was bound by his own agreement to defeat them.  But how to do so?

“No one’s going to help us, are they?” a quiet voice asked from behind him, and Rumplestiltskin had almost forgotten about his little maid.  But how could he forget her when her shoulder was all but touching his, the one person in this entire world who did not shy away from his touch?

He giggled in response, mostly for the benefit of the wolves—who were clearly in full possession of their facilities and simply chose to act like animals.  “We’re not the ones who need help, dearie,” he reminded Belle, never taking his eyes off of the pack.

One lunged forward, and Rumplestiltskin threw up the strongest defensive shield he could muster.  The wolf bounced, but not nearly as quickly as it should have; dark magic had less effect on _loup-garou_ than light magic, but Rumplestiltskin was a creature of darkness, too.  He _could_ do light magic, but it was hard to fight his curse like that, and when that demon’s voice cackled and giggled with rage inside his mind, summoning up enough love and protective magic was well-nigh impossible.  Belle’s yelp from behind him made him spin to cast the same spell again, and the second wolf was thrown back when its teeth were less than two inches from Belle’s arm.

“Can you stop them?” Belle asked quickly, sounding afraid.  “I know magic doesn’t always work against—”

“Of course I can,” he reassured her, his voice lower pitched than usual, almost human sounding.  Rumplestiltskin realized that after he’d spoken, and he shook himself.  _Don’t get attached!_ the curse reminded him harshly.  _You’re a demon.  She’s beautiful.  She’ll never_ care _for you.  She only wants you to protect her._

The problem was that Rumplestiltskin _wanted_ to protect Belle, no matter how derisive his curse felt about that.

“All right,” she replied, a little breathless but calmer than a moment before.  He could feel the smile she turned on him, and wasted precious moments glancing at her to bathe in its warmth.  “I trust you.”

Belle _trusted_ him.

But she shouldn’t.

He was a monster, plain and simple.  And she was his maid, not his friend, but Rumplestiltskin still summoned up all the strength he had to protect her when all five wolves came in at the same time, obviously having coordinated the attack while he was distracted by his little maid’s adorable smile.  Two wolves went for Belle while the other three dove at him, but Rumplestiltskin still focused his defensive magic on protecting her.  If asked why he’d done that, he would never have had the courage to admit the truth to himself, but when acting on instinct, that was the choice he made.  Somehow, the magic stopped the wolves cold several feet away from her, and then he whirled to cast the same shield to protect himself—only to find that it failed.  Dramatically.  Too late, he realized that the he’d used to defend Belle had been fueled by the emotions he felt for his maid…emotions he did not feel for himself.

Love. 

He _loved_ her, even if she would never—should never!—love him.  And that love had lent him strength, lent him _power_.  Rumplestiltskin had never realized that he could do light magic so easily; his curse was still screaming in protest, but its objections were somewhat muted.  That was the magic that had raced out to protect Belle, but Rumplestiltskin could not hold onto that love and that worry to protect himself. 

Claws tore at his left thigh before the dark magic he called up could throw up a wall between himself and the wolves, and Rumplestiltskin twisted away from the wolf, hissing in pain.  Razor-sharp, the claws cut straight through leather and into scaled skin, but he managed to evade the snapping teeth by teleporting a few inches to the right.  His shield caught the other two wolves less than a foot away from where he and Belle stood, but Rumplestiltskin felt the magic shuddering and shaking, fracturing slowly.  Those cursed to be wolves, whilst in _loup-garou_ form, were magical creatures, just as he was—and they could build up a resistance to magic.   _Particularly dark magic._

Digging deeper into the vast reservoir of his curse, Rumplestiltskin lashed out, and the resulting blast threw the wolves back a dozen feet—but not for long.  Two rolled with the impact, but the other three landed on their feet, and they came at him again, snarling defiance as Rumplestiltskin gathered more magic to himself.

For once in his life, he was too slow.  The magic came at his call quickly, but not quickly enough.  The wolves were blindingly fast, and two of the three evaded the wall he threw up.  One hit him square in the chest, its body slamming into him and clawing at his chest.  Fortunately, the hard crocodile hide of his jacket shielded most of his body, but one hind leg slipped inside his coat, tearing his vest and shredding the silk shirt underneath it and slicing into his side.  But the claws weren’t the issue; he could heal those wounds and immediately released his curse to work on them.  However, that same wolf’s head bent, finding the spot between his neck and the high collar of his coat, and suddenly teeth sank into the meat of his right shoulder.

Staggering, Rumplestiltskin toppled as searing pain ripped into his shoulder, screaming in pain without ever hearing the sound.  Skin tore and magic stabbed into his system, and then the second wolf he’d not managed to stop landed on top of him.  He heard Belle cry his name as sharp white teeth flashed in front of his eyes; Rumplestiltskin got an arm up between the open jaws and his face, but fangs sank into his arm, tearing right through the thinner sleeve of his coat and digging in.  He cried out, twisting madly under the pair of wolves.  Colors—red, white, and then sheer black—sparked into his vision, and he felt the teeth latched into his arm twisting and tearing.  Another snarl came from nearby, and Rumplestiltskin suddenly realized that the others were coming—

_“No!”_ a voice cried, and then something cracked, and one of the wolves yelped in pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who continues to leave me comments! They always utterly make my day, particularly now with a new job all the chaos that brings to my life.
> 
> Next up, Chapter Forty-Two: “Ever Just the Same”, where Emma tries to get information on the Basement from Gold, Moe French is still worked up over Lacey, August winds up volunteering for something dangerous, and Cora threatens Lacey. Back in the past, Rumplestiltskin and Belle continue facing the Wolves of Alsfeld, and then deal with the aftermath.


	42. Ever Just the Same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Heavy mentions of unpleasant things like sex slavery and rape happening offscreen.

_4 Years, 5 months Before the Curse_

_“No!”_ a voice cried, and then something cracked. One of the wolves yelped in pain.  Then another thwack came, followed by a second yelp, and suddenly the weight on Rumplestiltskin’s chest vanished. 

Not sure what had happened, but knowing that staying on the ground would mean death—or at least as close to that as he could get—Rumplestiltskin rolled to his feet, fiery pain shooting through his right shoulder and arm.  It was all but useless until he managed to send a shock of magic down to his fingers.  His curse was more powerful—and far more deeply rooted in his system—than any mere _loup-garou_ bite could ever be, and feeling crashed back into his right side as he swayed to his feet.  Next to him, Belle stood with a sturdy branch in her hand, clearly having walloped the wolves to force them off of him.  Rumplestiltskin stared at her for a long moment, blinking dizzily and trying to force himself to understand what had plainly happened.  She had _saved_ him, or at least kept him from being more seriously harmed, and—

Magic leapt out of his fingers, white light sizzling outwards at the three wolves who had decided to target Belle.  She swung to face them, branch held defiantly in firm hands as her brown hair swirled around her, but Rumplestiltskin’s magic slammed into the creatures before they could reach her, bathing them in light magic so strong that it left _him_ dizzy and his curse howling in fury.  That made the pack back off for a moment, circling and snarling, sniffing at the air and obviously trying to figure out how to make it past that shield.  A slow smile spread on Rumplestiltskin’s face while he watched them; it was nasty and dark, and entirely at odds with the purely protective magic he had just summoned.  But the _loup-garou_ had finally made a mistake; they had given him time and space to think, and he would take advantage of that.

“Are you all right?” Belle asked breathlessly, and Rumplestiltskin could see her eyes on his torn open right arm and shoulder.  His coat hid the worst of it, but he could feel the wounds gaping open, could feel his curse fighting to close them to no avail. 

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured her, his voice short and sharp with pain.  He’d have to brew the antidote later; he was fairly certain that even a hundred bites couldn’t turn him into a werewolf, but the wounds wouldn’t close until he’d administered it, unless he was prepared to let nature take its course.  Which he wasn’t.

Unfortunately, that antidote took at least a week to complete, and at the moment, his right arm still felt like barely functional lead.

“Are you sure?” she asked worriedly, even as one of the wolves lunged forward a step, snapping and snarling.  It was a feint, but the others were beginning to re-gather their courage as well.  They’d not wait long.

“I’m fine,” Rumplestiltskin growled, reaching through his magic and to the vault underneath the Dark Castle, summoning the one weapon he _never_ let anyone see.  But he needed a magical weapon now, and he wasn’t quite certain if Excalibur—sitting on display in his great hall—would be magical enough.  Or if it would even function in the hands of someone like him. 

The dagger was his only choice.  It glinted eerily in the late afternoon sun, his name glistening off of the polished metal as the familiar weight landed in his right hand.  _Rumplestiltskin._ Even holding it made him feel both more powerful and utterly trapped; the darkness was so much more complete when the dagger was nearby, particularly when he touched it.  Usually, he left the dagger to gather dust in his vault, but he needed it now.  He needed it to save Belle.

Teleporting away never occurred to him; he knew that he could do so, but the wolves had Belle’s scent now, if not his, and they’d hunt her for eternity if that was what it took to catch her.  He had to kill them now or later, and Rumplestiltskin was not one to put off something like this.  No, he had to kill them, and quickly, before the blood gushing out of his shoulder managed to incapacitate him. He wasn’t sure if blood loss _could_ affect him, but Rumplestiltskin refused to find out when his (overly brave and still watching him worriedly) maid was in danger.  He’d brought her here, and it was his own arrogant fault that she was in danger.  He wasn’t capable of doing a lot of things right, and usually had a habit of making the wrong choices, but at least he could do this.  He could protect her.

“What’s tha—” Belle started to ask, but Rumplestiltskin lunged forward before she could finish the word.

Two of the wolves rushed forward to meet his movement as he swirled dark magic around himself, using it both as a shield and as a lure to draw the _loup-garou_ in.  Like all dark creatures, they craved power, and they lunged towards him like moths to a flame.  Twisting right, he stabbed the first one in between his first and second ribs, low on its left side.  Rumplestiltskin dug the dagger in up to its hilt and then twisted.  The wolf yowled in pain, a pitiful scream of animal agony that made the Dark One’s curse sing triumphantly in his mind.  Even as it celebrated, however, Rumplestiltskin poured magic and power into his muscles, reaching out with his left hand to catch the second wolf by the neck.  He squeezed, and it choked horribly for a moment before its neck snapped.

Discarding that wolf and tearing his dagger out of the first one, Rumplestiltskin wheeled to face the other two, grinning darkly.  A high pitched giggle tore out of him before he’d even meant to let it; his curse was raging gleefully.  “Ready to run away, dearies?”

Had the wolves been anything other than _loup-garou_ , they probably would have demonstrated that sort of common sense.  Unfortunately, they were werewolves, and two members of their pack had just been slain by a demon.  _Kill them,_ his curse whispered seductively.  _Make them suffer for hurting you._ So, all three attacked him together, or nearly so; had Rumplestiltskin not teleported away from the spot he’d been standing in, they might have hit simultaneously.  But he flashed away without so much as a cloud of smoke to mark his passage, appearing between the rightmost two wolves, slashing left, right, and then down with the dagger.  Its razor sharp edge bit into one wolf, slicing its throat, and then stabbed straight into the heart of the second.  On his own, Rumplestiltskin might never have known where to aim, but his curse guided his hand expertly.

The last wolf, the pack leader, landed and spun to face him, shock written all over its lupine features.  But its eyes burned with fury, too…or _her_ eyes, Rumplestiltskin realized, watching bloodlust consume the lone remaining _loup-garou._   She was no more in control of her actions than he had been in the early days of his curse, eager to rend and destroy.  She _wanted_ this, wanted to taste blood and victory, and for a moment he felt an odd kinship with her—right up until she wheeled to face Belle, gathering her haunches under her to leap for the maid.  Belle still held her sturdy branch—where _had_ she gotten it?—but that was no defense against the largest of the _loup-garou_ , His curse didn’t care about her, hated her even, but Rumplestiltskin _did_ , and he could not imagine a world in which Belle was not there.

So he teleported again even as the wolf launched herself, appearing right in front of Belle.  Rumplestiltskin ignored her yelp of surprise, ignored the way he felt wind whipping by him when Belle barely managed to abort her swing of the branch.  He just stepped forward and _stabbed,_ hitting the wolf in the belly while she was fully extended in the air.  Her bulk hit him hard, and they both went down as her teeth gnashed in his face.  But Rumplestiltskin was far stronger than any mere human, and his curse was fueling his body with unprecedented levels of power.  Sawing the blade back and forth, he dug it upwards until he found vital organs and twisted, making the _loup-garou_ howl.  Her breath was foul and full of his blood, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t care.  She must have bitten him at some point, but she died with a final rattle before he could figure out where, going heavy and limp on top of him.

_Bathe in their blood, bathe in their sweet blood,_ the curse sang within his mind, but a desperately worried voice broke through the vengeful exaltations. 

“Rumplestiltskin? _Rumplestiltskin!_ ”  Suddenly, Belle was next to him, trying to push the heavy wolf off of his body, and Rumplestiltskin giggled at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.  The wolf probably weighed twice as much as she did, and Belle’s efforts were going precisely nowhere.

“I’m all right, dear,” he replied, and if his voice was low and husky, it had to be from pain.  Not from any pretense at being human.

“You…you _saved_ me,” his maid said softly as Rumplestiltskin waved a hand—the gesture came out more dizzily than he’d expected—and magic pushed the wolf’s body aside, allowing him to sit up. 

“Did I?” the Dark One asked as nonchalantly as he could, staggering to his feet.

Evil demons did _not_ need their pretty little maids to catch their arms and help them balance.  They did _not._

Still, Belle had grabbed his uninjured left arm, and Rumplestiltskin was loathe to pull away.  Having her there, having her look at him like he was something more than a monster was…nice.  _She’s only grateful that you saved her,_ the curse whispered.  _Take advantage of that.  Take_ her _, take what you know you want!_ Shocked, Rumplestiltskin pushed the voice aside, swatting at it like an annoying insect buzzing in his mind.  Yes, he was attracted to his pretty maid.  He would have had to been dead not to notice her beauty, but _noticing_ and acting were not the same thing.  The monster inside his mind might insist that he simply take what he wanted, but there were some lines even Rumplestiltskin would not cross.  _Ever._

“Why did you do that?” she whispered, blue eyes staring at him.

“I—” he cut himself off before he could say something that he would truly regret, something about emotions and things that monsters _did not feel._   Rumplestiltskin giggled to cover up his uncertainty.  “Good help is hard to find these days.”

“Not _that_ hard,” Belle retorted, giving him what Rumplestiltskin privately thought of as The Look.  It was her way of glaring at him in exasperation that told him she wasn’t afraid of him, that she knew he was posturing even though he would never admit that she knew.  Rumplestiltskin tried another high-pitched giggle, because they always covered up his actual thoughts and feelings better than anything else, but the sound became a cough, and pain rolled over him.  He staggered, and had Belle not caught him, he would have fallen.

How embarrassing.

“Let’s get you home,” she said softly, her voice suddenly as gentle as the hands on his arm.  How long had it been since someone had touched him so gently? Rumplestiltskin did not know, but suddenly he burned for more of it.

Even Cora had not touched him gently.  Cora had been all fire and passion, and there was no room for softness in her ambition.  Rumplestiltskin barely remembered a gentle touch, and suddenly found himself craving it so badly that it burned.

“Can you teleport us, or—” Belle started to ask, but her concerned look was replaced by hurt when he jerked away.  Her hands fell to her sides, grasping briefly at empty air, and beautiful blue eyes filled with confusion.

He couldn’t get attached.  Couldn’t want this.  She was only grateful, and no matter what his curse wanted, he would not take advantage of that.  _I am not that kind of monster._

A snap of his fingers brought them back to the Dark Castle, landing Dark One and servant back in the great hall.  He’d deal with the town sheriff later, find out if the fool had known that the ‘menace’ he had dealt with the Dark One to remove had been _loup-garou_.  If he had, Rumplestiltskin would string him up by his own entrails, would indulge the curse whatever violence and misery it demanded, so long as it stopped demanding that he defile Belle.  Even looking at her was growing dangerous, because he wanted what the curse wanted…only, Rumplestiltskin did not want it _how_ the curse did.  He wanted something he knew he could never have, a feeling he did not dare put a label to lest the wanting utterly destroy him.

* * *

 

The Basement.

Every lead dried up the moment Emma spoke those two words.  Killian had been more help than anyone else, but even he hadn’t given her the information she was looking for.  Emma could read people well enough to know that pressing the marina owner would make him clam up faster than waiting for him to volunteer more information, so she’d quit while she was ahead.  But _no one_ else in the town seemed willing or able to answer any of her questions.  Most people hadn’t even heard of the Basement, but those that had seemed to quickly find somewhere else to be when the sheriff asked about it.  Everyone seemed afraid to talk; even though Emma had expected some people to be willing to brag about their experiences there (in her experience exclusivity came with egos to match), no one was talking.  Even Regina just shook her head and shrugged, saying that she knew nothing that could be helpful.

That left her with one choice, one place to go.  There was one man whom _everyone_ in Storybrooke seemed to fear, with the possible exception of Cora.  And even the mayor seemed wary of Mr. Gold, if not outright intimidated by him.  If there was anyone in town who knew something about a supposedly vile brothel hidden underneath Very Merry Escorts (what _was_ it with this town and secret basement lockups?), it would be Gold.  And frankly, Emma was out of options.  Mary Margaret had warned her against going to Gold, because the man _always_ demanded payment of one sort or another, and he obviously didn’t need money.  That meant he’d want something else, perhaps something costly, but Emma was willing to take that risk.

So, she walked into Gold’s shop on the afternoon of January 18th, glad to find that the pawnshop was empty of everyone but the proprietor.  Emma had only run into Lacey French inside the shop twice, but having the former librarian there would have only complicated things, particularly if her daughter was along.  Emma still wasn’t quite sure what was going on between those two, but Lacey seemed perfectly content with the arrangement, which, in Emma’s opinion, went a long way.  Gold might be a sly and devious bastard, but the sheriff didn’t think that Lacey had moved in with him without knowing that.  _Hell, maybe I should have gone to her for help.  She_ did _manage to talk him into buying out Mary Margaret’s loan to Merryweather, and_ that _probably took some doing._   Emma still was resolutely avoiding thinking about how Lacey must have managed that, however, so she cleared her throat and waited for the pawnbroker to notice her.

He took his time looking up from the medallion he was polishing, and when he finally did, the slender man wore a smirk that Emma burned to slap right off of his face.  “Can I help you, Sheriff?”

“I need some information, and you’re the only one in the town who might actually answer me,” Emma told him bluntly, wishing that his expression would change even an iota.

The bastard didn’t even twitch.  “Oh?”

“What do you know about the Basement?” she asked, deciding to take the bull by the horns and just ask.  Finally, however, her straightforward approach made Gold blink.

“The what?” he asked, but the slight twitch in his face betrayed the fact that he’d heard her just fine.

“The Basement.  You know, that super-secret anything goes brothel that belongs to ‘Madam’ Merryweather,” Emma clarified, leaning against the counter to look Gold in the eye.  He barely blinked, obviously now back on balance, and merely quirked a curious eyebrow at her, waiting for Emma to continue.  She did, saying: “I want to know what you know about it.  Everyone else in this town is terrified to talk.  They act like they’re afraid that someone they love will get sucked into that hellhole if they speak up.”

“And you came to me because I have nothing to lose,” Gold replied, and was that amusement in his eyes, or something else?

“I came to you because I don’t think there’s anyone in this town that can bully you,” she said honestly, and watched the pawnbroker snort.  _Definitely amusement, now._

He cocked his head curiously, not even looking worried about the consequences of spilling secrets that terrified everyone else so much.  “And yet you also know that nothing is free, dear, so what are you offering in exchange for this information that you want so very much?”

 “I hear you like deals,” Emma replied, barely holding back a smirk of her own.

“I have been known to make one or two,” he allowed, and damn the man was smooth.  But this time Emma had come prepared.

“Well, since I don’t have any belief to offer, and I’m not exactly keen on giving you another favor, I thought I’d trade some information.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, no,” Emma laughed.  “You don’t get it for free.  You agree to tell me what you know about the Basement, and I’ll tell you what I know.  Otherwise, no deal.”

“You’re learning, Miss Swan.”  Was that admiration in his eyes, or just Gold being enigmatic?  Either way, Emma wasn’t in the mood to screw around, even if she was rather pleased with herself for beating him at his own game.  Gold was obviously playing for time, trying to decide if her offer was worthwhile or not,   But Emma needed this information, and if Gold wasn’t about to pony up, she had better things to do with her afternoon.

“Do we have a deal?” she pressed.

Gold studied her for a moment, his brown eyes unreadable and his face absolutely still.  But then he nodded, just once.  “Indeed we do.  You first.”

Emma wasn’t fool enough to doubt his word; everyone in Storybrooke knew that Gold meticulously—some would say obsessively—kept his promises.  The fact that he never broke a deal was more dependable than some religions, and Emma had no doubt that he’d keep to the letter of this one.  That was why she had been so careful in her phrasing.  Had she been careless enough to say something along the lines of Gold telling her ‘what he knew’ and leaving out exactly what she wanted to know, Emma had no doubts that she’d wind up with a monologue about the virtues of different silver polishes or something.  But she felt that she’d hemmed him in rather well, which meant she was safe divulging what she knew first.

Besides, she felt that a bit of a warning on this front was the least she could do for Lacey French, who seemed perfectly content with her situation.

“Moe French is trying to press charges against you on behalf of his daughter,” she told Gold.  “He visited the district attorney about it this morning.”

“Oh _is_ he?” Gold all but purred, sounding unsurprised and almost a little amused.  “Strange how his daughter is an adult and perfectly capable of doing so on her own behalf, should any charges be warranted.”

“He’s claiming exigent circumstances,” Emma added.  “Says that you’ve either coerced or intimidated Lacey into silence, and that she’s in too much danger to stand up to you.”

Now Gold’s snort was anything but amused.  In fact, there seemed to be a hardness in his eyes that Emma had not expected.  Was it anger over what he was sure to be blamed for doing, or anger over something else?  “And what _exactly_ is he accusing me of?”

“Sexual exploitation, mostly, with a side of debt bondage added on for kicks.”

“Really?” Gold’s sneer was truly impressive, and Emma found herself in rare agreement with the coldblooded man. 

She shrugged.  “The D.A. told him to pound sand, but the man’s worried about his daughter.  He’s not going to quit.”

“If Mr. French is so worried about his daughter, he shouldn’t have kicked her out in the first place,” Gold retorted with rather more heat than Emma speculate.

“Something touching a nerve?” she asked, thinking back to her earlier speculation regarding Renee’s paternity.  Could Gold _possibly_ be the girl’s father?  Lacey seemed perfectly happy with him, after all, and…

“Of course not,” he snapped.  “Unless you count completely _bogus_ charges possibly being laid against me.  Then, yes, I’m afraid something strikes a bit of a nerve.”

Emma wouldn’t have bet money against there being more to his sudden flare of anger, but she wasn’t there to investigate Gold’s relationship with Lacey French.  As she’d repeatedly told the still-angry florist, there was no evidence of any wrongdoing on Gold’s part, and Lacey had not said a voiced of complaint.  Until one or the other of those circumstances took place, Emma’s hands were tied—and she was here in the shop for an entirely different purpose today. 

“Well, that’s your business,” she said pointedly, and then crossed her arms.  “And I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain.  Now it’s your turn.”

“Indeed it is.”  Just like that, Gold regained his composure, folding his hands on the countertop and studying Emma impassively.  “I do have to warn you, Miss Swan, that you may not like what I have to tell you.”

Now he was sounding like Killian, and Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  “I have a strong stomach.”

“That I do not doubt.”  Mild amusement was back, although there was something in his eyes that actually made her heed his previous warning.

“Spit it out, Gold.”

“Very well.”  A shrug.  “The Basement is a supposedly ‘exclusive’ establishment where the patrons’ more…eccentric habits are catered to without exception.  By which, of course, I mean whatever unusual sexual predilections they may have are indulged by young women who probably have no choice in the matter, and no recourse if they dare to say ‘no’.  I do know that no one who goes to ‘work’ down there is permitted to leave; they are housed in a dormitory of some sort, and locked in at night.  But I doubt you’ll be able to prove that.  I know it by heresy alone, and no—before you ask—I have never been there.”

“Really?  I find that hard to believe.”  But Emma’s lie detector wasn’t going off, which she found odd.

“You should not.  My habits, such as they are, are—”

“Taken care of by Lacey French?” she interjected before she could stop herself, and then watched that blow slide home.  Gold’s nostrils flared, ever so slightly, and she saw fury rip through his eyes before he schooled his expression back to the same superior-but-bland look.

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response, Sheriff,” he replied stiffly.  “Now, is there any more information you were seeking?  I’m afraid that I have no proof to offer you, only assumptions.”

“Okay, then, let’s assume you know the answer to this,” Emma said immediately, willing to ignore what might be going on in that huge pink mansion if she could get information.  “What happens if they say no?  Or try to leave?”

“Nothing pretty, I would think.”  Gold shrugged again, his composure implacable.  “From what I have heard—and this is pure conjecture—the punishments for either are rather…dire.”

“Are you serious?” Emma asked, easily able to read between the lines on that statement.

“I am not exactly known for my sense of humor.”  Was that disgust in his eyes?  Emma hadn’t thought Gold had any morals whatsoever, but perhaps the man _did_ have some after all.  That probably boded well for Lacey French, at least, but it also made a plan start to form in the back of Emma’s mind.  Although she knew she’d end up owing him a lot more than a favor (or ‘belief’, but who asked for _that_?) if she could convince Gold to do this, she plunged forward, anyway.  “Can you get into that place?” 

“Can I? Certainly.  I have a standing invitation,” Gold said smoothly, but continued before she could ask more.  “But I have no intention of doing so, not even at your request.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because I am not a fool.”  His eyes met hers, and they were cold once more.  “I choose my battles carefully, and I suggest you do the same.  You’re not going to uncover _anyone_ who will turn evidence against the Basement—or Madam Merryweather—unless you first bring about major changes in Storybrooke.  As matters stand now, it is, frankly, impossible.”

Was it just Emma, or was Gold sounding ever so slightly like Regina?  She frowned at him.  “What kind of changes are you talking about?”

He just shrugged.  “I’m sure you can think of something.”

And that was that, apparently.  Gold gave her nothing else useful—although he’d at least confirmed what Killian had told her, and added some detail to it, besides.  Still, Emma wound up leaving every bit as angry as she’d arrived, albeit for different reasons.  Gold might not be able to _prove_ what was going on there, but he clearly knew enough about it.  _Enough to turn my stomach,_ Emma thought to herself.  _And that takes some doing._   Typically, Gold wasn’t going to help her, but he hadn’t said he’d move against her, either, which she figured counted for something.  Besides, she wasn’t angry at _him_.  She was angry at this ‘Madam Merryweather’ (who had a name like that, anyway?) who was abusing young women and allowing others to do the same.  And yet Emma’s real rage was reserved for Cora Mills, who had wanted to send Mary Margaret to that place…and obviously knew exactly what kind of cancer was eating at her town.

Knowing Cora, she was rather pleased by that, too.  Every day that passed taught Emma exactly what kind of cold-blooded and vicious woman Storybrooke’s mayor was, and she was really starting to think that maybe Gold was right.  Maybe some sort of major change was exactly what was needed.  In fact—

“Emma!  Wait up!” a voice intruded on her thoughts as she walked away from the pawnshop, her hands shoved deep in her pockets.  Emma almost didn’t hear him over the rising wind; it looked like another winter storm was coming, and wouldn’t that just make everything wonderful?

“I’m busy, August,” she told the author as he jogged up.  Somehow, August had become something of a normal fixture in Storybrooke.  He’d arrived a few weeks ago and just _stayed_.  Even worse, he accosted Emma at least once a week about this curse, because somehow Henry had sold him on the theory, too.  He didn’t seem to like Regina, but he was singing the same song she was, which was just plain weird.  At the moment, however, Emma just wanted to focus on reality.  

“Maybe I can help,” August replied, shivering in the wind.  “I’m self-employed, after all, and—”

“How rich are you?” Emma cut him off, the same idea still swirling around in her mind.  Killian was pretty well off with the marina, and he’d been invited down to the Basement.  August was new in town, but…

“Well, that’s kind of a forward question for the first date,” he grinned.

“We’re not dating,” she retorted, annoyed and thinking of however many young women—including Victoria Scadlock, Emma suddenly remembered, thinking of Sidney’s tip—didn’t have a choice in what men they were with. 

“It was a joke. Take it easy, okay?”

“Right.”  Emma shook herself.  “Look, maybe you _can_ help.  If you’ve got the money to get noticed, anyway.”

August gave her a contemplative look.  “I do well enough to get by,” he said with a shrug.  “Pretty well, I guess.  My travel books are popular.”

“Perfect.”  This plan would be _much_ better.  Using Gold had been a spur of the moment idea, but August would be as offended by this as she was, and maybe it would even shut him up about Henry’s curse.  August seemed like a good man, and he was an outsider.  He wouldn’t be terrified by the things that people from Storybrooke always shied away from, and maybe Emma could use that to help some people.

* * *

 

_4 Years, 5 months Before the Curse_

He’d saved her. 

Belle wasn’t sure what to make of that.  One moment, she’d been buying potions supplies, just like Rumplestiltskin had told her to, and the next moment she’d been cornered by two wolves.  Belatedly, she’d realized that they weren’t actual _wolves_ ; the creatures that Rumplestiltskin had come to that town to eradicate were werewolves, or _loup-garou_ , horribly cursed humans who let the animals inside them rule.  Why they’d come after her, Belle didn’t know, but she’d been properly terrified before Rumplestiltskin showed up.  And then he’d _saved_ her.  He hadn’t just destroyed the wolves—Belle understood that he’d agreed to do just that in a deal with the sheriff—but he’d actually stepped between her and two of them when they tried to attack her.  Frankly, Belle wasn’t sure what to make of that.

She wasn’t sure what to make of _him_.  They’d slowly started talking more, and ever he’d ‘missed’ with that arrow that he’d shot at Robin Hood, Belle had thought she’d detected something different in him.  Despite what Rumplestiltskin said, he _wasn’t_ as dark as he wanted her to believe; he’d chosen to show mercy then, and today he had actually stepped right between her and danger.  He had told her so many times that he was a monster—and Belle knew that _he_ believed that—but today she had seen differently.  And this was not something she would ever forget.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, trying to get a good look his shoulder and neck.  Most of the wounds were hidden by the high-necked coat he wore, but Belle could see blood staining his golden silk shirt.  A _lot_ of blood.  He must have healed himself by now, as she’d seen him do a dozen times before, but the silly man had forgotten to clean himself up.

Rumplestiltskin twisted to look at her, seeming surprised.  And a little dizzy, though Belle could see him trying to hide that.  “For what?”

“For saving my life,” she told him, stepping forward tentatively.  He’d jerked away the last time she’d tried to touch him, just a few minutes earlier, but Belle was ready to try again. 

“I told you, dearie.  Good help is hard to find.”  There was that word again.  ‘Dearie.’  The one he used when he was trying to put distance between them, and hearing it made Belle frown.  Still, if he was trying to sound nasty, he’d failed; Rumplestiltskin just sounded tired.

“Of course it is,” she replied as noncommittally as she could, reaching out to take his coat off.  “Let me help you with this.”

“What—what are you doing?” he twisted again as she tried to tug the coat free, staring at her in confusion.  His golden-flecked eyes were huge and bewildered, and Belle found herself wondering how long had passed since someone had actually tried to help him. 

_No wonder why you call yourself a monster, if everyone treats you like one,_ she didn’t say, but she wanted to.  Instead, she just gave him a smile that was much more confident than she felt.  “Helping you.”

Finally, she managed to pry the coat off of him.  Rumplestiltskin hissed in pain and staggered, and suddenly Belle realized that he _hadn’t_ healed himself.  The bite marks on his neck, right shoulder, and arm were still fresh and oozing, inflamed and an angry red where not covered in blood.  He seemed to be trying to ignore the wounds, and even as Belle watched, Rumplestiltskin nodded gruffly to her and headed towards the spiral staircase that led towards the tower he liked to do magic in.

“Where are you going?” The words blurted out before she could stop them.

Rumplestiltskin threw her an odd look.  “To my tower.  Go…clean something.  Or read.  Or something.”

He waved a hand airily at her, or tried to.  Obviously without thinking, he’d used his right hand to do so, and the gesture ended in a soft yelp of pain and a grimace.  But being Rumplestiltskin, he just turned and marched towards the stairs, keeping his right arm close to his side and walking a little unsteadily.  Belle hesitated for a moment, and then jogged to catch up to him, leaving the dragonhide coat lying on the floor to the great hall.  She’d pick it up later; for now, there were more important things to deal with.  After all, he’d told her to do _something_ , and Belle chose to help him.  She wasn’t even disobeying his orders…not that doing so would have bothered her overmuch.

“What are you doing?” he asked when they were halfway up the stairs, pausing to glare at her.

“Following you,” she replied as cheerfully as she could, her eyes on his shoulder.  It was still oozing blood and something else; although Belle was a little relieved to notice that Rumplestiltskin’s blood was as red as anyone else’s.  She hadn’t ever really seen him _bleed_ before.  The few times she’d seen him hurt, he’d always healed the wounds before she could really get a good look at him.  Now, however, she got quite an eyeful, and Belle might have felt sick to her stomach if she hadn’t been so determined to help.

“Why?” the Dark One demanded, but it sounded almost like a confused whine.

“Because someone has to help you,” she shot back, and he snorted, resuming his climb.

“I’m perfectly capable of caring for myself, _dearie_.”

“That’s why you’re bleeding on the stairs, of course,” Belle snapped.  It was only a small spot of blood, but some _had_ splashed down his sleeve and landed on the steps.  She’d have to scrub that off later, and Belle wasn’t particularly grateful for that. 

“I have to give you _something_ to do other than read,” Rumplestiltskin retorted, rather predictably, she thought.  But because she’d expected the answer, Belle was able to shrug it off.  After all, he’d given her a _library_ , and they both knew that it wasn’t so that she’d dust his books.

“Is that why you’re not healing yourself?” she asked curiously.

Rumplestiltskin didn’t answer, instead stomping into the tower with her on his heels, immediately heading for his work table.  But he stumbled partway there, and Belle barely managed to dart forward and catch his left arm before he fell.  The contact made him flinch, but Belle was fairly sure that was from shyness and not pain, because huge eyes turned on her with such surprise that it broke her heart. 

“Let me help you,” she whispered, not sure what to make of the broken and _wanting_ expression on his face.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t!” She had had enough of his stupid stubbornness, and if being nice wasn’t going to make him behave, Belle certainly had no problem shouting at him.  “Now, sit down and take your shirt off.”

“I’m—”

“ _Now_ , Rumplestiltskin.”

He stared at her like he’d never seen her before.  She glared back.  After a moment, he caved, sinking into a nearby chair as if his legs would not have supported him a moment longer.  Belle just crossed her arms and waited, giving him a look that said she wasn’t going to give in, and finally he got the message.  Slowly, he started trying to unbutton his vest and shirt, but his right hand clearly didn’t want to work correctly, so Belle stepped forward to help.  Her touch made him flinch, but she didn’t stop.  She just made sure to be as gentle as she could, working each button free on the ornate maroon vest and carefully slipping it off, trying not to notice how torn and stained it was in the vicinity of his right shoulder.  Rumplestiltskin’s hands fell to his sides after a moment of hanging uselessly in the air, and he just watched her with owlish and dizzy eyes.

“Can you not heal these?” she asked, starting on his shirt.  She didn’t know much about the _loup-garou_ , but Belle knew that Rumplestiltskin would not sit there bleeding and hurting if he didn’t have to.

“No.”  He grimaced, but seemed glad for something concrete to focus on.  “There’s a potion I need to brew…until it’s done, the wounds won’t heal.  Part of the curse of the _loup-garou_.

That told her something.  “How long does the potion take to brew?”

“A week or so.  Sometimes longer.”  Another grimace, and a hiss of pain as he tried to shrug with one shoulder.

Belle cringed, finally getting his shirt off and looking at the extremely deep wounds there.  His arm was halfway mangled; how had he managed to use it at all?  His golden scale-like skin was torn and creased, disfigured even where it had not been ripped open by sharp teeth, and just looking at it made her want to hug him and make everything all right.  _Not that he’d let me,_ Belle thought, resolutely not noticing how very human his body looked if one discounted the odd skin.   Human and hesitant; the expression on his face was as far from monstrous as Belle could imagine anyone being.  Rumplestiltskin still looked confused, even though he was obviously trying to think about magic and potions.

“Will you turn into a werewolf?” she wondered, figuring that it might help him distract himself from the pain.

“No.  Of course not.”  His voice was a little tight, and he tried to wave the question aside, but the fool attempted to use his right hand again.  “Ow!”

“Well, don’t do that.  Of course it hurts.  Your arm and shoulder are torn open.”

That got her another glare, but Belle knew he didn’t mean it, particularly when no nasty words followed.  So, she just gestured at a box in the western corner of the tower.  It was one of the few items in the tower she’d ever been permitted to touch; everything else was either too magical or too unpredictable, and ‘didn’t need cleaning’, to quote the irritable sorcerer who was now watching her so warily.

“Are the bandages in there safe to use on you?” she asked.

Rumplestiltskin blinked.  “Why…why would you care about that?”

“Because I’m going to clean your wounds and bandage them, of course.”  What did he think she wanted to do, decorate the tower in bandages?  But Rumplestiltskin was still staring at Belle like she’d spoken another language.

“But why would you do that?” he asked almost too softly for her to hear.

“Well, I’m not going to let you run around the castle with it bleeding for a week or longer,” Belle replied sensibly, heading over to the chest and opening it.  Sure enough, it was still full of what appeared to be spotless bandages, but where could she find something to clean his wounds with?  And how was she going to convince him to let her do it?  Rumplestiltskin still looked so confused, but… _But what if he’s just not used to someone helping him?  I can cite logic all day long, and yet he’s never going to understand, is he?_ Belle thought suddenly, feeling her heart clench painfully. 

“Of course,” Rumplestiltskin whispered before she could say more, his eyes flicking off to stare out the window to her left.  “Wouldn’t want you to have to scrub blood off the floor, of course.”

He’d never quite managed to hide his loneliness from her, but looking at him now made it clearer than ever.  Turning to face the so-called demon who had become her employer—and somehow, her friend—Belle tried to explain it in a way he might understand.  _Or maybe in a way_ I _might understand._ She’d been fighting feelings for Rumplestiltskin ever since he’d given her that library, ever since she’d realized that he was far more complicated—and kinder!—than he wanted people to believe he was. 

“It’s not about the blood on the floor,” she said softly.  “You saved my life.  Can’t I at least help you in return?”

Again, the spooked and confused look crossed his face, so Belle walked back over to him and took his left hand in her own, crouching in front of the chair he was sitting in. 

“How long has it been since someone volunteered to help you?”

He jumped when she squeezed his fingers. “I don’t remember.”

“Oh, Rumplestiltskin…” Belle didn’t know what to say to that; she only squeezed his hand again and noticed how his eyes closed briefly, obviously shutting away memories of some sort or another.  Belle burned to ask, but stopped herself; that could wait.  She had time to get to know him, to pry the man she _knew_ existed out from under the monster.  For now, she needed to help him, and he needed to understand that she always would.  “Well, _I’ll_ help you,” she promised.  “Whenever you need it.”

He didn’t seem to know what to say to that, and the Dark One just nodded shakily, ducking his head so that his hair obscured his features.  Belle wanted so badly to reach up and brush the disorganized curls away from his features, but she wasn’t sure such a touch would be welcome…and part of her was afraid that it would be.

“There’s a disinfectant potion in the rack on the end of the table,” he said after a moment, his voice sounding rough.  Belle nodded.  “The green one.”

“I’ll get it.”  She squeezed his hand one more time before rising to fetch the small bottle, pausing to investigate the vibrant green contents.  “This one?”

Rumplestiltskin barely glanced her way, but when he turned his head, he winced in pain.  “Yes.”

“I just pour it on and then bandage the wounds?” she asked, just to be sure.

“That’ll do,” he replied tiredly, and the deeper tone of his voice suddenly registered.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t sound like the monster now, and hadn’t for the bulk of this emotion-heavy conversation.  He sounded almost human, with a pleasant and slightly accented voice.  It was nothing like the high-pitched tones she was used to, and the manic giggle was gone.  Now he just sounded…human. 

“All right, then.”

Belle squared her shoulders bravely, gathered some bandages, and made her way back to Rumplestiltskin’s side, pulling over another chair so that she could sit next to him while she worked.  She started with his shoulder, pouring the green liquid onto a cloth before pressing it to the wound.  The potion smelled sharp, rather like the healing ointments she remembered clerics using in her childhood, but far more potent.  Rumplestiltskin flinched when she touched the cloth to the deepest wound on his neck; that one was ragged and seemed to go straight to the bone.  He hissed, twisting away from her to glare, and the confused and almost-human face vanished beneath the monster.

“Ow!  What are you doing?” he snarled.

“Just what you told me to,” she snapped back, annoyed to have spilled some of the nasty green potion on her dress.   _What a stupid question._ “Now hold still!”

Rumplestiltskin glared again, but when Belle moved the cloth back towards his neck, he braced himself and didn’t move, gritting his teeth against what was obviously a great deal of pain.  He didn’t look at her as Belle slowly cleaned out each and every wound, keeping his eyes fixed blankly on the wall in front of him.  Finished with his neck and shoulder, Belle shifted to pull his right arm gently into her lap, and that finally made Rumplestiltskin glance at her once more.  Again, his eyes were wide and confused, but also swimming with pain, and Belle carefully squeezed his fingers before starting again.  Her compassionate gesture made his gaze snap away from hers once more, but Belle didn’t say anything.  Instead, she just concentrated on cleaning out the plethora of teeth marks on his forearm.

Finally done cleaning out the wounds, Belle slowly wrapped them all as best she could, bandaging Rumplestiltskin’s neck, shoulder, and arm.  He shuddered as she did so, biting back short gasps of pain, but Belle finished as quickly as she could.  Then she smiled at him.  “There.  All done.”

“Why did you do that?” Rumplestiltskin asked instead of thanking her like she had expected.  He still wasn’t looking at her.

“Because someone had to,” Belle said without thinking, and watched his oddly vulnerable expression close off.  “Because I wanted to help you,” she added.  “Because I didn’t want to see you hurting.”

He shrugged, the motion one-shouldered and awkward.  “Why not?  Isn’t it nice to know that the monster can bleed?”

But his voice hadn’t gone high-pitched and nasty; he just sounded broken.

“You’re not a monster,” Belle said, squeezing his hand once more.  That made him turn to stare at her, his eyes wide and lost.

“I am.”

“A monster wouldn’t have thrown himself in the path of werewolves to save me,” she replied, smiling softly.  “But a friend would.”

That made him blink and look away again, and Belle’s heart sank.  _Small steps,_ she told herself.  She didn’t fully understand why Rumplestiltskin was so closed off, but she was determined to pry him out of his shell. Until today, he’d just been a challenge, and getting to know him passed the time in the huge and lonely castle.  But now…now he’d done something extraordinary for her, and Belle realized that she _wanted_ to understand him.  A good man was buried beneath the beast, and she was going to find him.

“Rumple,” he said softly, and Belle jumped.

“What?”

“Rumple.  It’s…what my friends call me.”  His voice was barely a whisper, but it made Belle grin so hard her face hurt.

“Rumple it is, then,” she replied, leaning in to hug him gently, keeping away from his right side while she did so.  As usual, he didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, but Belle did it, anyway.

Someday, he’d accept her embrace, just as he’d finally accepted her friendship today.

* * *

 

Business was apparently booming, although none of them seemed to want to buy anything.  Not that it bothered Rumplestiltskin; he didn’t open the shop so that he could sell things.  He didn’t _need_ the money.  His currency was influence, and influence aplenty had been found between these walls.   Of course, he doubted that Cora had intended to grant him _quite_ so much power as she’d wound up doing, but in this case, her lack of understanding of the Land Without Magic had served him well.  Cora had inserted her desires for his _comfort_ and _riches_ into the curse, and in turn the curse had adapted those requirements to fit this world.  Of course, the mayor still had her caveats, and could control him in that limited manner, but Rumplestiltskin still had more power than she wanted.  With one stroke of his pen, he could thwart her, and had done so when he saved Mary Margaret from the Basement.

Judging from the look on Cora’s face when she stepped into the shop that afternoon, she was still angry.

“Mayor Mills,” Rumplestiltskin said with Gold’s cool smile.  “What a pleasant surprise.”

Neither of them bothered to pretend to believe he was pleased to see her; Cora just glared at him for several moments before speaking.

“I wanted a word with you,” she snapped, and then regained control of herself with an obvious effort.”

“Did you now?” he asked calmly, not allowing the fact that his heart rate was increasing to show on his face.  He hated this woman as much as he’d once loved her—probably more—and he feared her, too, even if he didn’t want to.  No matter how many times Rumplestiltskin told himself that soon enough the curse would be broken, and with it Cora’s control over him, he could not erase the sheer terror she was able to awaken in him.  _It’s only the pain,_ he told himself for the thousandth time, knowing it was a partial truth at best.

He’d trusted her, once.  But no longer.

“I did.”  Cora approached the counter, and then sidestepped around the end of it, crossing into the territory that none of his other customers would have dared breach.  She approached him slowly, smiling a predator’s smile, and he contemplated moving away from her before quashing the foolish notion.  Rumplestiltskin might have been a mess, but he still had his pride, and his pride would not allow him to show his fear by _running._

He had been enough of a coward before becoming the Dark One.  He would not act like it now, even if that same weak man still lived inside of him, quivering with fear and wanting to shake.  Rumplestiltskin only swallowed, allowing her to walk up to him and trying to pretend that it didn’t bother him.  He lacked courage of his own, but he could feign it well enough, and someday, he would have his vengeance for every hurt she’d visited upon him.

Still, he wished that she wouldn’t touch him, burned to push her hand away when Cora reached up to stroke the expensive fabric of his jacket like an old friend.  _Or lover._   She enjoyed this little fiction, loved the small gestures of affection that could so quickly turn to pain.  Cora knew exactly what she was doing to him, but Rumplestiltskin _also_ now had armor around his heart that she could no longer understand.  He’d tried so long and so hard to keep his family safe, but now that they were with him, he could draw strength from Belle’s presence, could use her love and genuine affection as a counterweight to the horrors Cora forced him to endure.  Had the Evil Queen noticed the difference in his reactions?  Probably not.  The real difference was internal, anyway.

“I’m still angry at you, dear,” Cora said when Rumplestiltskin remained silent, simply waiting for her to speak.  Her flashing eyes gave a lie to her calm tone, however, and he just said:

“That grieves me greatly to hear.”

Cora’s hand tightened ominously.  “I’m sure it does.”  Now her eyes narrowed.  “It has, however, occurred to me how I can solve the problem of your…defiance.”

“That’s a rather strong word, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin interjected before she could say more, not liking the left turn this conversation had taken.  His heart had clenched already, and although he wasn’t certain what was coming, he knew he wouldn’t like it.

“It’s exactly the word I meant to use,” she replied, her fingers running roughly over the fabric again.  Soon enough, her other hand lifted to touch his face, and now Rumplestiltskin could not stop himself from jerking a few inches away, flinching away from the hand that had hurt him so often.  “Stay still, now.”

The soft whisper took all pretense of choice away from him, and Rumplestiltskin felt the tendrils of the curse wrap around his body and force him to freeze.  An involuntary hiss of fury came out from behind clenched teeth as Cora’s fingers ran up his cheek, tracing his jawline and then slipping into his hair.

“You shouldn’t have helped Mary Margaret Blanchard, you know,” the mayor said softly.  “No matter how much _business_ sense your reasons made, you knew it would anger me, didn’t you?”

“So many things anger you that it’s hard to keep track of them all,” he said before he could stop himself.

For a moment, Cora smiled, her white teeth flashing and her eyes dancing.  But then the hand in his hair tightened, just enough to cause a slight amount of pain: a warning.  “Then you should pay more attention,” she hissed.

“I shall keep that in mind for next time,” Rumplestiltskin said, very consciously _not_ promising to avoid angering her.  He wasn’t fond of lying, after all, and there was no need to do so when he could twist words with such skill.

“Oh, you will,” she said, the gleam in her eyes turning vicious.  “Your little maid is quite beautiful.”

Rumplestiltskin forced himself to blink slowly, ignoring the paralyzing fear that gripped his heart.  “What does Miss French have to do with anything?”

“Everything.  She matters to you—don’t deny it, Gold.  We both know that she’s the one you turn to for comfort, that you shelter her and her brat because you _care_ for her.  I wasn’t sure you were capable of it, but apparently you’ve grown quite attached to her.”  Cora’s smile was slow, and Rumplestiltskin felt a cold chill rip up his spine.  “It would be a shame for something to happen to her because you’ve been defiant.”

“I keep telling you that it isn’t defiance,” he tried to sound reasonable, but it was hard.  His voice wanted to shake.  “I made a business decision.  If you hadn’t wanted me to act, you should have said so.”

“Well, now I am.  And I trust you understand me, Mr. Gold?”  Cora looked him straight in the eye.

“Oh, I understand you just fine, dear,” Rumplestiltskin bit out, unable to keep the edge out of his voice. 

_Kill her!  Kill her now, take control of the curse and be done with this game!_ The curse raged, and for a moment, Rumplestiltskin was in full agreement with it.  But no.  He had planned things out for a reason, and he would not deviate from that master plan when it was working so well.  _Rip her innards out and force her to eat them,_ the demon inside him insisted.  _Force her to watch as you kill those_ she _cares about_.  That last demand, however, almost made Rumplestiltskin laugh out loud, and the very irony inherent in his curse’s demand served to throw ice water on his own rage.  Cora might think that she cared about her daughter, but she would never truly worry for Regina’s safety, or at least not any more than Rumplestiltskin might be concerned for some possession of his or another.  His curse didn’t quite understand that, but Rumplestiltskin _did_ , and he knew that was what made Cora so damn dangerous.

“Do you?” Cora countered, yanking on his hair and making Rumplestiltskin hiss out an angry noise of pain.  “I don’t think you do, but I’ll give you a chance to be fully and completely honest with me.  Tell me what your relationship with Lacey French is, and I’ll be…kind.”

“You wouldn’t know kindness if someone put the dictionary definition of it in front of you,” he snorted, and it was so very much the wrong thing to say.

“Very well, then.  I’ll make a call, and Madam Merryweather’s assistant will pick your dear maid up.  You can keep her brat, but Miss French will be living in the Basement from now on.”

Rumplestiltskin’s heart almost stopped.  Despite how vague he’d been with Emma, he _knew_ what kinds of things happened down there.  He knew because Cora practiced the same vile entertainments on _him_ , and he would not allow that to happen to Belle.  A part of Rumplestiltskin, the human whispering from deep inside the curse’s shell, thought that he would not wish that fate on _anyone_ , no matter how much he hated them, but that didn’t matter.  Belle was his wife, his True Love, and he would protect her at all costs. 

“I don’t think so,” he snarled, yanking away from Cora.  Either his anger and his love had lent him strength, or her caveat had expired; the ‘now’ command was always short-lived.  Either way, he was able to pull away from her, able to turn his head to meet Cora’s eyes with a burningly furious gaze.  Now, the mildly dangerous Mr. Gold no longer hid the Dark One. Now his teeth were out, his claws were sharp, and he was prepared to fight with every weapon he had.

Cora laughed.  “And how are you going to stop me?” she demanded with a smile that screamed victory.

“It’s quite simple, dear,” Rumplestiltskin said slowly.  “You’re going to leave Lacey French alone.  You won’t harm her—or allow any of your flunkies or your associates to do so, or even hint that they might—in any way.  In fact, if you _know_ about anyone who wants to harm her, or even suspect it might happen, you’ll stop it.  The same goes for her daughter.”

“And why in the world would I do that?”

“You’re going to do it because I ask it of you,” Rumplestiltskin replied, his teeth flashing in a vicious imitation of a smile.  “ _Please._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I apologize for the delay—the new job is keeping me very busy. On the bright side, this chapter is extra long (almost 10k!) to make up for the delay. 
> 
> Up next, Chapter 43: “Cards on the Table”, in which Cora realizes Rumplestiltskin is awake, Emma lets Hook talk her into a date, Henry plays matchmaker, and Sidney faces Cora’s wrath. Back in the past, Snow has some wonderful news for Charming.
> 
> Also, check out [True Love Wins Out](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3301481/chapters/7209974) \- a new story that consists of outtakes from the FOTS universe, featuring Gold, Lacey, and Renee.


	43. Cards on the Table

“You’re going to do it because I ask it of you,” Rumplestiltskin replied, his teeth flashing in a vicious imitation of a smile.  “ _Please._ ”

Cora froze.  In fact, she went stark white and just _stared_ at him, her dark eyes calculating furiously.  A second passed, and then two, but no longer.  Then the Evil Queen smiled, the expression slow and almost pleased, even though fury lurked behind its outer layers.  But there were questions there, too.  Rumplestiltskin had just laid his cards on the table, and although Cora’s instincts told her that something had changed, she obviously wasn’t quite sure what.  After all, Gold was sharp enough that he might just have figured out what affect that word had on her, and used it because of that.  He could see her thinking furiously, could see her wondering, and resisting the urge to gloat was hard.

“Did you just say ‘please’?” she asked congenially, cocking her head and reaching for his face once more.  “You _can_ learn manners, it seems.”

“And you never did learn when to quit, did you?” he countered, his voice going up an octave or two as he snatched her wrist in a hard grip.  “Stop while you’re ahead, _Cora_.”

Gold rarely called her that, and certainly not in that tone.  Recognition dawned in her eyes, hard and fast, and much to Rumplestiltskin’s surprise, Cora laughed.  “Rumple,” she said, her eyes suddenly shining.  “You _are_ awake.”

“Very much so,” he confirmed.  The secret was out; he would make use of it.  “And I trust you understand exactly what you _won’t_ be doing, don’t you, dearie?”

“I—” Cora cut off, clearly trying to fight and finding those same tendrils of the curse wrapping around her, bending and forcing her to its will.  She had agreed to put his little caveat in, and thinking herself clever, had added two of her own.  But now their positions were reversed, and Cora suddenly had to find out how binding that promise of hers could be, and Rumplestiltskin could see how much she _hated_ it.

If his nasty grin was a little smug, well, being the Dark One hardly brought with it any small amount of humility.  He needed to make no secret of his contempt for her; he could let it burn into his eyes and come out in every clipped word he spoke.  He had no reason to hide.  Rumplestiltskin had let his claws come out to protect his wife and daughter, had hemmed Cora in with quick, sharp, and careful words, forcing the curse to do his bidding as much as it had ever done hers. 

“I understand,” the mayor finally grated out, her eyes flashing.

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Rumplestiltskin said, allowing the imp inside him a bit of a gleeful wiggle that made it past his usually iron self-control. 

“What _is_ she to you?” Cora asked, her tone still a little full of wonder.  Clearly, she hadn’t expected her old mentor to suddenly be awake, and Rumplestiltskin _wasn’t_ quite sure he was comfortable with how much that obviously pleased her.  “This Lacey French.  I know you enjoy reading, Rumple, but bringing the _librarian_ home is going a bit too far.”

“Not your business,” Rumplestiltskin replied immediately.  He was prepared to let this one secret out to protect his family, but telling Cora that he’d actually _married_ Belle back in the Enchanted Forest would be just waiting for her to try to find a way around the pleases that bound her.  Particularly if she knew Renee was his daughter in the old world.  Best not to give her such temptation.

“I want an answer n—”

“Please,” he cut her off before she could get the rest of ‘now’ out, smiling slightly.  _It’s time you remembered who taught who, dear,_ he didn’t say, but his expression got the point across loud and clear.  “I’d prefer you not ask that question.  Or any like it.”

Cora snarled, the sound a wordless expression of fury that warmed Rumplestiltskin’s dark little heart.  It was nice to let his inner monster out, to stop hiding behind a façade of someone who didn’t know any better and couldn’t help himself.  Rumplestiltskin was no meek victim to be abused, and Cora knew that.  Gold was another matter; he was just a shell.  Gold was a pantomime of a human who happened to live in Rumplestiltskin’s skin (or the one he’d had before becoming the Dark One, anyway).  But Rumplestiltskin was the Dark One, and Cora, of all people, knew exactly what that meant.

What neither of them knew, or at least not for sure, was how long his ‘pleases’ would last.  Rumplestiltskin rather thought that they would hold at least until the curse broke, particularly if he was wise in their employment.  Unlike Cora, his caveat cast a wider net; hers compelled him to physically _act_ in a certain manner, but Rumplestiltskin’s were much more cerebral.  He’d been very particular in what he’d asked of Cora in exchange for the information he sought, and now he was going to reap the benefits of his careful word choice.  He could still see the magic working on her, too, despite Cora’s attempts to shrug it aside.  _At least that keeps Belle and Renee safe,_ Rumplestiltskin thought, ignoring the way his own curse cackled gleefully.  _That’s what is most important._

“I didn’t think you were so foolish as to make an enemy out of me,” his former student purred, coming back on balance.  She pulled her wrist out of his grip, and he let her, folding his hands over his cane and studying her impassively.  Some of Gold’s mannerisms were useful; there were times when quiet menace could be just as threatening as a high-pitched giggle. 

“You actions have created this situation,” Rumplestiltskin reminded her.  “Not mine.”

“Don’t play games with me,” Cora said coolly.  “I am going to assume that you woke up at the same time my darling daughter did, and that means you have known _exactly_ what was going on for some time.  Was it the little ‘Savior’s’ presence that awoke you, too?”

Rumplestiltskin smiled thinly.  “Of course.”  There was no harm in telling her that; Cora had wormed that truth out of Regina some time ago.

“I see.”  Her lips pursed, pressing into a thin line and making her look both older and colder than before.  “And you’ve chosen to side with the little heroes?  How unlike you.”

“Hardly.”  He snorted.  “You should know that I am always on my own side.  And no one else’s.”

That made Cora smile again, but the expression was neither pleased nor amused.  “And not mine.”

“I’m not your toy, dear.”

“Aren’t you?” Cora countered, stepping in close once more, her face suddenly so close to his that their lips were almost touching.  “Let’s test that.  _Tonight._ ”

Shock made him go rigid, his eyes opening wide.  “You—” 

“No pleases, now,” she purred, placing a finger against his lips gently.  Now _her_ smile turned victorious.  “Not tonight.”

She had him.  Still, Rumplestiltskin couldn’t believe that Cora would dare.  He _hadn’t_ expected this, not now, not once she knew he was awake.  He had actually thought that Cora knowing he was awake might change their dynamic, because Gold was _not_ Rumplestiltskin, and they both knew it.  He’d not really thought that Cora would dare hurt the Dark One; he was too dangerous, a fact she knew better than almost anyone.  _You snubbed her once,_ the small voice of memory reminded him.  _She wanted you, and you refused her.  And now she can have her revenge._ They both had long memories, and neither had ever been willing to let an insult go.  They’d been stepped on too many times when they were peasants to stand for it now…a fact Rumplestiltskin should have realized would make Cora lash out at him, no matter _who_ he was.  Knowing her, she’d probably enjoy her revenge all the more now that he understood why she was so angry.

They weren’t so very different.  In a way, the manner of the curse itself was Rumplestiltskin’s revenge upon Cora for breaking his heart; but as always, his revenges took on a far more subtle bent than his old student’s.  His vengeance had been characterized by his patience, as were all of the choices he had made leading up to the curse.  Rumplestiltskin had been willing to wait, willing to sleep inside some merely human persona, while Cora had her fill of boring vengeance upon the world.  He’d even been willing to take the chance that Cora would find a way to make his cursed self miserable.  But this…this he had not quite expected, and Cora clearly read the shock on his face.

“You forget who has the power here,” she said sweetly, her fingers touching his face once more, stroking his cheek gently.  “I will do as I please, and you certainly cannot stop me.  Are you going to try?”

He’d said those last two sentences to her once, so many years ago.  Rumplestiltskin remembered them all too well, and although he’d had an advantage over her then, the tables were now turned.  There was no right answer to her question, either.  Of course he was going to try to stop her—and _succeed_ —but telling Cora that would just invite more pain.

As if tonight wasn’t going to be bad enough.  A cold ball of terror was forming in the pit of Rumplestiltskin’s stomach, and it took all of Gold’s formidable self-control to not show his terror.

“Don’t ask questions to which you don’t want to know the answers,” he replied, his voice low and dangerous.  He would be damned if he’d let her know how frightened he was.

Perhaps his assumption that their dynamic would change had just been wishful thinking.  Perhaps he’d told himself that so that he _wasn’t_ too afraid to drop the pretense of being cursed and do what he needed to in order to protect his family.  Maybe his fear would have kept him silent if he’d realized that Cora would still hurt him, and that she’d probably be worse than ever before.  _Is that even possible?_   Rumplestiltskin was certain that he would find out tonight.  No matter how little he wanted to know. 

Cora smiled at him one more time and then sauntered out, her motions that of a woman who had everything she could possibly want, and was about to enjoy herself immensely.  Rumplestiltskin stood in silence for a long while, staring at the glass countertop and trying to contain his racing heart.  Eventually, he managed, willing his hands to stop shaking and fighting back the urge to run home to Belle that instant.  There was nothing that could be done about it, and at least his courage had lasted long enough to protect his wife and child.  That had to count for something.

Even a coward, after all, could risk everything to protect those he loved.

* * *

 

The next evening, Killian finally convinced Emma Swan to join him for dinner.  He’d waited over a week after she asked him about the Basement and he’d reluctantly answered, and then invited her to join him at the ‘new’ Italian restaurant open down by the docks.  Of course, Kilian knew that the place had been open for most of the last twenty-eight years, but everyone in town was convinced that it was only a few months old, which made reservations hard to come by.  He was quite certain that Emma had never eaten there, and given that he really did like the lass, he thought he should give her a bit of a treat on their first date.

When she arrived wearing a nice red dress, Killian knew that he’d been right.  She was downright gorgeous, and just looking at her was enough to send all thoughts of other women out of _any_ man’s mind.  Of course, he was still wary of her relationship with the former sheriff—who he had seen her talking to just two days earlier, even if the conversation had appeared to be awkward and uncomfortable for both of them—but Killian knew that his own charms should be up to seducing her.  That, of course, was still what Cora wanted, although the pirate wasn’t quite sure _why_ she wanted him to seduce and bed the Savior.  Now that they both knew what Emma Swan was, what was the point?  _Ours is not to reason why,_ he thought, mentally quoting a fascinating poem from this world.  Cora had been insistent, and he was indeed her ally, so he would do as he was told.

Just like he’d told her that Emma was investigating the Basement, despite Killian’s desires to the contrary. He knew which side his bread was buttered on, and telling the mayor that the sheriff was looking into a local establishment was hardly betraying anyone, was it?  He was just doing his civic duty, and he was sure that Emma would get around to telling Cora about it at some point.  _Such as after she’s arrested someone,_ he knew, but Killian pushed that thought out of his mind and forced a smile on in its place.

“What was that, love?” he asked, having missed what Emma said.  _Some seducer you make.  Try_ not _to ignore the lovely lass in front of you, Killian!_

Emma gave him a bit of an exasperated look.  “I said that I’m not sure why any author would stick around in a town like this one.  August keeps saying that it’s for inspiration, but I’m not sure what is inspiring.  Particularly since he says that he writes books on travel.”

“Well, this _is_ a picturesque little town.  Perhaps he wants to write a book on Storybrooke?” Killian asked with a shrug.

_Or perhaps Cora has gotten her claws into him, too.  I wouldn’t put it past her._

“I doubt it.  Don’t you people all say that no one ever visits Storybrooke?”

“Fair point.”  But Killian wasn’t there to talk about some random author, even if the fool _had_ to originally be from the Enchanted Forest.  If there was one thing that Killian Jones had learned in all his years as a pirate, it was that portals between other worlds tended to crop up at the most inconvenient moments, which meant that this August W. Booth was undoubtedly from their land.  Or one very like it, anyway.  How he’d gotten there was a mystery, but it wasn’t Killian’s job to figure that one out.  “Still, you seem to like our fair town well enough,” he continued, changing the subject.  “Or at least well enough to stay.”

“I’m staying for Henry,” Emma replied immediately, looking a bit defensive.

“I think that’s very good of you,” he said honestly.  “The lad seems like he’s taken quite a shine to you.”

She shrugged self-consciously, her voice going quiet.  “I’m not always sure why.  I…I gave him up.  He should hate me for that.”

“You gave him up for a good reason,” Killian countered, reaching out to take her hand.  Emma evaded his attempt, however, and he didn’t try twice.  Obviously, she still needed her space.  “I think the boy knows that.”

“It doesn’t make it right.  I—”

The ringing of Emma’s cell phone—an interesting device if there ever was one, and dead useful most of the time—interrupted her, and Killian bit back the urge to throw the offending phone out the window.  He’d finally gotten her talking about something that mattered, and he knew enough to know that Emma Swan hid behind a hundred different walls, each higher than the last.  The only way to breach those defenses was to convince her to let him in, and he had a feeling that the way to do that was via the son she had obviously come to love.  In some ways, his efforts made him feel guilty.  After all, he _was_ trying to seduce the sheriff because Cora had told him to, but Killian also liked her.  And he was a damn sight safer than anyone _else_ Cora might have given the task to, with the exception of Graham.

Of course, Graham was slightly handicapped at the moment, which was probably why Killian had wound up with the job.  _Or maybe Graham’s accident occurred specifically_ because _he was proving difficult in regards to Emma._ There was a lesson in that, Killian was sure, and it wasn’t one he hankered to learn himself.

“Swan,” Emma answered the phone briskly, clearly having recognized the number calling.  Quickly, however, the smile drained off of her face and she sat up very straight in her chair.  “ _What_ did you say?  Where?  Okay, don’t touch anything, and I’ll be right there.”

Emma stood, and Killian reflexively did the same.  Back when he’d been young, a gentleman always rose when a lady joined or departed the table, and being in the Land Without Magic did not mean he should lose his manners.  “Is something wrong, love?”

“Yeah,” she replied slowly, staring at the phone even though she’d just hung it up.  “Sidney Glass was just found dead.  It…it looks like he committed suicide.”

“Whatever would he do that for?” Killian asked, after waiting the proper amount of time to convey shock and dismay.  He had to be very careful now; he hadn’t expected Emma to get this news when he was out with her, and their sheriff was as clever as she was beautiful.  She would notice if he slipped.

“I don’t know.  I’ve got to go—I’m sorry about dinner, but I’ve got to go.”

“Of course,” he said, giving her an understanding smile.  “Can I help at all?”

Taking one last look at Glass’ apartment would not go amiss, after all.  Killian knew that all of the reporter’s records and audiotapes (that could be found, anyway) had been destroyed, but it would not hurt to check one more time.  However, Emma shook her head.

“Sorry, but no.  I’ll talk to you later.”

She strode out quickly, leaving Killian to tell the waiter that no, they really didn’t need their dinner orders, and no, the sheriff wasn’t going to come back.  He ended up leaving a rather large tip to keep the manager happy, and that left the pirate in a rather foul mood.  Or maybe it was the fact that he’d just managed to quite thoroughly impede his own efforts to seduce Emma Swan.  _So much for this date,_ Killian thought, and then shrugged.  At least he knew where he could find some companionship for the evening, so he flipped open his own phone and dialed a number from memory.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Regina was busy trying to contain her son’s enthusiasm.  David was out with Mary Margaret, which was certainly good news all around.  However, they were _trying_ to keep their relationship mostly secret, but the rambunctious ten year old she’d adopted had a very hard time wrapping his mind around that.  “But if it’s True Love, Mom, it’s _right_ ,” Henry argued for the fifteenth time.  “People only think it’s wrong because they’re cursed.”

“You might be right, but David and Mary Margaret still have to live in this town,” she pointed out, brushing hair out of Henry’s eyes.  “And letting news of their…affair get out only makes it harder on them.  Particularly Mary Margaret.”

“Because she works at Granny’s?”

Regina smiled; Henry really was very bright, and she was always happy to see him use his mind like this.  “Her having such a public job _does_ tend to complicate things.”

“It’s hard for you, isn’t it?” Henry asked suddenly.  “You two are sisters, but she doesn’t know it.  And I know you’re trying to protect her.”

“That’s what family does,” she replied softly, wrapping an arm around her son and thinking of the time she’d failed to protect him…and all the times she’d failed to protect Daniel.  Snow and David might go on and on about always _finding_ one another, but to Regina, the most important thing family did was protect one another.  No matter what.

Henry gave her a blazing smile.  “Then you should invite Errol over.  I mean, Mr. Forrester.”

“ _What?_ ”

“And Mary Margaret.  Invite Emma, too, ‘cause she can hang out with me,” the ten year old conspirator said.  “Then you can say that you’re inviting Emma over because she’s my birth mom, and she brought Mary Margaret because they’re roommates.  But you, Dad, and Emma _really_ want to thank Errol for saving me from the fire, so you invited him, too.”

“That is so twisted that no one will believe it,” she managed to say after a moment, trying to follow Henry’s logic.

Her son just shrugged.  “They’re cursed.  They’ll believe almost anything if you say it loud enough.”

“I’m not quite sure what to say to that,” Regina admitted, turning the idea over in her mind.  “But…it just might work.  Or everyone will think we’re crazy.”

 _But no one will think it’s a cover for two different affairs, at least,_ Regina thought. She and Errol had managed to go out to dinner just once, when Regina had been certain that Cora was otherwise occupied.  That had been the best evening she’d had in a lifetime, and she burned to go out with him again…except for the fact that she was terrified her mother would notice.  Henry’s idea, although twisted, unorthodox, and downright silly, had merit in that respect.  If she invited Errol over with a group of people, Cora would never suspect.

“Great!  Can we do it tomorrow?”

“Oh, why not?” Regina asked rhetorically, and then hugged her son tightly.  Henry just hugged her back, as understanding as always.

* * *

 

Sidney Glass had hanged himself several days earlier, and he hadn’t even left a note.  Knowing what Emma did about the reporter, she found a suicide very hard to believe—he’d just turned his life around, was actually doing well, and now _this_?  She hadn’t heard from him in a few days, maybe even a week, but Emma hadn’t seen any signs that he wanted to hurt himself.  There’d been no indication that she’d walk into his apartment to find his body swinging limply from the rafters.  In fact, Sidney had seemed quite happy the last few times she’d talked to him, deep on the trail of what had happened to Victoria Scadlock and the—

 _Well, damn.  It keeps coming back to that Basement, doesn’t it?_   Emma thought disgustedly, and then turned to face the man who had discovered the body.

“What were you doing here again?” she asked.

“I own the apartment,” Gold replied with a stiff shrug.  “Mr. Glass’ rent was due three days ago, and he’d not yet paid.  So, I thought I would pay him a visit.  When no one answered, and I noticed the smell, I unlocked the door and came in.  Then I called you.”

“You didn’t touch anything?” Emma had to add.

He gave her a look that said she was an absolute idiot.  “Of course not.  Unless you count the doorknob, and perhaps the door itself.”

“Of course.”  Sighing, the sheriff looked back up at poor Sidney’s bloated body, wondering if her suspicions were right.  Finally, she turned to the paramedics, also called by Gold.  _For all the good they’ll do._ “Go ahead and take him down.  We’ve got all the pictures we need.”

At least her new (or newly reinstated) deputy, Gary Rathbone, was good for that.  He seemed to have a talent with a camera, and had done his job with a minimum of complaining.  In that respect, he was worlds better than Keith, even if the two did seem to be drinking buddies.  Gary _did_ seem to be Keith’s type of jerk, though Emma was trying to give him a fair chance.  Even if he did look more like a criminal than a cop, with long stringy hair and a permanently etched-on sneer.  Now, she glanced his way again.

“You start collecting evidence, and I’ll talk to Mr. Gold,” she told Gary, who just shrugged.

“Not much here.  Place looks pretty clean for a reporter.”

Unfortunately, Gary did seem to be as lazy as Keith, so Emma glared.  “Just see what you can find, okay?”

He rolled his eyes.  “Sure.”

Resisting the urge to snap at him, Emma gestured Gold out of the smelly apartment, not needing to watch as the paramedics carefully lowered Sidney to the floor.  She supposed she should feel more than numb, that she should grieve for a man who had been something of a friend, but Emma was too angry for that.  She _knew_ that there was more to this situation than met the eye, and that meant that she needed to talk to Gold.  There was no way that Sidney had committed suicide, not like this, and Gold was more likely to have information than not.  So, the pair excited the apartment together, walking down the hall and out the far door—Sidney had lived on the first floor—and into the crisp winter evening.

Shivering, Emma wrapped her red leather jacket more tightly around herself before turning to face the pawnbroker.  Her dress really wasn’t made for weathering temperatures like this, and she was glad that she had the jacket in the car.  Gold, on the other hand, was clad in a warm looking black overcoat, one that—predictably—matched his suit entirely.  Gold was probably the only man Emma had ever met who could report a suicide (or a murder) without blinking an eye or getting a hair out of place, but it was his brains that Emma was interested in at the moment.  Not his morality, or lack thereof.  He was sharp, Gold was, almost frighteningly so.  Emma didn’t know him well, and didn’t trust him worth a damn, but he didn’t seem to be on Cora’s side, so she could depend upon that, at least.  _Since when am I treating this town like some kind of battlefield?  Henry and Regina must be rubbing off on me._

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” Gold asked, looking bored.

Emma took one glance around at the apartment building’s empty courtyard, and then decided to go for broke.  “Sidney was looking into the Basement for me,” she replied.  “Do you think that might have led to his death?”

“What, you think that Mr. Glass didn’t commit suicide?” the slender man asked factitiously, and then quirked a cold smile.  “There’s hope for you yet.”

“I don’t have time for games, Gold,” Emma snapped.  “Just answer the damn question.”

He shrugged.  “I have no idea.  As I told you, I’ve never been involved in Madam Merryweather’s exclusive little club.  I’m afraid that I’m just not interested in those sort of…depravities.”

There was something in his voice there, an odd note that Emma couldn’t place.  And when she studied him, she noticed something slightly off in his movements, something stiff or sore.  It wasn’t her business what was the matter with the most powerful man in town, but Emma’s instincts were telling her that something was wrong.  Perhaps, had the situation been different, she might even have asked him.  But she was too focused on Sidney, the Basement, and what this sudden death meant.  There would be time for everything later, she told herself.  Not that Gold would tell her.

“But plenty of other people are,” she said flatly.  Yet she still didn’t have any way to tie Cora to the Basement, did she?  And Emma couldn’t think of anyone else in the town would stoop to murder to stop someone from uncovering information.  _You’ve got no evidence that Cora would, either,_ she reminded herself.  _Just Regina’s assumption that her mother was behind the fire._  

“I suppose they are.  But why are you talking to me about it?”

“Because you know something!” Emma burst out before she could stop herself, annoyed and grieving.  “Convenient accidents just seem to stack up in this town.  First, Graham drives his car into a building for no apparent reason.  Then the library lights on fire from _six_ different places at once, but no one can prove anything.  And now Sidney has supposedly committed suicide.”

“You don’t actually believe that, do you, dear?” Gold asked, his brown eyes suddenly intent.  “So why not call it what it is?”

“Because I’m a cop,” she snapped.  “It’s my _job._   People are innocent until proven guilty.”

Gold actually snorted. “Do you actually believe that applies in this town?  Perhaps you are not as intelligent as I had hoped.”

“What, when you set me up to run for sheriff?” she countered, bristling, and then suddenly a thought occurred to her.  This man knew _everything_ in this town, didn’t he?  Emma felt her eyes widening.  “ _You_ sent me that text, didn’t you?  The one that told me about the asylum?”

“You received a text?  I never heard anyone say anything about that.”  The man managed to look admirably innocent and all-knowing at the same time. 

“You did,” Emma breathed, and suddenly everything started to fall into place.  Gold had made sure she could become sheriff, first by putting her on the right track, and then by enabling her to make a splashy rescue of six innocent people.  “But why?”

“Oh, I have my reasons,” he replied with a thin smile, not even bothering to deny it any longer.  His eyes met hers once more, cool and focused enough to send another chill down Emma’s spine.  “You’re not the only one who dislikes the mayor’s abuse of power, dearie.”

“That’s funny, because the two of you seem to be _great_ friends,” she shot back, confused and not liking the feeling at all.

“Do we?” the pawnbroker countered easily, and then shrugged once more.  “Is that all, Sheriff? I’m afraid that I have somewhere to be this evening.”

“Yeah, that’s all.”  Emma scowled.  She couldn’t _force_ him to answer her questions, after all, and he didn’t seem to actually know anything useful about the death she was investigating.  But she could get in a parting shot.  “Give my best to Lacey.”

Gold had already started to turn away, but Emma saw him twitch when she said that.  What the twitch meant, she couldn’t say, but at least it was a reaction from an otherwise impenetrable man.  That had to count for something…even if not much.  Sighing, Emma just added Gold to the list of things that weren’t right about Storybrooke, and trudged back inside to see what Gary had found.

Of course, the fact that Gary had been checking to make sure there was no evidence left behind didn’t occur to her until later.  All Emma knew—right now—was that he was a jerk and a sleaze ball of a slightly better degree than Keith Law.  She didn’t realize how deeply in Cora’s pocket he already was.

* * *

 

_1 Year, 8 Months Before the Curse_

They’d been married for a little less than four months, and Snow had never expected to have this news so early.  She’d suspected, however, starting about a month earlier, and had spoken to a midwife—secretly, of course, because rumors traveled faster than the wind in a royal castle like this—to make sure.  But the midwife had confirmed her suspicions just that morning, so she rushed out to find David. 

 _James,_ she told herself firmly, knowing that she had to call her husband by the name the entire kingdom thought was his. Snow still didn’t understand why George refused to admit that his second son had replaced the first, but it was his choice.  The kingdom was prosperous and relatively happy, or as happy as a kingdom at war with Cora could be.  But they were _winning_ that war now, which was what had brought Snow and Charming back to the castle for a few short weeks, long enough for her to see a midwife without an entire army camp knowing.  George had remained in the castle and off of the battlefield, giving his son and heir the ability to shine without him, and if he was unhappy to find that his daughter-in-law also spent time on the battlefield, well, that was his problem.  Snow was never going to be some stay at home queen, and George finally seemed to begrudgingly accept that.

“Charming!” she called, finding him out on the practice field, sparring with a trio of guards.  Normally, Snow would have joined him, but she’d begged off due to not feeling well.  She had been feeling sick in the mornings for the last two weeks, which was what had sent her to the midwife.  Now, at least she knew why.

Her husband turned to her with a smile, his face lighting up when he saw her.  Snow couldn’t help the way her heart beat a little faster, too; she was so lucky to have found a prince whom she could love the way she loved him. Every moment she spent with Charming was a treasure, and Snow would never allow herself to forget that.  He was her perfect match, a man who was her equal in every way and complimented her strengths with his own.  She’d never expected to find a marriage like this, because princesses didn’t find True Love.  Princesses married where they were told to marry, and usually ended up with princes like the original James had been: conceited, arrogant, and entirely too full of themselves.

“Feeling better?” Charming asked jovially.  The guards stepped back to give them space, lowering their practice weapons as Snow approached. 

“I am, yes,” she replied, feeling her heart flutter excitedly.

“Want to go a round or two with me?” he offered, holding out the sparring sword in his hand.

Normally, that was an offer that Snow would jump on; she wasn’t some weak-willed princess who was afraid to get in a fight.  Their time on the road, saving and being saved by one another, had taught them both that, but today she just shook her head.  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Concern creased his brow.  “Are you sure you’re feeling better?”

“I am,” she replied, biting her lip to try to hold her grin inside.  After a moment, she gave up, reaching out to place Charming’s free hand on her still-flat belly.  “It’s just that someone else might not appreciate being along for the ride.”

“What are you…wait a minute!” The words seemed to burst out of him, and Charming looked down at where Snow held his hand against her stomach, his eyes going wide.  “Are you saying that—?”

“I’m pregnant,” Snow confirmed, and watched his face light up.  “You’re going to be a father.”

For a long moment, it looked like Charming had no idea what to say, then he let out a whoop of joy and grabbed Snow, swinging her around in the air as they both laughed.  “I’m going to be a father,” he breathed, still holding her.  Snow wrapped her arms around his neck, beaming, as he continued:  “Already?  I mean, not that I’m not happy, but…”

“I’m about ten weeks along,” she replied.  “The midwife confirmed it this morning.”

“That’s…that’s beyond wonderful.  I don’t know what to say.”

“How about you just kiss me?” Snow replied, and Charming did so with enthusiasm.  Somewhere in there, her feet finally found the ground again, and she just leaned into him, feeling safe and content in her husband’s arms. 

They were still at war, and they’d have to tell George soon, but for that moment, the only thing that mattered was the two of them and the child who was growing inside her.   Snow knew that they would win, that they would free her father’s kingdom from Cora’s evil grasp.  Someday, the child who their love had created would eventually inherit both kingdoms, and she thought that was something of which her father would be proud.  _I miss you, Papa,_ she thought glancing up at the sky.  _But I think you’d be happy for us, and I will do my best to honor your legacy._

“Do you know if it’s going to be a boy or a girl?  Could the midwife tell?” Charming asked after several moments of blissful silence.

Snow nodded, leaning back to look him in the eyes.  “She has a little magic, and she said we’re going to have a son.”

“A son?”  He looked ready to be knocked over with a feather, and reached down to touch her stomach again.  His touch made Snow shiver delightfully, and her smile grew so much that it made her face hurt.

“I hope he looks like you,” she said.

“Let’s name him for your father,” her husband replied immediately, and now it was Snow’s turn to gape in shock.  She’d wanted to bring that up, desperately, but she hadn’t been sure if George would insist upon some name traditional in this kingdom, or if David would want something else.

“You want to do that?” she whispered.

“Of course I do.”  Charming kissed her again, and then dropped down to one knee at her feet to speak to her belly.  “Do you hear that, little Leo?  You’re going to be named after your grandfather, no matter what anyone else says.”

Snow wasn’t sure it was possible to love anyone more than she loved her husband in that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much for all the awesome feedback on the last chapter! It’s motivated me to start writing FOTS again after a long while playing with other stories. And now here’s my questions for you: do you think Cora’s conduct towards Rumplestiltskin will change now that she knows? And what do you think will happen to Snow and Charmings’ son? (Who is obviously not Emma). 
> 
> Up next, Chapter 44: “Blackmail and Broken Hearts”, where Henry’s dinner party is held, Hook tries to wiggle out of Cora’s grasp, Cora blackmails someone new into serving her, and then Hook goes to visit Gold. Back in the past, Snow and Charming share the good news, Hook and Milah discuss Baelfire, Regina makes a hard choice, and tragedy strikes.
> 
> Also, check out [True Love Wins Out](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3301481) \- a new story that consists of outtakes from the FOTS universe, featuring Gold, Lacey, and Renee.


	44. Blackmail and Broken Hearts

_1 Year, 8 Months Before the Curse_

“We’ll celebrate the good news, of course,” George said once the happy couple told him Snow was expecting, but Snow could see the smile lurking behind the king’s hard eyes.  She might never _like_ her father-in-law, but she respected him, and he’d done right by her when Cora had tried to label her a traitoress and a murderer.

“Of course, Father,” Charming replied, but Snow could still seem him glowing.  He was almost as proud as she was, and they hadn’t let go of one another’s hands since they’d walked into George’s council chamber.

“Do you know the child’s gender yet?” the king asked next, and Snow glanced at her husband.  She had told George the news of her pregnancy; now it was Charming’s turn.

“Yes.  We plan to name him Leopold, after Snow’s father,” her prince replied in a tone that invited no argument, even from his father and king.

Surprisingly, George nodded.  “Excellent on both counts.  Naming him for the late king will further undermine Cora’s authority, and it is a good thing for you to have an heir this early.  It will silence opposition faster than any army can.”

“We’re glad to be of service,” Snow said, her tone perhaps a little more sarcastic than warranted, but there were times that her father-in-law could be _far_ too cold blooded for her taste.  However, George seemed to sense that, and he stepped forward to take Snow’s free hand, much to her surprise.

“You are a welcome addition to our family, daughter,” he said with more compassion than she would usually have given him credit for.  “I think my late wife would have loved you dearly.”

Snow blinked; she knew enough about George to know that was the highest praise he could offer, and she found herself swallowing back sudden emotion.  “Thank you,” she whispered.

Perhaps she’d misjudged him.  George was a hard man, to be sure, but he valued family, and for the first time, Snow felt like he valued _her_.  This wasn’t the home she had grown up in, this wasn’t her kingdom, and she still had plenty of battles to fight, but for the first time, she felt like she truly belonged.

* * *

 

Regina knew she was insane, but somehow dinner had gone better than she expected.  When Henry had suggested this, she’d thought that everything that could possibly go wrong _would_ go wrong, but in the end, her son’s idea had been brilliant.  Firstly, she got the opportunity to actually _talk_ to her sister again—even if she was ‘just’ Mary Margaret right now, Regina could see the real Snow starting to shine through more and more.  And secondly, she got to spend some more time with Errol Forrester.  _Robin of Locksley,_ she thought, turning the name over in her mind.  Now that she knew who he was, she’d looked him up in Henry’s book, and found a tragic story of a noble turned thief turned heroic outlaw, a man who had loved and lost and still found the strength to go on.  His story was different from hers; Regina had lost her battles where Robin had won his, but they had both lost their True Loves.

_And the same person is to blame for both of our loses,_ she thought, feeling cold.  How would _Robin_ feel about her when he woke up?  Her mother had killed his wife, had left her in a cell to rot next to him until Graham had let him go.  Regina couldn’t think of anything worse than watching your True Love die, and she wondered if Robin would still feel the same gaping loss that she did when he remembered who he was.  Would he hate her for it, for being the daughter of the Evil Queen?  Regina had nothing to do with Marian’s death, but that might not matter.

Yet she was still drawn to him.  Desperately so.  The more Regina got to know Errol Forrester, the more deeply she fell for him, despite her best efforts not to.  She knew that she shouldn’t get in a relationship with a man who was under the curse—the one relationship she _was_ unwittingly in was proof of that—but she couldn’t help herself.  Regina loved Henry with all of her heart, but she was tired of being alone.  And the fact that Errol was clearly as drawn to her as she was to him didn’t help matters.  Had life been normal, had he his memories, Regina would have had a very hard time convincing herself that she should hesitate at all, and then only Cora’s wrath would have worried her.  As things stood, however…

“Is something wrong?” Errol asked her quietly, coming into the kitchen where Regina had escaped to do the dishes.  She’d refused both Mary Margaret’s and Emma’s offers to help her, and was pretty sure that Emma had already been dragged off to Henry’s room to look at the Book or to play a video game.  Mary Margaret and David were talking quietly on the couch, trying too hard not to touch one another, but now Errol had come in and picked up a bowl to dry like he’d always been by her side.

“Should something be?” Regina countered, swallowing back her doubts.

“You seemed quiet towards the end of dinner.  Nothing like the bold woman I’ve come to admire.”

“You’re the bold one.  You walked into a fire,” she said, but a smile tugged at her lips.  Regina _wanted_ to be bold, but she was frightened for her child, for her niece, and for the rest of her family.  Her mother had been abnormally quiet lately, which meant Cora was planning something, and Regina was terrified that it would hurt Henry once more.

“That might be, but that’s my job.  I seem to recall _you_ asking _me_ out,” Errol countered, placing the bowl on the counter and shifting closer to her.  Unable to help herself, Regina shut the water off and turned to face him fully, drawn to him like a magnet.

She’d only felt this way once before.  Was it love, or was it something more?

“Perhaps you’ll return the favor someday,” she replied, feeling a little bit breathless.

He quirked an eyebrow.  “Do you want me to?”

“I know it’s complicated,” Regina said quickly, his question throwing ice water on her quickly beating heart.  _Of course he doesn’t want to get involved with this.  One affair in a marriage is enough, and I’ve foolishly shown that to him by inviting him and Mary Margaret over at the same time._   “I wish it wasn’t, but—”

Errol kissed her, and all doubts vanished from Regina’s mind as her arms wrapped around him, and for the first time in decades, she no longer felt alone.

* * *

 

The damn woman was avoiding him, so Hook showed up at her house to make his point.  He _would_ have much preferred to have this conversation in the mayor’s office, but if Cora was going to be difficult, he was more than willing to chase her down.  Even if that meant going straight into the witch’s lair. 

Of course, Cora smiled when she opened the door.  “Captain.  It’s so good to see you.  Won’t you come in?”

“Gladly,” Killian half-snarled, disliking the calculating look that was already in her eyes.  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Just dinner with a…friend,” she purred, closing the door behind him.  Killian didn’t miss the subtle warning in those words, but he had already decided on this course of action, and he wasn’t going to let her divert him now. 

“Then I won’t take up much of your time, love,” he answered, glancing around to make sure that this _friend_ of hers—and Killian so did not want to know who it was, and if they were there willingly or not—wasn’t in earshot.  When he couldn’t spot anyone, he continued: “I understand the investigation into Sidney Glass’ death has proven predictably difficult.”

Cora shrugged.  “There seems to be a dearth of evidence.  Our poor sheriff is dreadfully unhappy.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” Killian replied, even though he’d wanted to be sure.   Gary Rathbone had dropped by when Killian had been in the Rabbit Hole to assure him of that, but the pirate wasn’t one to take him at his word.  Rathbone had been Nottingham’s flunky in their old world, and not terribly bright there, either.  He preferred to have Cora’s assurances, instead.

“Then why are you here, dear?  I do warn you that my patience is limited.”  Her tone never changed, but there was still something very dangerous in her stance, something that warned him that crossing her was a bad idea.

Too bad.  Killian was about to do that, anyway.

“I’m done playing your games for you,” he said bluntly.  “I did your bidding with Glass, and now I am done.  I’ll remain your ally, and willingly, but find someone else to do your dirty work.”

“And here I thought you had a vested interest in not allowing Sidney’s little recordings to see the light of day,” Cora replied, her slight smile still in place and laughing softly.  “Are you _objecting_ to your role in his death?”

“What role?  You already said nothing can be proved, love.”

Cora’s smile turned nasty as her eyes flashed.  “That’s assuming that Sidney’s apartment didn’t have security cameras.  Cameras that happened to show you… _helping_ our dear little genie hang himself.”

“ _What_?” The word came out before he could stop it, and Killian hated the way his jaw was hanging open.  None of those apartments were supposed to have those kind of security features—

“Of course, the cameras have been removed, and the tapes are securely in my keeping,” the mayor purred, looking very satisfied. 

_As well she should be.  She has me up on the rocks._ Knowing Cora, she’d had the damn cameras installed prior to telling him to kill Glass, but there was nothing Killian could do about that now.  He had to swallow a few times before the words would come out.  “People will ask questions about why you have those tapes.”

“Who says that _I_ would discover their existence?  Do give me a little bit of credit, Captain.”

Killian was trapped.  Utterly trapped.  “What do you want?”

“Your continued cooperation, of course,” Cora replied, folding her hands demurely.  “But don’t worry.  I’ll sweeten the pot.  I understand you’re growing quite fond of our dear Miss Swan.”

“She’s an attractive woman, and a challenge,” the pirate replied cautiously.  Whatever feelings might be stirring in his heart were certainly none of Cora’s business, particularly since he’d yet to figure them out himself.  Yes, he was attracted to Emma Swan, but he also had memories of another woman who he might just love, someone who was stuck somewhere terrible and he’d never done anything to help.  Killian supposed that was very in character for a pirate, but he’d always wanted to be better than that, and every time he thought of Mirabelle, he just felt guilty.

It was easier to bury himself in this growing attraction to Emma Swan and forget about the blonde stuck in the Basement.

“Well, then I will make your challenge easier.  Graham is going to check himself into the hospital for full time care, and he’ll have no time for any romantic relationships,” the queen told him.  “Will that make your task easier and your life more pleasant?”

“Yes,” he said grudgingly.

“Then I’m glad we’re in agreement,” she declared, still smiling. 

“Indeed we are,” Killian growled.  He wasn’t sure who he hated more at the moment: Cora or himself.  But he knew that he felt dirty, tainted, and _evil_.  None of which were feelings he enjoyed.

“Good night, Captain,” Cora said congenially, and Killian was suddenly very ready to go.  He turned to leave, but not before he noticed a slender figure framed in the hallway leading towards the dining room. 

Gold met his eyes impassively, but Killian suddenly found himself wondering how much the demon-cursed-into-a-man had heard.  Whatever it was, it wasn’t good…and Killian would have to deal with it.  Soon.

* * *

 

_1 Year, 6 Months Before the Curse_

It had seemed like the entire kingdom turned out to celebrate the announcement of Snow’s pregnancy.  Coupled with the news that their armies were one offensive away from winning the war, everyone was in a great mood.  David had just returned from the front—a place that George would not hear of Snow accompanying him, not while she carried the heir to two kingdoms in her belly—the day before the feast, and he had been very glad to see his wife after an absence of two months.  Snow’s pregnancy was just now beginning to show, but she had glowed throughout the celebration, accepting congratulations graciously like the true princess she was.  David often wished that he possessed half the natural grace and royal bearing that Snow did, but they were doing pretty well.  All in all, even George was pleased, and if the crowds he was watching from the balcony were any indication—

“ _Charming!_ ”

Snow’s scream rocketed him into motion, and David burst through the doors into their chambers almost before he realized he was moving.  His wife had gone in to lie down earlier, given how much little Leo was sapping energy out of her these days, and David had thought she was asleep.  Now, however, Snow was sitting up, clutching at the bed coverings in terror, her face as white as the sheets.

Except the sheets _weren’t_ white.  They were already stained in dark, red blood.

* * *

 

The morning after going to Cora’s home, Killian attacked his problem head-on.  Up earlier than usual, he was the first person inside the crocodile’s pawnshop, waiting just a few minutes after Gold flipped the sign to ‘open’.  He could hear voices from the back when he stepped through the door, and assumed the other party was the tall jack-of-all-trades that Gold employed.  He’d seen Dove carrying boxes into the back room a few minutes earlier, but everyone in town knew that Gold’s henchman did nothing without his master’s say-so, which generally meant he was easy to ignore.  Still, Killian waited patiently enough while he heard the conversation stop, the back door open and then close again.  _Then_ he noisily cleared his throat, not liking the idea of being shut up even with the cursed crocodile and wanting to get this over with.

Gold came out of the back, limping like the old coward used to, his face politely attentive.  _Good.  If he was wearing that manic grin, I would probably kill him here and now, despite what our good queen desires._

“Can I help you, dear?” the pawnbroker asked coolly, looking for all the world like this was a business transaction he’d expected to take place.  Then again, he _was_ cursed, so maybe he thought this was nothing out of the ordinary.

“I thought it was time we had a chat…Mr. Gold,” the pirate replied, not hiding the growl that automatically crept into his voice.  Just talking to the man was enough to set him on edge, which was why Killian usually avoided him.  “About yesterday evening, and what you might have mistakenly heard.”

The slender man folded his hands calmly on the counter.  “Ah, the conversation in which you all but admitted to killing Sidney Glass for our dear mayor.”

Cora could keep him silent, couldn’t she?  Between the curse and her ‘relationship’ with Gold, she should have a damn good chance of doing so…but Killian couldn’t afford to count on that.  Not when it was his life and his freedom on the line.

“I was thinking you might have misinterpreted something like that,” Killian said threateningly, leaning over the counter to bring his face close to Gold’s.  “If you catch my drift, mate.”

Gold just smiled.  “My dear Captain, I misheard nothing of the sort,” he replied with an easy shrug, and there was something in his eyes that Killian didn’t like.  “Although your secret certainly puts you in a precarious position.  I understand that murder might put a cramp in your growing relationship with the lovely sheriff, and we can’t have that, now, can we?”

The desire to reach across the counter to strangle Gold then and there was almost overwhelming, but would the demon actually _die_?  Killian understood that one needed a certain dagger to slay the monster, but did that matter here?  Either Gold was human now or only _appeared_ to be human.  He wasn’t sure which, and Cora had been maddeningly unhelpful all the times Killian had pressed that topic.  Still, even the crocodile had once been a man whom Killian could intimidate, and that meant that his cursed alter ego should be the same way.  Didn’t it?  Applying the right pressure should make Gold crack, despite his fearsome reputation.

“You want to make an enemy of me, Gold,” he snarled, reaching out to grasp the smaller man by the lapels of his jacket and yanking forward hard.  Killian did succeed in pulling Gold off balance, but the monster’s arrogant expression never flickered.

“I think we’re a bit beyond that, don’t you?” the pawnbroker countered, reaching up calmly to peel Killian’s hands free.  His smile was thin as he smoothed his suit back out, clearly taking his time and not caring how irritated it made the pirate.  “As I was saying, my silence is always available.  For a price.”

“There always is with you,” Killian spat, but alarms were ringing in his head.  There was something about Gold’s posture, something in his eyes—

“I should think you’d learned that _years_ ago, dearie,” Gold replied, his voice slightly  higher pitched than before, and suddenly the pieces fell into place.

“Crocodile,” he hissed, his heart clenching so hard from fury that he felt like it might burst.  “You’re _awake_.”

“A gold star to the pirate,” Rumplestiltskin said, his right hand flicking up in a flourish that Killian remembered far too well.  It made him see red, made him want to do murder then and there despite his agreement with Cora.  And maybe he would.  What could she do to him?  She still needed him to help manage the Savior, and Killian had already seen the worst Cora had to offer, hadn’t he?  He could kill the crocodile now, avenge Milah, and then he could finally  move on with his life.

Too bad he wasn’t armed.  The old coward’s face would look splendid with a bullet between the eyes.

Then again, throttling the demon with his bare hands would be far more satisfying. 

“Before you start thinking of satisfying your quaint little quest for revenge,” Rumplestiltskin said, his soft voice lifting ever so slightly, a contrast with Gold’s normal tones, yet not quite the demon’s old mannerisms, “You might want to consider that I am _not_ some helpless fool in this world.  All things come at a price, even vengeance.”

“It’s one I’m willing to pay,” Killian snarled, heading around the counter.  His hands—even the one he was fairly certain was not his own original hand—were itching to feel the demon’s throat beneath his fingers, itching to strangle the life out of his eyes.  Rumplestiltskin might be clever, even in this form, but he was a wry, thin man, crippled like the coward he’d been before.  Killian could overcome him easily, so why wasn’t the man backing away?

Too late, Killian realized that the coward _should_ be trying to run away like he had before, but by then he was within reach of the pawnbroker, and a slender nine millimeter pistol was leveled at his forehead.  Gold must have pulled it out from under the counter, but the demon’s hand didn’t shake at all, and cold brown eyes met Killian’s furious gaze easily.

“In this case, the price is your death.  Or, you can walk out that door, accepting that I know what you have done, and that _my silence_ comes at a price,” the Dark One told him softly, and now Killian was the one hearing a threat in the other’s voice.

Quickly deciding that he couldn’t outrun a bullet—and noticing that the safety was indeed ‘off’—Killian throttled back his rage with an effort.  “And what price is that?”

“Coexistence,” was the easy answer, but the gun was still pointed directly between Killian’s eyes.  “If you make another attempt on my life—which I assure you will fail—I will tell our lovely Miss Swan what I know.  The same goes if you attempt to harm Miss French for her association with me.”

“Cora will never let you tell her,” Killian snorted.

Rumplestiltskin actually laughed.  “ _Cora_ doesn’t have nearly as much control over me as she thinks.   So.  Do we have a deal?”

* * *

 

_More than 200 Years Before the Curse_

“You’re thinking too hard,” a voice said from behind him as Killian leaned against the starboard quarterdeck rail on board the _Jolly Roger_ , and an arm slipped around his waist as he turned.  The horizon was not nearly so appealing as the beautiful and spirited woman whose hip currently bumped against his, even if there was a stunning sunset in progress.

“Ah, you know me, love.  I’m full of surprises,” he said lightly, drinking in Milah’s smile.

“Also full of bull,” his lover and first mate replied with a knowing look, but Killian only shrugged.

“I was thinking of your little lad,” he admitted.  “What will he be, now?  Eleven?”

Milah looked away, her smile fading.  Killian knew she didn’t like to talk about her old life, and he was always hesitant to bring it up, but something needed to be said.  When he’d taken on a woman desperate for adventure, who had begged him to tell her coward of a husband that she was dead or already doomed to a sadder fate, he had never expected to come to care for her has he had.  Then, Milah had been nothing more than an easy conquest and an easier bit of gold to be gained; she’d paid him well to tell the story he’d embellished, and that was supposed to be that.  But one missed port of call became another, and soon enough, Milah was showing her talents as a pirate.  Killian couldn’t remember having invited her to stay, nor could he remember her asking to join his crew, but she certainly had, and she was more skilled than the entire lot of his miscreants.

After all, she hadn’t earned her position as first mate because she was warming Killian’s bed; given the superstitious nature of sailors (which was doubly the case for pirates), that would normally have put her right out of the running for the job.  But Milah was as ruthless as she was beautiful, and had a real eye for the right kind of prize.  She was fearsome and she was bold, and soon enough the entire crew had come to respect her as more than just their captain’s lover.  She was the perfect match that Killian had never expected to find, his equal in battle and in bed, and he loved her to distraction.  That, of course, was why he brought up the boy she had been forced to leave behind.

“Twelve,” she answered quietly, and now it was her turn to stare at the horizon.

“Twelve,” Killian repeated.  He’d known that already.  He just wanted to see if she remembered rightly. 

“Why do you bring him up?” Milah asked, looking at him almost defiantly. 

“Twelve is old enough to be a cabin boy, darling.”  He gestured at the crew, three members of which were actually younger than eleven.  The powder boys were small and wiry, and Killian was proud to say that _his_ boys were treated better than any others on the seven seas.  And he’d treat Milah’s son better still.

_Like my own,_ he promised silently.  Any child of Milah’s could be his own son, and Killian would be proud to have him by his side.

“No,” Milah replied, her voice as firm and as desperate as it had been the last four times he’d brought this up.  “It’s too soon.  He’s too young.”

“Soon enough, he’ll be _too_ old,” Killian pointed out.  The sea had to be learned early, after all, or one never acquired the proper skills.  So, he took his lover by the arms and gently turned her to face him, looking her in the eye.  “I’m beginning to wonder if there’s more than a mother’s protective nature at work here.  What’s troubling you?”

“Bae’s safe with his father.  Probably even happy,” she said defensively.  “Rumple’s always doted on him.”

“Happy?” he echoed.  “In a life you said made you so miserable?”

“He’s a boy.”

“Misery isn’t limited to adults, love.  Believe me on that,” Killian answered softly, thinking of being abandoned when he was younger than Baelfire was now.  Fortunately, he had had Liam to look out for him, but how hard must it be on young Baelfire to live as a coward’s son?

She scowled.  “I know that!”

“Then let’s go get him,” he proposed, his voice dropping low with urgency.  “I’ll order the ship about right now.  Forget the merchants we’ve been tracking.  They aren’t as important as your boy.  We’ll make port in the Frontlands in less than two weeks, and you can bring him aboard.”

“No.”

“Milah…”

“I said no!” she snapped, yanking away and stalking to the port side.

It might have looked undignified for a captain to follow his lover across the deck whilst they were in the midst of what appeared to be a lover’s spat, but Killian knew his crew.  They’d not think less of him, and if any of them were fool enough to even voice such opposition, the others would keelhaul them long before Killian got the chance.  So, he strode after Milah, resisting the urge to take her arm again and simply asking:

“Why?”

A moment passed before she answered the gentle question: “Because I was a terrible mother, that’s why.  Rumple is sure to have wrapped himself up in Bae…and Bae has to think I’m dead.  What if he doesn’t even remember me?” Her voice dropped to a whisper.  “What if he doesn’t want to come?”

“Darling, there is no twelve year old boy in _any_ realm who won’t jump at the chance to become a pirate,” Killian told her with a smile.  “And of course he’ll remember you.  I’m sure the lad misses his mother, and despises that coward you left him with.”

“You don’t know that.  He’s probably happy.”

“I think you’re making excuses,” he said as gently as he could, not adding: _I think you are afraid having a child here will cramp the freedom you so desired, and finally gained as a pirate_.  But Killian was not sure how to voice that thought without having Milah grow furious with him, because he _did_ know that her freedom was important to her.  That was why they’d never wed, no matter how much they loved one another.  Milah didn’t want to be tied to anyone or anything; she wanted to be free to leave no matter what happened.  And having Baelfire on board the _Jolly Roger_ would ruin that.

“He’s too young,” she repeated stubbornly, and refused to be moved from that topic.

Later, when Killian Jones met the man that Baelfire had become, he wished that he had ignored Milah’s wishes and fetched the boy.  Perhaps then things might have been different, and he might not have wound up making an enemy of the child whom he had once been so eager to call his own son.  Even then, centuries later, he _wanted_ to love Bae—or Neal Cassidy, as he insisted on calling himself—and perhaps that was why he made the choices he eventually did.

* * *

 

She recognized the number immediately when it appeared on the display of her cell phone, but still had not expected him to call.  Cora answered the phone with a smile.  “Rumple, this _is_ a pleasant surprise.”

“Don’t get too excited, dear.  I’m not calling for social reasons,” the Dark One retorted, and Cora fancied that she could hear a touch of the old imp in his voice.  Listening to him sent a delightful little shiver down her spine; she had _missed_ Rumplestiltskin fiercely.  Now that he was back, life was so very much better, and Cora enjoyed their sessions so much more.

She’d invited him over— _forced_ him over (the very thought of being able to do so pleased her immensely)—once since he confirmed that he was awake, and Cora had treasured every painful moment.  Her former lover had apparently been under the mistaken impression that his consciousness would make her stop, or at least lessen, the humiliations she visited upon him, but Cora had no intention of doing so.  _He_ had been fool enough to snub her, all those years ago, when she had offered him her heart.  Now Rumplestiltskin would pay the price for his arrogant refusal to forgive her, for his so-called ‘long memory’.  Cora enjoyed making him pay, and loved the fear in his eyes when she hurt him.  She savored every moment they had together, and already had a secondary plan in place in case the curse should fail.  She had every intention of maintaining her control over the Dark One…even if he did not yet know that.

“Then why _are_ you calling?” she asked, genuinely curious.  At least the cards were on the table, now.  That made the game much more entertaining.

“Your pet pirate tried to kill me today,” was the cool response.  “You should keep him on a better leash.”

“Oh, was Killian yearning for revenge again?” she cooed, chuckling to herself.  Keeping Hook from killing Gold for the last twenty-eight years had been highly amusing; she loved watching his frustration peak.  “All over your poor dead wife?”

Rumplestiltskin had, of course, told her that story long before Hook had provided his end of the tale.  Back when they were lovers, Cora found the fact that the Dark One had ripped his late wife’s heart out to be incredibly intoxicating, another example of his beautiful darkness and his limitless power.  Hook had never seen things her way, but she’d kept him from killing Gold, anyway.  Now, despite her laugh, she was not at all pleased to learn that the pirate had disobeyed her.

“He came by to threaten me about overhearing his story about that reporter who annoyed you so,” Rumplestiltskin confirmed.  “Do keep him under control, or I might be forced to put a bullet between his eyes.”

“I’d be terribly disappointed if you did that, Rumple,” she replied, allowing an edge to enter her voice.

“Since I don’t live to please you, dearie, I find myself not caring,” he retorted, and just listening to the power and fury hidden behind those words made Cora want him terribly.

Still, her one o’clock appointment was about to arrive, so she had to put an end to this conversation, as wonderful as it was.  “Shall we talk about that tonight, dear?”

She could almost _feel_ his fury over the connection.  “I suppose we shall,” he bit out, and then hung up on her. 

Chuckling to herself, Cora set her phone down very precisely on the desk, feeling a warmth at her core that only the exercise of ultimate power brought with it.  She’d never once regretted ripping her heart out to achieve her aims, and she still did not.  Oh, she’d lost the only man she’d ever truly loved, but what did that matter now that he was under her power?  So what if he had his little maid to comfort him?  She was not precisely happy about the way Rumplestiltskin’s claws had come out to protect Lacey French and her brat, but she knew Rumple well enough that he was as _possessive_ as he was protective.  Knowing the Dark One, he was actually attached to the girl—Cora knew better than anyone else that Rumplestiltskin was capable of such emotions—but Lacey French was not enough to keep his attention for long.  The curse might have put the two of them together via an oversight on Cora’s part, but Rumplestiltskin’s very nature would not make the relationship last long.

By then, he might actually _want_ Cora back, but she was too attached to their current relationship to change a thing.  She _liked_ him on his knees before her, shaking in pain and unable to fight back.  Power over the most powerful sorcerer of them all was power indeed, and Cora would not give that up.

“Your one o’clock is here, Madam Mayor,” Regina’s voice said from the doorway, and Cora gave her daughter a genuine smile.  After all, she was in a good mood, and Regina had been behaving herself very well since the fire.

“Send him in,” she replied congenially, and Regina just nodded and stepped aside.

Moments later, August W. Booth stepped through the door, and Cora felt her smile grow.  “Mr. Booth.  How good of you to join me.”

“Mayor Mills,” he said warily, sitting when Cora gestured him into the chair across from her desk.  She had not risen to greet him, and would not, and he seemed to notice the slight.

“I’m always curious about why strangers choose to visit my town,” she told him, just to see what he would say.  “So I thought I would ask you in person.”

“I’m a writer,” August seemed to reply by reflex.  “I like small towns.”

“Oh, but that isn’t why you’re here at all, is it?” Cora said, keeping her smile in place.  “You’re here to break a curse.”

The young man really was a terrible actor; he jerked bolt upright in his chair and almost jumped to his feet.  His face had gone sheet white, and his blue eyes were wide with terror.  The comical fear he demonstrated made Cora laugh and add:

“I have no intention of harming you, dear.  You need not look so frightened.”

That did not make him relax; nor had Cora really intended it to.  Instead, August finally asked: “Then what do you want?”

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say that you are Pinocchio, and that you came to this world via that same lovely wardrobe that brought my _dear_ step-granddaughter through,” she replied instead of answering his question.  “Am I correct?”

“How do you know that?” he demanded shakily.

Cora slid an old newspaper article out of the folder on her desk. The headline ‘ _Seven Year Old Boy finds Baby on Side of Road”_ was clearly visible, and she watched August swallow several times.  His fear was delicious, and Cora found she was enjoying this encounter even more than she’d expected to.

“My adopted grandson is in possession of a remarkable book,” she answered calmly.  “And you have not been so subtle in your efforts to make Miss Swan believe as you think.”

August flinched; Cora smiled. 

“What are you going to do to me?” he whispered.

“To you?  Oh, I already told you that _you’re_ perfectly safe,” Cora said.  _He really is a selfish boy, isn’t he?  True to character, I suppose._   Still, it was time to get to the point of this visit, even if Pinocchio’s selfishness did make this much easier.  “Your beloved father—or should I say creator?—however, is not.”

“You can’t—”

“Accidents happen all the time in Storybrooke, Mr. Booth,” she cut him off serenely.  “ _But_ if you do as I ask, I will ensure that Marco is safe.  No harm will come to him, so long as you obey me.”

August deflated, and before he even spoke, Cora knew she had won.  “What do you want me to do?”

“You are now my creature,” Cora told him bluntly.  There was no use being subtle; she wanted things spelled out perfectly so that August knew exactly what he had to lose.  “Miss Swan wants you to pay the Basement a visit on her behalf.  I do not want her to know what is in there.  So, you will begin by failing in that endeavor.  Then, you will continue by reporting to me any and all progress that our little Savior makes in regards to breaking my curse.  You will also perform other tasks for me when I deem it necessary.  Understood?”

“I can’t betray Emma,” he replied, looking anguished.  “I was supposed to protect her, and I—”

“And you failed.  Now you will obey me, or Geppetto will die.”

She had rarely seen a set of blue eyes look so broken, and Cora had to admit that it was a beautiful sight.  Several moments ticked by in silence, but Cora was happy to wait.  She already knew what decision August would make, after all.  He was a selfish boy turned into a selfish man, and helping a child he had once abandoned paled in comparison to protecting the father whom he clearly loved.  _Love,_ she scoffed internally.  _Love is such weakness.  He should know that I will only continue to demand more of him, that I will exploit that weakness until he hates himself more and more, and by the time he is so desperate to get out that he might risk his beloved papa, he will be in too deep for Swan to trust him._   Watching the delicate balance of betrayal was always intoxicating, and Cora simply sat back and waited.

“Do I have your word that he’ll be safe?” August asked desperately.

“You do,” she assured him.  “So long as you behave yourself.”

“I won’t hurt her,” he tried defiance one last time.

“Of course you won’t.  You’re just going to spy for me.”

* * *

 

_1 Year, 6 Months Before the Curse_

“What’s wrong, Regina?” Daniel asked quietly as she strode into the rooms he’d been given.  They were nice rooms despite the trio of guards posted outside and the plethora of magical wards keeping Daniel _inside_ , and she did get to visit him so much more often than she’d been able to when he was in the dungeons.  In some ways, however, that made things even worse, because Regina realized everything she had to lose every time she was able to even talk to him…and she yearned for the simple life they had shared for far too short a time, so many years ago.

Now, however, she was simply reminded of the fact that she _couldn’t_ help her beloved sister, even if that same sister might lay dying even as Regina went to Daniel for comfort.  Swallowing hard, she sank onto the lone couch in his chambers, feeling like her heart was breaking.  Yes, she was able to spend time with Daniel.  Yes, Daniel’s life was immeasurably better than it had been when he was imprisoned in the dungeon.  But Snow…

“Snow’s had a miscarriage,” Regina whispered, and felt Daniel’s arms wrap around her.

“Is she all right?” her True Love asked as Regina leaned into his embrace, needing someone, _anyone_ to hold her.

“I don’t know.  Mother’s spy in George’s court says she’s likely to die, but I can’t go there.  Mother would kill you if I did.”  The last sentence came out as a broken whisper, and Regina felt silent tears begin spilling down her cheeks.

“Do you know what happened?”

“Mother did it, I’m sure.  I don’t know how, but she’s too happy.  She’s…it’s _horrible,_ Daniel!” the words burst out of her in a fury, and Regina felt a slight wind begin to whip around the room as her emotions stoked her magic into a whirlwind of whiplashing pain.  “Snow never did anything to her, and Mother is trying to kill her.  _Still._ ”

“You should go to her.  She needs you,” Daniel replied, his voice soft.  But the generous request made Regina pull back to look in his eyes.

“I can’t.  Mother will kill you,” she repeated.

“Regina, we both know that I’m living on borrowed time, and—”

“No,” Regina cut him off, unable to listen to Daniel saying more.  She might have been losing Snow at that very moment.  Snow might already be dead, for all she knew.  She _couldn’t_ lose Daniel, too.  “Don’t say that.”

“My love, I am only trying to say that you will never forgive yourself for failing to go to your sister when she needs you.  I cannot ask you to choose me over her,” he replied, leaning in to kiss her lightly.

Regina melted into him, trying and failing not to cry.  “I can’t choose either of you over the other,” she whispered brokenly.  “Not again.  I love you both.”

Daniel held her in silence for several long moments, his strong arms giving Regina the safe haven she needed so badly.  Finally, he asked: “Is there someone you could send in your place?  If you can’t go, is there someone that could help her?”

“There might be…” Regina blinked, sitting up straight.  “Rumplestiltskin might help…but only for a price.”

She had mentioned her teacher to Daniel before, and her former husband pounced on the idea immediately.  “Then pay it.  Go to him, and make a deal to save Snow.”

“Thank you!” Nodding wildly, Regina kissed him again, and then rushed from the room.  Her mother had forbidden her from going to Snow, but she hadn’t ever wanted to stop Regina from learning from Rumplestiltskin.  Cora lacked the patience to teach her daughter most magical lessons, and seemed content to have her own teacher do that, but what Regina knew things about Rumplestiltskin that her mother did not.  _She_ knew that he was still furious at her mother, and was happy to tweak Cora’s tail from time to time.

Regina just had to make sure that this was one of those times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please accept my continued thanks for all the lovely comments. Keeping up writing is tough with my new job, but you all make it worth doing! 
> 
> Next: Chapter 45: “Puppets and Puppeteers”, in which Belle deals with her father again, Cora manipulates Moe French, Emma tries to figure out what August is up to, and Rumplestiltskin buys Belle flowers. Back in the past, Snow loses the baby and learns an old secret.


	45. Puppets and Puppeteers

****“Phone,” Renee supplied helpfully as Belle sat on the floor with her, playing with colorful blocks.  Renee was starting to build some truly impressive structures, one of which was almost as tall as she was, but Belle’s cell phone ringing had interrupted that.

“Thank you,” Belle told her daughter with a smile, getting to her feet and heading to the other side of the room where the phone was charging.  It was a new model, a much nicer one that Rumple had bought for her to replace Lacey’s old and worn out phone, but shared the same number as the last one.  Belle had even programed in all the same old contacts, which meant that she felt her heart sink when she saw her father’s number on it.

_Not Papa.  This is Moe French, who kicked Lacey out for having a child,_ Belle told herself, trying not to focus her anger on the man she knew slumbered inside the caricature Cora had created.  Still, her own father’s actions had only been a little better.  _Maurice_ had considered her dead after she made that deal with Rumplestiltskin, had mourned her and moved on.  Then he had tried to—well, she wouldn’t think about that, not when she was trying not to be angry.  Belle might have understood that had things not turned out the way they did, but her father’s refusal to accept her marriage still stung.  _And because of that, Papa never knew he had a granddaughter…who his cursed self absolutely hates._

For a moment, Belle considered not picking up the phone, or answering it and only speaking long enough to tell her father what she thought of him.  After all, it wasn’t like their last five or so phone calls had gone well, even without her husband’s interference.  But doing that would be unkind, and she really _did_ hope for the chance to rebuild her relationship with her father once everyone woke up.  So, until then she’d just have to deal with Moe French’s sudden and inexplicable desire to protect her.  _Lacey and Gold were together for_ years _and he said nothing.  But Rumple gives us a place to live—when Moe would have let us sleep on the streets!—and suddenly he’s the devil himself,_ she thought with a scowl.  Unfortunately, her anger must have crept through when she finally thumbed the phone on, saying:

“What do you want, Dad?”

Calling Moe French ‘Dad’ made differentiating between him and Maurice so much easier.  Even when she was angry at him, Belle would never have considered calling her _real_ father anything other than Papa.  Or Father, if she was mad at him. 

“Lacey,” the voice on the other end said with relief.  “I was starting to worry about you.  You weren’t answering, and…”

“The phone was on the other end of the house, and I was playing with Renee,” she replied, trying to conceal her exasperation.  What did Moe think, that Gold kept her tied up in the basement?

He probably did, although Belle found that thought entirely unamusing, given what she knew about _Cora’s_ treatment of her husband.  But the basement of the pink mansion only contained Rumple’s oldest spinning wheel and a variety of magical supplies he’d use after the curse broke.  Even the dungeons in the Dark Castle had been oddly clean and airy.  _Poor Robin even had a nice cell when Rumple was busy flaying him alive,_ Belle thought with a giggle that she tried to cover with a cough.  Of course, it was only funny because Rumple had let Robin go, a fact they were both now extremely glad for, given that the outlaw-turned-firefighter had saved her and Gabrielle’s lives.

“Oh.  Of course.  You’re not just telling me that, are you, sweetheart?” her father continued nervously.  “I know that you’re doing what you feel you have to, but Gold’s a bad man, and if he’s mistreating you—”

“He’s _not_ ,” Belle cut in angrily.  “How many times do I have to tell you that?”

She burned to tell her father that she loved Rumplestiltskin and that she was married to him, that he was Renee’s father and that even when he’d been just plain Gold, he’d been better to both of them than anyone else, but she knew that Moe French would never listen.

“Lacey, I just want what’s best for you, and I’m terrified for you every day that you spend in that monstrous house.”

This time she groaned aloud.  “It’s actually quite nice.  You should come to dinner sometime.  I’m sure I could talk Ru—Mr. Gold into that.  We’d be happy to have you,” Belle said before she could stop herself, her own mischievous streak getting the better of her.  But the damage was done, so she added: “And I’m sure Renee would love the opportunity to finally _meet_ her grandfather.”

“I’ll be happy to meet her, sweetheart, if only you’ll come home,” Moe replied, sounding desperate, and something in his voice gave Belle the chills.

That was a big change.  Now he wasn’t even talking about her marrying Gaston—or Tony, as he was currently known.  Now Moe was talking about actually welcoming his daughter _and_ his granddaughter home, and Belle was smart enough to pick up on how significant that fact was.  Something had changed, and she didn’t think it was good news.

“Dad, is something wrong?” she asked, now much more curious than hostile.

“Of course something’s wrong!  You’re living with that monster, and I spend every night thinking of the horrible things that he’s doing to my little girl.”

“He’s not _doing_ anything to me,” Belle retorted, hating the reminder of her _own_ sleepless nights, the one she spent wondering what horrible things _Cora_ was doing to her husband.  “I keep telling you that.  Why won’t you believe me?”

“Because I know what kind of man he is, Lacey.  He might have you fooled, but sooner or later, he’s going to do something terrible to you,” her father replied.  “I just know it.”

“And I know you’re wrong.”  A crash from the other side of the room made Belle turn, but it was only Renee having destroyed her block-built castle and giggling over the rubble.  _Well, I know who_ her _father is, that’s for sure!_ At least looking at her little girl could still make her smile, even when her father was being an idiot.  “Look, I’ve got to go.  Thanks for worrying about us, but we’re fine, and Renee and I have another castle to build.”

She hung up before Moe could say any more, and ignored the phone when he called right back.  Belle wanted desperately to make up with her father, but she wasn’t going to do it at the expense of the family she had built.  She loved her husband and daughter too much for that.  If Sir Maurice couldn’t accept _both_ of them once he woke up, well, Belle had lived without him before and would manage just fine if she had to do it again.

* * *

 

“She still won’t tell me what’s wrong,” a morose Moe French said several hours later.  He was sitting on his raggedy maroon couch with his third or fourth beer in hand, staring blankly at the coffee table while his visitor sat across from him.  She was in a chair, sitting with legs crossed and far more composure, careful not to touch anything more than she had to, lest she have to use hand sanitizer after she left.  She’d _also_ refused his offer of a drink, thinking that Moe was just inebriated enough, and she needed to be sober to properly…guide him.  Not that Cora was interested in his cheap brand of beer, anyway.  Particularly not on a Monday afternoon, when she would return to work so that even the annoying little sheriff didn’t think of linking Cora with what was going to happen.

“That’s such a pity,” Cora said softly, resisting the urge to smile.  She’d originally started encouraging Moe French’s terrible worry for his daughter because it was amusing; watching him take Gold’s little doxy on (and Gold by proxy, Cora was sure) was great entertainment, but Moe’s desperation had given the entire affair a new flavor now that Rumplestiltskin was awake.  Slowly, carefully, she focused her will on the curse, and said: “And she won’t listen to you at all?”

Moe groaned.  “I even offered her the chance to come home, and she insists on staying there.”

“I have to say that it sounds like she’s only staying there because she’s afraid to leave,” she replied, applying a gentle amount of pressure in just the right place.  Of course, Cora knew Rumple far better than that.  _She_ knew that he’d never hurt a woman he had even the slightest feelings for, but there was no reason to tell Moe French that.  The poor fool was beside himself with worry, and if Cora manipulated him just right, there was no telling what he might do.

_Oh, there’s a way to know what he might do, provided I get enough drink in him and give him the proper motivation,_ she thought smugly, hiding her desire to smile.

“Of course she is.  God only knows what that bastard is doing to her,” the forlorn father complained, finishing off his beer. 

Reaching into the cardboard case of beer—the barbarian even drank his cheap beer _warm_ —Cora handed him another one with a kind smile.  Moe took it without thought, opening it automatically and knocking back a gulp.  Barely managing not to grimace, Cora sat back once more, trying to adopt a properly somber expression while she was having the time of her life.

“I shudder to think of it,” she agreed.  “Poor Lacey.  She’s such a nice girl.  Someone like her is mincemeat in Gold’s hands.  I know him well, and I do fear for your daughter, too.”

“Can’t you stop him?” Moe asked, and it was the first intelligent question he’d asked all night.

Cora put on a contrite expression.  “We’ve spoken on it, but he refuses to be moved.”  _He wants the girl there for some reason.  Probably because she gives him sweetness and a shoulder to cry on, without the added obstacle of brainpower._ “He tells me that what happens in his home is his business, and I can’t find any evidence of any wrongdoing.  Neither can the sheriff.”

“But we _know_ he’s hurting her,” the sot whined.  “He has to be, so what does it matter if there’s no proof?  My Lacey wouldn’t stay with him by choice.”

Ironically, by this point, Cora was fairly certain that Lacey French was doing just that, although she didn’t care what the girl’s reasons were.  Moe French’s absolute certainty that Gold was harming his precious little girl simply opened a door that Cora was prepared to shove the fool right through.  Rumple needed a reminder, after all, of exactly how much power Cora had.  Oh, she’d proven her _personal_ power over him more than once, but the last thing she wanted was for Rumplestiltskin to start thinking that he could help Emma Swan break this curse.  Cora wasn’t blind; she’d noticed Rumplestiltskin sticking his nose into that business a time or two, and it was time she took her old lover out of that game.

Rumple was a smart man.  He’d get the hint.  And then maybe he’d come to his senses and return to her willingly.

So, Cora reached out to lay a gentle hand on Moe’s arm.  “I agree with you, but what can we do?  My hands are tied, being the mayor.”

“Of course they are.”  He stared morosely at his beer can again, and Cora devoutly wished the idiot was a bit smarter.  _Then again, if he was smarter, I would have a harder time manipulating him._

“But that doesn’t mean yours are,” she told him.  “Perhaps you should do something that I cannot, given my position.”

Did she have to lay it on thicker, or was he going to get the hint?  Moe brightened a little, but obviously hadn’t quite gotten the message.

“I could talk to Gold,” he said, taking another swing.

Cora bit back the urge to shake him.  “Do you really think _talking_ to someone like Gold will help?  He’ll run circles around you, and then make you thank him for the pleasure.”

“You’re right,” the heavyset man decided, and _there_ was the angry grimace she’d been hoping for.  “He won’t listen unless we _make_ him listen.”

“But how will you do that?  If you approach Gold alone, he’s likely to run away,” she goaded him, sounding thoughtful.  “You should take Tony Rose with you.  Obviously, he has a stake in this, loving Lacey like he does.”

“That’s a good idea,” Moe replied, putting his beer down.  Cora didn’t hand him another; she didn’t want him _drunk_.  She just didn’t want him thinking straight, either.  “Tony an’ I, we’re big men.  And Gold isn’t.”

Moe laughed at his own insinuation, and then peered at Cora with a little worry.

“Don’t worry,” the mayor reassured him.  “I’ve only come to provide comfort to a friend.  If anyone asks, I am _certain_ that you never meant to harm anyone.  Things only got carried away.”

“Carried away,” the fool agreed, his eyes lighting up.  “And there’s no one in this town that could blame us.  Gold’s a monster.”

“Indeed he is.”  With those words, Cora rose, knowing her work was done.  For now.

* * *

 

“Any luck?” Emma asked as she sat down next to August at the bar in Granny’s.  The visiting author twisted to look at her with wide eyes, clearly surprised to see her and more than a little startled. 

“On what?” August asked, like he had no idea what she was talking about.

Emma sighed, trying not to roll her eyes.  Henry was along with her for cocoa after school today, and although he appeared to be engrossed in a comic book, there was no knowing with the kid.  And besides, what Emma _did_ know about the Basement was not something she wanted shared with any ten year old, particularly her own.  “You know,” she told August testily.  “The thing you were going to try to help me with.”

“Is this about the curse?” Henry piped up immediately, and Emma tried not to groan.  Unfortunately, stopping herself meant August got in first with his answer:

“Not really.  It’s actually, uh, kind of about something else.”

He looked nervous; Emma shot the author an odd look as Henry asked:

“But I thought you were here to help,” the kid said, staring at August suspiciously.

“I am,” August said all too quickly, and now Emma was on her guard, too, even when he manage to give Henry a more natural smile. “It’s just, well, sometimes I help with other stuff, too.”

“Police stuff.  _Normal_ police stuff,” Emma supplied before Henry could start digging on that front, because the kid _would_.  Maybe it was just that trying to get into the Basement had August nervous.  He seemed to be a smooth enough operator when he was confident, but maybe asking him to try to go down there had been a bad idea.  Emma didn’t really know him, after all, so maybe she had just picked the wrong guy.  Her superpower wasn’t telling her that August was lying, at least not exactly, but something was off.  August had to be nervous about trying to get into that dangerous place.  Didn’t he?

“Oh.”  Henry rolled his eyes and went back to his comic book, obviously having decided that police work was more boring than curse breaking.

Emma didn’t miss the opportunity; she looked back at August.  “So, any luck?”

“Not really,” he answered, shaking his head.  “I went out with one of the, uh, escorts, but I didn’t get any other invitation.  I guess I’ll keep doing that until something happens, I guess.”

“Right.”  Emma had never been a cop before her stint here in Storybrooke, but she knew that undercover work _rarely_ got quick results, and if it did, you were probably doing something wrong.  She had to be patient.  “Thanks.”

“Well, I’m here to help,” August quipped, but there was that odd note in his voice again that really set off alarms in Emma’s head.  Something wasn’t right here, but what?

* * *

 

_1 Year, 6 Months Before the Curse_

She’d lost the baby.  The royal midwives and royal healer had done their best, but little Leo had already been gone by the time they reached Snow’s side.  No one had been able to do anything for the child, and from what the healer said, they might have arrived too late to save Snow, too.

“It’s poison, Your Majesty,” the portly healer was telling George as David sat by Snow’s side, holding her limp hand and watching her breathe raggedly.  She was unconscious, now, which the healer said was a small mercy, but all David could think about was how he should have gone to her sooner, how he shouldn’t have let her sleep for so long without checking on her.

“So heal it,” George snapped, but David barely heard the healer (who also happened to be a cleric, as most were) reply:

“The poison is magical in nature, sire.  I cannot.  It is beyond my abilities to heal—”

“But not mine!” a new voice interjected, and _that_ finally broke through the fog of grief clouding David’s mind.  Twisting to look over his shoulder, he found that his ears hadn’t deceived him, and that actually was Rumplestiltskin standing in the doorway.  But why?

George, apparently, was as surprised as his adopted son.  “What are you doing here?” he asked the Dark One in a rare public display of confusion. 

“I heard you needed a bit of help,” Rumplestiltskin replied, dancing into the room with a flourish.  His amber eyes were unreadable, but at that moment, he was the best sight David had ever seen.

“Who cares how he heard?” he asked the king, and then turned to the glittery skinned sorcerer.  “We need your help.  Name your price.”

Snow didn’t have long, and David wasn’t going to waste it wondering about insignificant details.    


“Ah, that’s the thing, dearie.  My price has already been paid, so your princess will be saved,” Rumplestiltskin replied airily, reaching the bedside. 

David’s heart skipped a beat.  He didn’t even want to ask who had paid the price, even though he had a fairly astute guess.  There was only one other person in the world who loved Snow enough to take that on themselves.  “Can you save her?” he whispered.

“Of course I can.  Now be quiet, and let me work.”

The Dark One said no more, instead bending over Snow from the other side of the bed, his reptilian eyes narrowed in concentration.  The fingers on his left hand twitched, hovering over Snow’s midsection, and David thought he felt a slight change in the air in the room, like some deep magic was working at a level none of them could see.  Silence reigned for several seconds; David held his breath and imagined that everyone else was doing the same.  Nothing seemed to happen, but that feeling in the air remained, and Rumplestiltskin stayed focused on Snow, his right hand moving up to hover over her forehead, almost close enough that the black-clawed fingers touched.

The healer, however, could clearly wait no longer, and spoke to George in a rush.  “Your Majesty, you can’t trust dark magic.  It might hurt as much as it heals, and the _poison_ is based in dark magic.  You don’t know if the Dark One was in any way responsible for that, or if he could even draw it out under the best of circumstances.”

“Do shut up, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin said without looking up or moving a muscle.

“Sire, in good conscience, I must—”

Rumplestiltskin’s fingers twitched, and a purple spark leapt out of the palm of his left hand, zooming in on the healer, who threw himself aside desperately.  But he was just too wide to move quickly, and the spark struck him in the right shoulder.  Like lightning, it bounced off of the meaty shoulder—leaving a scorch mark on the blue tunic the healer wore—and then hit the healer full in the face.  Purple flashes of light sparked over the man’s face for a moment, sealing his lips shut as his hazel eyes went wild with terror.  Rumplestiltskin just giggled, never even looking up, but the healer could speak no more.

“I never much liked clerics,” the Dark One said with a shrug, and then leaned away from Snow as a soft blue light enveloped her.  It hung like fog over her entire body for two seconds, and then ten, until finally it evaporated and Snow’s eyes burst open with a gasp.

“Snow?” David breathed her name like it was a prayer, watching her gaze dart around the room for several moments before she finally focused on him.  “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she whispered, and then looked down at her stomach.  The next word came out in a whimper.  “Leo…?”

Swallowing his own pain as hard as he could, David shook his head, having to bite his lip to keep himself from crying.  “Gone,” he answered heavily.  “Poison.”

“Oh, Charming…” she whispered brokenly, and David gathered his wife into his arms as she sobbed.  They cried for several moments together, mourning the loss of the son they would now never know, just clinging to one another for dear life.  David didn’t know how long they wept for; it might have been hours, or mere minutes, but finally their tears were dry.  The emptiness remained and always would, the great gaping chasm of loss that no other child could ever fill, but eventually they could both think again.  And then it was Snow who asked, her voice hard: “Who did this?”

“Your stepmother still wants you dead, Princess,” a soft voice said, and for a moment, David did not recognize it as belonging to Rumplestiltskin.  He had thought that the Dark One would have been long gone by now, not caring for their grief.

“But why?” Snow whispered, looking broken again, and David squeezed her tightly.

“Her hatred of your mother survived even murdering Queen Eva,” Rumplestiltskin responded.  “Other than that, I know not.”

“She killed my _mother_?”

“The timing of her death and your father’s remarriage to Cora always was very suspicious.”  That was George, sounding studiously dispassionate, as usual, but his detached tone made David grimace.

Rumplestiltskin, however, gave Snow a slight smile that somehow looked sad.  “Regina, however, would not have you suffer the same fate.”

“My sister sent you?” Snow gaped, and David shook his head minutely.  Of course Regina had sent Rumplestiltskin to Snow.  She’d once told Snow and David that Rumplestiltskin was her teacher, and that his help was always available—for a price.

“Indeed she did.”

“Whatever she promised you, I’ll pay it,” Snow said fiercely, sitting up straight to look the Dark One in the eye.  Obviously, she was remembering the same moment David was, because the look she turned on Rumplestiltskin was calculating.  For his part, David kept an arm around her shoulders but gave her the freedom to do so; he knew that Snow needed to do this.

Rumplestiltskin cocked his head.  “You love your stepsister that much?”

“My _sister_ ,” Snow stressed, her voice perfectly level and unafraid.

“Well, then,” the Dark One said slowly, looking faintly surprised.  “Let’s just say that you’ll owe me your gratitude.  Perhaps someday, I might need a good deed in return.”

“Is that all?” David asked warily.

The demon giggled.  “Oh, dearie, you have _no_ idea what I might ask for,” he declared, obviously back on balance, his hands twirling flamboyantly.  But there was a soberness in his eyes that David had never seen from him before.  “But you’ll know when the time comes.”

He vanished in a cloud of red smoke, leaving David and Snow to wonder when that moment might arrive, and how dangerous a promise Snow had made.  Interestingly enough, as it would occur to David a year and a half later, Rumplestiltskin failed to use that little ‘moment of gratitude’ when they locked him up in a dwarf-made and fairy-enchanted cell, left there while the curse was cast.  Instead, he languished in solitary confinement, steadily appearing to go madder and madder, never speaking once of how they owed him Snow’s very life.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin would be the first to tell you that he was no great romantic.  Even when he’d been human, the ‘normal’ types of romantic gestures that men made for their loves in the Frontlands had been a bit of a mystery to him, but here in Storybrooke, he was trying.  He knew enough to know that flowers were a traditional way of expressing one’s love, and given how frustrated and bored Rumplestiltskin knew Belle felt, cooped up in that mansion he called home, he thought giving her something to brighten her day was in order.  Belle had always liked flowers, anyway.  He remembered her bugging him to fix the garden back when she was his maid, which led to a flowering maze taking the place of weeds and dead plants sometime after the mess with the werewolves.  Of course, he’d still not been ready to admit his feelings for her (not aloud, anyway) back then, but somehow he’d still wound up giving her a veritable park.

Now, however, he thought some roses were in order in lieu of a giant garden.  Besides, Belle hadcalled him during lunch  today to tell Rumplestiltskin about how her father had called to annoy her—again—and that meant it wouldn’t hurt for the Dark One to drop by Moe’s shop for a little look around.  Not that he intended to do anything, for he knew enough to know that Belle would never forgive him if he hurt her father, no matter what a fool the florist was being.  In truth, he hadn’t even seen Maurice since the last time Belle had tried to reconcile with him back home, but perhaps today was a good day to refresh his memory.

“Can I help you?” a hostile voice said as Rumplestiltskin stepped into Game of Thorns, making the pawnbroker stop short.  He hadn’t expected to see Tony Rose (Sir Gaston, in another life, and Belle’s shallow former fiancé in both), here in Moe’s shop, and surprise made his lips twitch into a sneer.

“You’re straying awfully far from daddy’s jewelry store, aren’t you, dearie?” he couldn’t help asking, the question a sly reference to how thoroughly Tony was busy running Juvelisto Jewelry Boutique straight into the ground.  He’d inherited it from his late parents, and was supposed to be leaving it in the hands of his very capable manager, but somehow the knight was still managing to turn his profits into dust.

“You’re straying awfully far from abusing Lacey, aren’t you?” Tony shot back, and Rumplestiltskin was fairly sure it was the most intelligent thing he’d ever heard the taller man say.

_Kill him!_ his own personal demon howled, but Rumplestiltskin used his amusement to push the thought aside.  He’d expected people would react like this, and what did he care what Tony Rose—or even what Sir Gaston—thought?  So, he smiled condescendingly at the knight-turned-jock.

“Do you work here now, or are you just harassing the customers?” he wondered, glancing around for an appropriate flower display.  The less time he had to spend in the shop, the better.

“What, you’re actually buying flowers for your kept woman?” Tony snorted.  “Or is it for someone else, like the mayor?”

Rumplestiltskin’s head whipped around so fast that he heard his neck crack, and his right hand tightened on the handle of his cane hard enough to leave impressions in his palm.  Just hearing someone imply that he would ever _willingly_ romance Cora was enough to make him see red, enough to make his blood boil.  Had he possessed magic in that moment, he had no doubt that Tony Rose would have been turned into something particularly small, decorative, and stupid—perhaps a cocker spaniel—but not having magic gave him a moment to rein his temper in.  Not that he was beyond making a mental list of the things he would like to do to Tony Rose at a later date, but physical violence would not behoove him at all, and Rumplestiltskin was a patient man.  His revenges could wait.

“Are you done insinuating things?” he snapped.  “I would like to purchase some flowers, so if you don’t work here, just get out of the way.”

“Tony?” a voice called from the back, sounding a little uneven.  “Who’s up there with you?”

Moments later, Moe French stumbled into the main shop, his bleary eyes taking a moment to focus on the man who had stolen his daughter away.  _Twice, I suppose._   Rumplestiltskin would have empathized with the florist’s anger a lot more if he hadn’t fallen in love with Belle, and she him…or if Moe French hadn’t so thoroughly abandoned his daughter that she’d been close to begging for scraps before Gold met her.  He wasn’t sure which of his cursed memories had actually happened and which were just constructs of the curse, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t particularly care.  Bastard though Gold had been, he’d taken better care of Lacey and Renee than this self-righteous bigot had, and that knowledge eliminated any lingering sympathy Rumplestiltskin might have felt for a man who had lost their child.

“Oh.”  Moe stopped cold.  “It’s you.”

“If by ‘it’s you’, you mean that you have a paying customer who would like to purchase two dozen roses, you are correct, Mr. French,” Rumplestiltskin bit out, his patience near its limit.

Nevermind saying a few choice words to Moe to get him to stop harassing Belle.  Rumplestiltskin now just wanted to get out of that shop without threatening to kill anyone.

Moe looked confused; was that beer Rumplestiltskin smelled on his breath?  How the man didn’t go any further under financially, Rumplestiltskin would never know, but looking at the slight disarray in the shop and its drunk proprietor made him recall the loan Moe French had taken out so many years earlier.  _I should re-read that contract,_ he decided.  _I doubt he’s going to make the next payment on time, and that would be a hassle I don’t need right now._   Perhaps Dove could deal with the problem for him.  At least Dove wouldn’t feel so much shorter than the currently looming forward Tony Rose.

“How much is this bouquet?” he asked, pretending not to notice Tony’s threatening demeanor and gesturing at a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses with babies’ breath.  Belle would love them, and choosing these flowers meant that Rumplestiltskin could stop looking around and get out of here.

“What do you want that for?” Moe asked drunkenly, and Rumplestiltskin wanted to strangle the man.  _Killing your father-in-law is frowned upon in every realm,_ he reminded himself firmly.

“Why does anyone want flowers?” Rumplestiltskin countered acidly.  _Because I love your daughter.  Because she’s my wife, and I want to see her smile_ , he was too angry to add.

“Those aren’t for sale,” Tony butted in, and Rumplestiltskin had to ask himself if he had any pressing reasons not to kill the dumb jock.  Twice.  _I should have left him as a rose. I had no idea how appropriate that transformation was at the time._

“Nonsense,” he replied, reaching out to take the bouquet off the shelf.  It included a blue glass vase, which was good, because he wasn’t sure if there were actually any vases in that vast mansion the curse had given him.  Ignoring Tony, he looked at Moe.  “The price tag says seventy-five dollars.  Take it off the amount of your next loan payment.”

Turning on his heel, Rumplestiltskin walked out of the shop, noting that Moe was either too stunned or too drunk to object.  Tony growled something to the florist that Rumplestiltskin couldn’t catch, but he really didn’t care.  Daylight was short during winter, and the sun was already going down.  He needed to get home and cook dinner, lest he and Belle have to deal with a very cranky three year old (going on four, as Renee was quick to remind everyone).  Besides, home was a far brighter place to be than the south end of No. 1 Road, where a brisk winter wind was starting to whip up off of the bay.  Shivering, Rumplestiltskin limped diagonally across the street to his car, which was parked in front of the Storybrooke Harbor Fish and Gift Shop.  The gift shop was closed for the winter, as usual, which meant that its reserved parking was open, and Rumplestiltskin had taken advantage of that.  The walk there wasn’t a long one, but he almost lost the flowers twice along the way due to the wind, cursing his old limp with every step.  Needing the cane meant he could only devote one hand to holding the flowers, which the wind was trying very hard to steal.

Fortunately, once he reached the other side of the road, the apartment building and then the parking garage provided a better lee, and Rumplestiltskin was able to relax his death grip on the vase.  That made him glance down at the flowers to make sure they weren’t ruined, but the roses seemed none the worse for wear.  They were just the right shade of yellow, too . Although not quite the gold of the dress he’d first seen Belle in, they were the color yellow that Belle liked best.  That thought brought a smile to Rumplestiltskin’s face as he limped past the parking garage, and he never heard the footsteps coming up from behind him until a golf club hit him square across both shoulders.

Stumbling and crying out, Rumplestiltskin somehow managed to catch his weight on his cane.  Doing so made him drop the flowers, however, and the vase hit the ground with a _crash_ , glass shattering and spraying all over the sidewalk.  Pain spreading across his shoulders like fire, Rumplestiltskin managed to turn to face his attackers, hobbling a bit due to his limp.  His right arm felt numb already—the head of the club had hit him right in that shoulder blade, and the hand he needed to hold his cane wasn’t quite working right.

Somehow, he was not surprised to see Moe French and Tony Rose there, both holding golf clubs and wearing murderous expressions.  _Assault means more in this world than the last, dearies,_ he wanted to tell them, but neither would have made any sense of that remark.  Still, taking control of the situation was probably the only chance he had, because Rumplestiltskin was not foolish enough to think that he could manage to get away from either man.  Tony Rose had been Storybrooke High’s track star, and even Moe French could run faster than Rumplestiltskin could limp.   _Damn this lame leg!_   He hated being a cripple, missed the freedom inherent in being able to move without pain.

He missed _magic_.

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?” he demanded, using his fury to hide the crushing memories of being the town coward, chased by bullies and unable to flee because he was a cripple.  But Storybrooke wasn’t Hamlin, and here he was not a powerless spinner.

“Avenging Lacey!” Tony spat, lunging forward and swinging his club.

Rumplestiltskin might not have been very nimble, but he was good at judging angles, which meant he managed to sidestep the blow.  Tony wasn’t as drunk as Moe, but his movements were a little hampered, which probably meant that he had indulged in a bit of liquid courage as well.  _Kill them both!_ his curse howled furiously, not liking this turn of events one bit.

_Shut up!_ Rumplestiltskin ordered the demon, turning on Tony.  “Lacey doesn’t need avenging, dearie.  She’s perfectly fine.”

“So you say,” Moe growled, and suddenly the florist was there, too, stepping forward and raising his own golf club.

“You talked to her yourself this afternoon,” Rumpelstiltskin pointed out as calmly as he could, cautiously backing away from the pair.  His heart was racing madly.  “She’s—”

“She’s saying whatever you force her to say!” Moe cut him off, sounding more sober and less drunk by the moment.  Not that it helped.

“You must think very little of your daughter if you think she’s so easily intimidated.”

Tony was circling to his right, so Rumplestiltskin was forced to back up a little to the left, realizing too soon that doing so put his back perilously close to the outer wall of the parking garage.  Cornered, he watched the two larger men nervously, realizing how bad this was about to get if something didn’t interfere, and fast.  _Would they really dare?_ he wondered, but that hope only lasted as long as it took to look in both pairs of furious eyes.  The worst part was that he’d _never_ hurt the woman they were so hell-bent to defend; she was his wife, his True Love, the one person who had ever been able to break through the depths of his curse and find the man he wished he still was.  But neither Moe nor Tony would believe that, not even if he spilled the truth at this very moment.

And the street was damnably empty.  Even the nearby apartment complex had no one out on this street, probably on account of the horrible weather and the entrance being around the corner.  One look around told him that there was no one to hear a cry for help, and too late, Rumplestiltskin fumbled into the pocket of his coat for his cell phone.  He could call the sheriff, because Emma might not like him, but she would still—

Another swinging golf club cut that thought off, and although Rumplestiltskin tried to dodge this one, too, he had nowhere to go.  The blow, coming from Tony, caught him in the right shoulder again, clipping him hard enough to send Rumplestiltskin stumbling backwards.  His back hit the wall hard, and he barely caught himself before he fell, clutching his cane for balance and for dear life.  Terror made him freeze for a moment before centuries of fighting back reminded him that he did not have to _act_ like a coward, and Rumplestiltskin started to lever his cane off the ground to fight back—only to be caught in the midsection by a swinging slash of Moe’s golf club.

Coughing and staggering, he swayed left and into the wall, barely catching himself on it.  Then another blow came, this one from Tony, hitting him square in the right side.  Something _cracked_ , and Rumplestiltskin cried out in pain, crashing to his knees hard enough to send his cane clattering away.  Seeing stars, he tried to get up, tried to say something, but another blow sailed in, landing in the exact same spot.  Ribs splintered and Rumpelstiltskin screamed, collapsing to the ground as Tony rained down a half dozen blows in the same area.  Moe joined in as he instinctively tried to curl up into a ball, desperately trying to shield his core from the blows with his arms.

One club nailed him right in the stomach, hard enough to make Rumplestiltskin taste blood, and roll helplessly with the blow, landing right in the broken glass from the vase.  Had he bitten his tongue, or were their more serious injuries at play?  But there was no time to think, only time to howl in pain as the blows continue to rain down.  He was curled up on his left side, frantically trying to shield himself and to twitch away from the beating, but there was nowhere to go and nothing he could do.  He heard Moe say something, but Tony’s next blow came down on his right cheekbone and left his ears ringing too loudly for Rumpelstiltskin to make words out; he could only gasp in agony as spider webs of pain arced outwards from the point of impact, lighting his brain on fire and making his vision go black.

Unfortunately, they didn’t stop there.  “Let’s try that busted leg of his,” Tony growled, and Rumpelstiltskin tried to speak, only for his objection to be swallowed by a scream when the head of a golf club smashed into his right ankle.

Another blow came, and then another.  Moe and Tony both concentrated on his long-ago broken leg, swinging with all of their might.  Bones splintered and then shattered, and Rumplestiltskin’s screams filled the empty street.  What anyone might have heard was ripped away by the wind, and if not, well, the flower shop and the gift shop were on the end by the water.  Only the parking garage was near either, and there was no one there to pay attention as he screeched in pain, seeing a black field of stars instead of the street he laid upon.  His curse was screaming for vengeance in his mind, hating this helplessness as much as Rumplestiltskin did, but it was as useless as he was at the moment.

With no magic, Rumplestiltskin had no way to defend himself.  Finally, the duo paused, allowing Rumplestiltskin to struggle for air and to try to make his eyes and voice work.  Moe and Tony slowly swam into focus in front of him, both blurry and jumping about, but at least he knew where they were.  He could barely feel his right leg, but could see enough to notice that the ankle was at a dangerous angle.

“Stop,” Rumplestiltskin panted desperately, barely able to speak through the pain in his ribs.  Blood bubbled up from between his lips.  “I’m not—”

Silver flashed in the dim light of the street lamps, and another blow to the face made the world go black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…what do you think is going to happen to Rumplestiltskin now? How badly will he be hurt, and how much of a game changer is this going to be as the ‘good’ guys struggle to make Emma believe and break the curse?
> 
> Up next, Chapter 46: “Unexpected Associations”, in which someone stumbles upon Rumplestiltskin, Emma starts investigating this attack, and Belle and Regina find themselves at odds. Back in the past, Rumplestiltskin tries to get rid of an unwanted student.


	46. Unexpected Associations

The nice thing about cold winter weather was that no one really wandered around by the docks or the beach.  That gave Regina and Errol somewhere private to meet that was also innocent; after all, who in their right mind would plan a romantic rendezvous down by the water when it was less than thirty degrees out?  _And today was unseasonably warm, too,_ Regina thought with a smile.  Errol had come up with the idea, but Regina had thought it brilliant.  She was willing to suffer through a bit of cold to spend time with the man whom she was quickly falling for, and she was just glad that he wanted to spend time with her as much as she wanted to spend time with him.

“So, how’s Henry doing with the new teacher?” Errol asked after they finished talking about Roland’s recent adventures in preschool. 

Regina sighed.  “He doesn’t like her as much as he liked Mary Margaret.  The whole class seems to miss her now that the murder rumors have died down.”

“I always thought she was too nice of a person to be in any way responsible for that, but it’s amazing what the rumor mill will whip up,” he replied.  “Particularly that Scadlock.  It seems like he’ll say anything, so long as it’ll sell papers.”

“Honestly, I think my mother is more at fault than Scadlock,” she said, wondering how Errol would take that.  After all, if he was going to get involved with her, he needed to be warned, and although Regina was terrified of scaring him away with the full truth, she thought that easing him into things might be better.  “She’s always hated Sn—Mary Margaret.”

“Why?  I’ve never met a kinder and gentler woman than Ms. Blanchard.”

“It has something to do with hating Mary Margaret’s mother,” Regina answered as honestly as she could.  _You see, Mother cast a terrible curse to punish my sister, killing my—_

“What was that?” Errol’s sudden question cut her thoughts off, and Regina glanced at him in confusion.

“What was what?”

“Did you hear that?” the firefighter asked, but Regina immediately wondered if it was the outlaw and the tracker in him that was noticing things that others did not.  The weaker the curse became, the more the _real_ residents of Storybrooke would emerge.  Was it possible that she was now talking to Robin Hood more than Errol Forrester?  She hoped so.

“I didn’t hear anything,” she said, straining her ears.

The wind coming up across the docks was plenty loud, but after a moment, Regina thought she heard a human cry echoing down from No. 1 Road, drifting in their direction from the north.  Of course, it could have just been a drunk yelling in front of the Rabbit Hole, but the bar was a good block away and a little to the west.  Sound didn’t usually carry that far in Storybrooke, and it was obvious from the look on Errol’s face that he was thinking the same thing.

“C’mon,” he said, grabbing her by the arm and hurrying up No. 1 Road. 

They passed the apartment building on their right as they moved north, but most of the residents seemed to have their apartments buttoned up tight against the wind and the threats of a January snow.  The overgrown flower shop was to the left, and Regina thought she saw the door closing as they passed, but she couldn’t be sure.  She was too busy sniffing out a faint scent in the air that she knew she recognized from somewhere.  Errol led her around a parked car—Tony Rose’s mustang, she thought—and then suddenly they both stopped cold.

There was a black-clad figure sprawled on the street in front of the parking garage, lying in a pool of blood, broken glass, and yellow roses.

“Good heavens,” Errol whispered, and the pair rushed forward without a further word.

“Call an ambulance!” Regina snapped, reaching the prone figure first and realizing with a sinking feeling who it had to be.  She knew that hair, even if she’d never seen it before coming to Storybrooke, and as she carefully rolled the body over, she recognized the bloody and bruised face.  Frantically, she checked for a pulse, and found one, thready and weak though it was.

“This is Errol Forrester.  We need an ambulance near…12311 Number One Road,” she distantly heard her companion say into his phone, his voice clipped and cool under pressure.  “Send the sheriff, also.  Someone’s been attacked.”

“Rumple?” Regina whispered as Errol answered the dispatcher’s questions.  The only response she received was a pained moan; Rumplestiltskin’s eyes were shut and his face terrifyingly pale.  “Don’t you die on me now, you bastard.  I need your help.  I need _you_.”

He was one of the few friends she had, after all, that she’d never betrayed.  Rumplestiltskin had taught her, understood her, and stood by her even at her worst, and Regina was not about to let him die.  Not like this.  Swallowing back her worry—because he _hadn’t_ answered, hadn’t done anything but moan, and he looked like hell.  Regina didn’t know much about medicine; everything she’d ever learned about healing included magic, but she knew enough to know that Rumplestiltskin needed help _fast._  Holding her old friend in her arms, she twisted to look at Errol, shouting desperately:

“Tell them to hurry!”

* * *

 

Belle was really starting to get worried when her cell phone rang.  It wasn’t like Rumple to be late, or at least not without calling.  It was nearly eight P.M., and her husband had promised her at lunch that he’d be home by six.  _I hope Cora hasn’t forced him to go to her house again,_ she thought, feeling cold.  Rumplestiltskin had told Belle what happened after he’d let Cora know he was awake, and she’d seen the horrific damage that the mayor had done to him the night after that.  Rumple hadn’t gone into details, but he’d been shaky and closed off when he got home, and the session after that one had been even worse.  He wasn’t in any shape to survive another one of those, not just two days after the last, and relief made her hands shake as she grabbed for her cell phone.

“Rumple?” she gasped without bothering to look at the caller I.D.

“Lacey?” a female voice asked, and it took Belle a moment to recognize that it belonged to Emma Swan.

“Yes?” she said, blinking in surprise and wondering if Emma had noticed the way she’d answered the phone.  _I hope not.  How am I going to explain that?_ The best thing she could do was go on like nothing had happened, so Belle asked:  “Sheriff, why are you calling me?”

“Mr. Gold is in the hospital,” the distant voice replied, and Belle’s stomach dropped out. 

“What happened?” she whispered, barely able to find her voice.  Had Cora—?

“We’re not sure yet.  Someone caught him on the street and beat him up pretty badly,” Emma told her, and Belle had to sit down, barely making it into one of the chairs at the kitchen table as her knees went weak.  “You’re listed as his emergency contact.  Can you come down to the hospital?”

“I’ll…I’ll be right there,” she managed to say through her shock after a moment, her heart clenching with worry.  Rumple was human here, so fragile and so very human.  She’d never even contemplated that someday she might lose him—he was the immortal one!—and yet… “Will he be okay?” Belle whispered.

“He’s in emergency surgery right now.”

Lacey had never been an expert on medical procedures, which meant that Belle wasn’t, either, but she knew enough to know that was bad.  “I’ll be there as soon as I can get someone to come over and watch Renee,” she promised, and then hung up before Emma could respond. 

If Rumplestiltskin was in that bad of shape, Belle couldn’t bear to bring his daughter to see him.  Home was the safest place for their little girl.  Hands shaking, she pulled up Dove’s number out of the contacts listed in her phone.  She was sure Marie would be willing to watch Renee, and Dove would undoubtedly want to come to the hospital, too.  _Particularly since someone_ beat _Rumplestiltskin up,_ Belle thought angrily.  Whatever had happened, whoever had done it, she was not going to give them a second chance.  She’d have Dove stay with Rumple until they figured out what was going on.

* * *

 

His curse had finally stopped raging; it seemed to be sinking all of its energy into keeping him alive.  Without magic in Storybrooke, his curse was severely limited in what it could do: it couldn’t heal him, or even lessen the pain, but it did seem able to keep his body functioning until Whale and his fellows could dig into Rumplestiltskin with their crude medical instruments.  The curse also served to wake him up sooner than his merely human body wanted to become coherent, which was why Rumplestiltskin started to come to as they rolled him into the recovery room.  The world around him was still spinning, and there appeared to be nothing his curse could do about that, but he was waking up.  Even if he didn’t want to.  Every bone in his body seemed to hurt, even though it was a distant pain, like it was happening to someone else.  Vaguely, he could hear Whale talking to someone.

“…think I got all the internal bleeding stopped, but there’s no way to be sure this early,” the doctor said, but his voice sounded like it was coming from the other end of a long tunnel.  “Someone laid into him pretty badly.  He’s got four broken ribs, a broken cheekbone, a nasty concussion, and I don’t want to begin trying to describe what happened to his right leg.  He’ll be lucky if he can walk with just a cane again.  He might need a wheelchair.”

“When is he going to be awake to answer a few questions?”  That was the sheriff, of course, bless her noble and determined little heart.

“It’s hard to tell.  The anesthesia should wear off within the next hour, but sleeping is the body’s best way to heal.  He might be out for the rest of the night.”

Rumplestiltskin was floating.  Both voices sounded like they were coming from _so_ far away, and although he tried to will his voice into working, it just didn’t seem to want to play.  Intellectually, he knew that the painkillers he was on—was that an IV stabbing uncomfortably into his left arm?—were keeping him like that, but as grateful as he was for the way they kept the pain at bay, Rumplestiltskin didn’t appreciate the fog in his mind.  His mind had always been his greatest weapon, and right now it was _not_ working properly.  Meanwhile, Emma said:

“Give me a call when he wakes up, okay?  I need to figure out who did this before they hurt someone else.”

That made a laugh bubble up in his throat, although it came out as an agonizing cough.  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t so out of it that he didn’t remember _exactly_ who attacked him, and the thought of those two going after someone else was downright ludicrous.  Neither was that courageous, particularly not when their target wasn’t already disabled.  He wanted to let out one of his old high-pitched giggles, but everything hurt too much.  Then footsteps moved closer to him, drawn by the sound he’d made, and Rumplestiltskin could almost feel two sets of eyes studying him, wondering if the cough was a reflex or something more.

“Whoever it was, they left him for dead.  I hope you get them soon, Sheriff,” Frankenstein said, sounding like he actually meant it.  Amusement from the thought of the dear doctor’s former obsession with the dead almost _really_ made him giggle, but thankfully he was too wasted to manage that.  Finally, Rumplestiltskin managed to force his eyes open.

“…awake,” he wheezed, surprised that his mouth was suddenly willing to work.  Was that his curse?  There was no way to know.

“Mr. Gold?” There was Emma again, sounding strangely concerned.  _She wouldn’t be if she knew what you were,_ the curse whispered, and Rumpelstiltskin really wished it hadn’t chosen such an inopportune time to reintegrate itself into his consciousness.  Had it simply gone silent because it thought he might die?  Now _that_ was a pleasant thought.

“Yeah,” he managed after a moment, wincing as pain in his right cheek flared too high for the morphine to keep up with.

“You’re awake already?” Whale demanded, sounding surprised.

“Either that, or I’m doing a…lovely job talking in my sleep, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin tried to quip, but the sentence ended in a fit of coughing.  Oh, his ribs hurt.  Talking burned.  He felt like the right side of his face was going to fall off.

This was certainly the worst beating he’d suffered in his life, although it did have some stiff competition.  However, back in the Frontlands, the local bullies hadn’t possessed metal golf clubs, so Rumplestiltskin supposed that might have given Moe and Tony an edge his old neighbors had lacked.  A surge of anger accompanied the thought, however; back then, the cripple had been beaten because he was a coward.  Now, he’d been on the receiving end because he was a monster—and wasn’t this kind of thing the very reason why he had taken on such darkness in the first place?  He hated being helpless.  He hated being a _victim._   Once, so long ago, he had sworn that he’d never again allow himself to be put in that position.  Yet here he was.

_Damn this Land Without Magic,_ Rumplestiltskin thought acidly, and heard his curse echo the feeling gleefully.  His vision was swimming painfully, and he distantly heard Whale calling for a nurse.  Somewhere in there, he’d closed his eyes again, so Rumplestiltskin pried them open once more through sheer force of will.

“I expect you have some questions, Sheriff,” he whispered, finding that a softer tone kept the pain slightly at bay.

“Do you know who did this to you?” she asked without missing a beat.

“Sheriff, Mr. Gold really isn’t up to any questioning right now,” Whale grumbled.  “He’s on a high dosage of morphine, and—”

“And I’m not going to try playing twenty questions,” Emma cut the doctor off.  “I just want to know who I need to pull off the street.  The rest can wait until later.”

A nurse had bustled in while Emma was making mincemeat of Whale, and was standing over by the door, but Rumplestiltskin paid her no mind.

“And _I’m_ trying to tell you that he’s got a concussion and may not remember at all right now,” Whale snapped back.

“Why don’t we let him answer that?” she countered, and turned back to Rumplestiltskin.

“I remember,” he whispered out another wheeze, feeling his ribs protest. But painkillers hadn’t been a luxury that he’d owned back in the Enchanted Forest, and the spinner he’d once been had learned to live with pain.  Even discounting the way walking had always hurt, Rumplestiltskin had endured more than a few beatings back then.  After Milah had left, Bae had had no one to take care of him but his father, so Rumplestiltskin had always pushed aside the pain and done what he had to do to provide for his boy. 

“Can you tell me?” Emma asked, her voice more gentle than Rumplestiltskin ever remembered it being.  She truly was a worthy daughter of her parents, he reflected dizzily, a combination of both their strength and their compassion.

For a moment, Rumplestiltskin contemplated keeping the knowledge to himself and exacting his own revenge later—but no.  Firstly, he’d already opened his mouth and admitted he knew, probably due to the way the drugs slowed his usually quick brain down, numbing his manipulative nature into something almost normal.  Secondly, Belle would never forgive him if he killed her father, and there was the pesky business of that old promise of his.  He’d done a deal, and promised that Belle’s family and friends would be _safe._   Rumplestiltskin never broke a deal, even when his curse raged on demanding that he deal with them himself.

“Moe French and Tony Rose,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment in hopes that it would make the room stop spinning.  It didn’t.  If anything, he was dizzier than ever when he opened his eyes.

“The florist and the guy who owns the jewelry shop?” Emma said doubtfully.

“Well, if it makes you feel better…I wasn’t expecting it, either,” Rumplestiltskin breathed, his chest growing tighter and tighter.  His face must have shown the pain, though, because Whale stepped forward.

“All right.  That’s enough. You’ve got your names, Sheriff.  Now leave my patient in peace.”

“Right.  I’ll be back,” she promised, and the doctor escorted the sheriff out as Rumplestiltskin stared blankly at the ceiling, breathing hard.  Everything hurt.  Was the morphine wearing off, or was he just waking up further?

Suddenly, a red-haired woman leaned over him, and seeing her face almost made Rumplestiltskin curse aloud in surprise.  At first, he tried to convince himself that he was just seeing things, that this woman _shouldn’t_ be in Storybrooke, but he knew that his eyes weren’t deceiving him and he wasn’t that dizzy.  Last he’d known, she’d been in Oz and she’d been green, but he’d still recognize that face anywhere.  Her nametag red ‘Chloe Zephyr’, though, and she was obviously a nurse.  Just not a nurse that he wanted _anywhere_ near him.  Ever.

He barely managed to bite back the temptation to yell for Whale to find another nurse as Zelena’s alter ego cooed: “Oh, you poor thing.  Let me up that dosage a bit for you, and then you should sleep just fine.”

“I don’t—” Rumplestiltskin started to object, but her manicured fingers (with green painted nails, of course) were already adjusting his morphine drip, and soon enough, the room faded into blackness.

* * *

 

_13 Years, 3 Months Before the Curse_

In retrospect, he was amazed that it had taken so long.  Zelena had been driving him crazy for months, asking incessant questions about both her mother and her younger sister.  She was growing increasingly unstable, too, unbearably envious of Regina, whom Rumplestiltskin was careful to never let her meet.  He still wasn’t particularly pleased with Cora for sending this crazier daughter his way, but he’d at least thought he could make use of Zelena in the beginning.  Now, he was not so sure.

She was a sad little thing, really, desperate for approval and for affection.  Cora had already manipulated Zelena into thinking that she’d sent her to Rumplestiltskin for her own good, but Rumplestiltskin knew differently.  He knew that Cora had sent Zelena to the Dark Castle to get her out of the way, and while he was initially amused by his efforts to turn Zelena to _his_ side, that attempt quickly got the better of him.  She _still_ fancied herself in love with him, and that didn’t just disqualify her from casting the curse.  It also made Rumplestiltskin acutely uncomfortable, for he wasn’t looking for anything like love.  _Particularly not from someone as clingy and as unpredictable as Zelena_.  _And_ definitely _not from Cora’s daughter!_  

He’d checked to make sure she wasn’t his, of course, and was damn relieved to know that she wasn’t.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t _thought_ he’d impregnated Cora—he’d been very careful at the time not to, thinking they’d have years yet to have children—but he wouldn’t have put it past her to lie to him.  So, he’d checked three times, using every spell he knew of to verify that Zelena was no relation of his.  She wasn’t, but that still didn’t make him want her.  

Most Dark Ones, he knew, would play on her feelings, get her into their bed—for Zelena was far from an ugly woman, particularly when she had her envy under control—and then tie her to themselves as thoroughly as possible.  But Rumplestiltskin was not like his predecessors.  He had loved two women in his life, and both had broken his heart.  He had never been one for casual romances, and the idea of lying about his own feelings and starting a relationship with her sickened him.  The thought that he’d nearly married her mother only added icing to that disgusting cake; Rumplestiltskin was _not_ interested in Zelena, no matter how hard she tried to change that.  Her efforts were clumsy, however, and ignoring them was growing harder and harder.

“What exactly is it that you’re trying to do, Zelena?” he asked her one evening, when she came sweeping into his tower long after bedtime—he _so_ wished that she had somewhere else to live in this realm, because Zelena was seriously cramping his entire life. 

“Visiting you, of course,” she replied, and Rumplestiltskin finally glanced her way from where he sat at his oldest spinning wheel.  _So much for finding peace while spinning.  She’s ruined that,_ he thought irritably.  Zelena was wearing a low-cut  nightdress and the sheerest robe he’d ever seen, obviously having put her best assets on display.  She’d managed to fight back her latest bout of envy a few weeks earlier, and so no green splotches marred her skin, but Rumplestiltskin found himself not even the slightest bit tempted.

“It’s far past your bedtime, dearie,” he said as casually as he could, letting his voice trip up even higher than usual.  _The less human you are, the less she’ll want you,_ he tried to tell himself.  “Shouldn’t you be…anywhere but here?”

“Why don’t you come with me?” Zelena invited him, and wasn’t _that_ subtle?

Even Rumplestiltskin had to blink at how blatant her attempts to seduce him had become, and it took him a moment to wrap his mind around what was happening.  _She wants you for your power,_ the curse whispered inside his mind.  _You should take advantage of that.  Take her.  Enjoy yourself!_   With an effort—and a great deal of disgust—Rumplestiltskin tore his mind away from that artificial temptation.  Zelena was almost as messed up as he was, so even if he _had_ been attracted to her, nothing good could have come out of it.

“I…don’t think that’s a wise idea at all,” Rumplestiltskin replied, getting up from the wheel just before she could sit down beside him.  He danced backwards a few steps, trying not to look unnerved and failing. 

Zelena shrugged.  “Who says wisdom has anything to do with it?”

She tried to put a hand on his arm; he evaded her grasp.

“I’m going to stick with the wiser course of action, all the same,” he told her.  “You’re my student.  I don’t get involved with students.”

“Why ever not?” Now she was pouting, but at least that was better than the seductress act.  Rumplestiltskin almost felt bad for her, but whatever pity he might have felt was easily drowned out by his desire to avoid her rather more intimate longings.

He flashed her a rotten-toothed smile.  “You might say that I learned my lesson.”

“Just because it went wrong once doesn’t mean it has to a second time,” Zelena pointed out, finally managing to step up in front of him and place her hands on his arms.  She leaned in, and Rumplestiltskin felt the need to go take a very long bath and scrub himself thoroughly. 

“Uh, yes it does,” he giggled, throwing a hand up in a flourish and using his best weapon to frighten her off.  “Particularly since I learned it with your mother.”

“With my _mother_?” she gasped, and that finally made her back up a step.

“What, she never told you?” Rumplestiltskin asked, feigning surprise.  “I thought she would have.  She told Regina, of course.”

Ah, there it was.  The mention of her sister was enough to make Zelena’s envy rear up again, and he watched her blue eyes go wide with hatred and fury.  Any reference to Cora actually raising Regina was always a good way to distract Zelena, and Rumplestiltskin really needed her distracted at the moment.

“You both like her more than me!” Zelena burst out, and as she spoke, a patch of green started growing on her neck once more.

Watching that did alarm Rumplestiltskin a little.  He didn’t _need_ Zelena to cast his curse, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like the idea of having her as an ally.  _Without her being in my bed!_ “Liking has nothing to do with it, dear,” he reassured her, sliding away from her still all-too-close presence.  Now that she’d stopped trying to seduce him, he could afford to be kind.  “I don’t teach _either_ of you because I like you.”

Even as he said the words, Rumplestiltskin knew they were only partially true.  No, he hadn’t chosen to teach either of Cora’s daughters because of any lingering affection for any of the three women, but he _did_ vastly prefer Regina over her older sister.  Not for rational reasons, though.  The spinner that had always been inside him would probably never be silent, and that man—quiet though his soul was—remembered that Regina would have been the daughter who Cora would have given him, remembered visions of himself holding her.  Regina wasn’t his daughter, and would never be, but somehow they were starting to carve out a relationship close to that.

“No, you just want power,” Zelena snapped.

“Of course I do. I’m the Dark One.  What did you expect?”

She looked heartbroken, but Rumplestiltskin hadn’t thought she was that deluded.  “Then what am I supposed to do?” she whispered.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” he said, figuring that now was as good a time as any.  “You’ve reached the point that you can learn anything else you want to learn—and I do mean anything—by yourself.  You’re an extremely talented sorceress, Zelena, and I’m not just saying that.”

The pout was back.  “So?”

“So…I think it’s time for you to strike out on your own.  Take a castle off of some unsuspecting nobleman.  Make a name for yourself.  You don’t have to depend upon your mother to care for you.  Just take care of it yourself.”

“But Mother sent me to you,” Zelena objected.

“Your mother is not exactly a… _caring_ woman, Zelena.  She’ll keep you in reserve until she needs you, and then use you for all you’re worth.”  This was the kindest bit of advice that Rumplestiltskin had for her, but Zelena was still obviously not happy to hear it.

She glared, and the words were a snarl: “Just like you.”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “At least I’m not lying to you about it.”

 

* * *

 

Belle was surprised to see Regina in the waiting room when she reached the hospital, but only so surprised.  She knew that Regina was awake, too, and knew that she and Rumple had been close back in the Enchanted Forest.  Rumplestiltskin never told her exactly how close they were, but she’d always been able to infer that he almost thought of the sorceress as something like a daughter.  Of course, he’d never admit that aloud—and particularly not to Regina—but judging from the worried expression on the mayor’s daughter’s face, she cared for him, too.  For a moment, Belle contemplated asking one of the nurses for news and pretending that she didn’t know about Regina’s closeness with her husband, but instead she opted for the direct route.  She was too worried to do anything else.

But the fact that Robin Hood was sitting next to Regina _did_ give her pause, and Belle hesitated a moment too long.  Fortunately, that moment was all it took for Regina to spot her, and Rumplestiltskin’s student walked over to her.

“I hear you’re Gold’s emergency contact,” the older woman said by way of greeting, and Belle nodded.  Gold had changed Cora out for Lacey years earlier; even under the curse, Belle would have gotten the call. _True Love wins out,_ her husband had said more than once, and he’d been right.

“Yes,” she said, swallowing back the need to rush right further into the hospital, shouting for Rumple until someone told her where he was.  “How is he?”

“Bad,” Regina answered bluntly, and was she looking at Belle suspiciously?

“Do you know anything more than that?” Belle asked, trying not to let her voice shake.  _Bad_ could mean so many things, and Rumple was so fragile here, fragile in more ways than anyone could appreciate.

Regina studied her for a moment, her eyes narrowing.  “Your father and your ex-boyfriend are the ones who beat him up.”

_“What?_ ”

“You really didn’t know about that, did you?” Apparently, Belle’s surprise gained her a little respect from Regina, because her outright hostility lessened by a notch or two.

“No!  Why would I have known about that?” Belle demanded, startled into complete honesty by the knowledge that her fatherhad hurt her husband.  “I keep _telling_ them that I’m where I want to be, that I’m _happy_.  But they don’t believe me at all.”  Belle barely managed to stop herself from saying more, particularly things that would tell Regina that Belle also remembered their past lives.  “Please, tell me what happened.  Tell me he’s going to be all right.”

Regina grimaced.  “Whale’s not sure yet.  He was awake for a bit earlier, and then passed back out.  He’s got a lot of injuries.”

Swallowing hard, Belle made herself nod.  “How bad?”

“A bunch of broken bones.  Some internal injuries, too.  You’ll have to ask Whale for the details,” the older woman said shortly.  Obviously, she still didn’t trust Belle, but at the moment, Belle didn’t care.

“What room is he in?” she asked.

“I just told you that he’s not awake,” Regina pointed out, sounding annoyed.

“Then I’ll sit with him until he wakes up.”  All the power of Cora’s curse couldn’t make Belle leave Rumple, now, and she turned to ask the nurse at the information desk the very question Regina had just refused to answer.

Only to find a hand grab her arm and jerk her up short.  Belle turned to glare at Regina, finding the taller woman glowering down at her.  She tried to pull away once, but Regina was far stronger than her, and doing so only made Belle stumble.

“Look,” Cora’s daughter said.  “We both know what kind of man Gold is, so you don’t have to pretend, okay?  Just go home to your daughter, and I’m sure everything will be fine.  You can even have that house to yourself for a while, and I’m sure you’ll like that.”

“I’m not pretending,” Belle snapped, finally able to yank her arm out of Regina’s grasp.  “You don’t know anything about me, so don’t assume I don’t care for him.  Excuse me.”

Leaving Regina stunned in her wake, Belle stalked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Rumplestiltskin isn’t out of the woods, but in the hospital is better than lying on the street, right? Also, thank you so much to everyone who left feedback on the last chapter! It really means a lot to me.
> 
> Next: Chapter 47: “Truth and History”, in which Belle feels guilty, Regina spies on “Lacey” and Rumplestiltskin, Keith is his usual annoying self, and Whale starts asking Gold uncomfortable questions. Back in the past, Belle researches something she shouldn’t.


	47. Truth and History

Belle sat at his side for hours before he woke up again, holding his left hand in her own and trying not to notice how limp and pale Rumplestiltskin looked against the white sheets.  His face was bruised and puffy, with a strange flatness around his right cheekbone that told Belle it was broken.  From what she could see around the hospital gown, he was wrapped in bandages, and his right leg was already in traction.  He looked _horrible_ , tiny and beaten, and those were words she had never thought to apply to her husband.  But there was nothing she could do for him, even after Whale had detailed his long list of injuries for her.  All Belle could do was sit by Rumplestiltskin’s side and wait, refusing to leave when Whale told her that visiting hours were over.  Fortunately, he took pity on her and let her stay, even though he shouldn’t have.

A groan was the first indication that he was starting to wake up, and Belle braced herself for incoherency, pain, and the loopiness that Whale had warned her was bound to occur.  But after a moment—far too quickly, instinct told her—Rumplestiltskin’s eyes flickered open, dancing quickly around the room before they settled on her.

“Belle?” he whispered, and although his voice was muffled and scratchy, she could understand him just fine.  But he had to be out of it if he was using her real name in a semi-public area.  Thankfully, they were alone.

“Yes,” she replied, relief making the word gush out of her.  She wanted to kiss him so badly, but she thought that even kissing his forehead would hurt him, so Belle contented herself with squeezing his hand.  Biting her lip hard to keep tears back, she finally managed to add: “Oh, Rumple.  I’m so sorry.  I never thought they would do something like this.  I don’t understand why they did.”

“…not your fault, sweetheart,” her husband said softly, punctuating the sentence with a cough. 

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to throttle them,” Belle retorted fiercely, and she thought she saw something like a smile flicker through Rumplestiltskin’s eyes.

“Do it…for both of us,” he wheezed, then slurred: “Is G— _Renee_ —okay?”

Belle nodded.  He really _was_ out of it if he caught himself using their daughter’s real name.  “She’s at home, sleeping.  It’s the five in the morning.  Marie and Dove are there with her.”

“Oh.”

A moment passed before she finally felt fingers squeeze her own in return, and Belle felt like crying in relief.  “What can I do?” she asked, desperate to find _some_ way to help him. 

Belle was no doctor, but she knew that injuries like this wouldn’t heal quickly.  Rumple would be in the hospital for weeks, at best, and what would they do in the meantime?  Worse yet, Whale had told her about the potentially crippling— _further_ crippling—injury to his right leg, and Belle knew how much that would bother her husband.  He hated the limp that the Land Without Magic had returned to him, and although Belle knew that her father and Tony had no idea what they were doing to his psyche when they shattered his leg so completely, they really had done one of the worst things it was possible to do to Rumplestiltskin.  The fact that they’d done it unknowingly did nothing to make the situation better, either.

“…don’t know,” Rumplestiltskin whispered weakly, prompting Belle to squeeze his hand again.

“You look horrible.”  She bit her lip, but the words still slipped out.

“Feel pretty horrible, too,” her husband replied, and Belle swallowed hard.

“I’ll stay with you,” she promised.  “And when I can’t be here, Dove will be.  We won’t leave you alone.

“All right.”  The fact that he didn’t argue at all told Belle how much pain he was in; his eyes had started to glaze over a little, and looking at him like this broke her heart.  She had to find a way to help him, but this was not the world she’d grown up in.  There, injuries like this could be healed much more quickly—and, in Rumplestiltskin’s case, never would have been suffered in the first place.  She wanted to go scream at her father, to demand of him how in the world he thought _this_ might help.  Moe and Tony had damn near killed the man she loved, and Belle could not forgive them for it.  She wasn’t sure she ever would.

“I love you,” Belle said fiercely, leaning over to kiss his hand.

“…love you, too,” Rumplestiltskin whispered in return before fading back out.

Neither realized that they were being watched.

* * *

 

Regina stood in the doorway, staring at the scene in front of her.  Rumplestiltskin was too out of it to notice her presence, and Lacey French was obviously not paying attention, but she’d been standing there for several minutes, watching the conversation with an ever-increasing feeling of shock.  First, Rumplestiltskin had asked about the little French girl—perhaps not such a surprise, given the soft spot Regina had always known he had for children—but the way Lacey had spoken to him was what really threw Regina for a loop.

Lacey was no frightened concubine, no struggling single mother making a deal with the devil to stay afloat.  She spoke to Rumplestiltskin like an equal, worried over him like she _cared_ , and looked utterly devastated by his condition.  Could the girl be living with him because she wanted to?  Rumplestiltskin had been typically close-mouthed about it, but Regina had always known he wasn’t the type to lock a woman up and use her for his own pleasure.  The logical assumption, if Lacey French was living with him willingly, was that the curse had created whatever relationship was between them, and that the poor girl—whoever she was—had no idea that she was sleeping with the most dangerous monster in town.  _But if she_ wants _to be there…_ Regina shook herself, and then her head snapped around when she heard Rumplestiltskin respond to the phrase she had very much not expected Lacey to use.

_I love you._

Hearing her old teacher say that sent a chill down Regina’s spine.  She knew better than most that Rumplestiltskin certainly was able to feel positive emotions towards people, but love?  She wasn’t sure if he was capable of truly feeling that, and she certainly hadn’t expected to hear him say it to his still-cursed kept woman.  Was he mad?  Was he playing her?  _Or is he just that out of it, hurting and needing someone_?  Regina dismissed the last possibility quickly; Rumplestiltskin might _look_ human, but applying that kind of human frailty to him was dangerous.  She knew him well, and cared for him as a friend and maybe even something of a crazy uncle, but Regina had never allowed herself to forget that he _wasn’t_ human.  Assuming he had human traits like that was asking for disaster.

Yet he’d just said that to the little maid, and why?  There was something going on here, something more than Regina had been able to discover, and she needed to know what it was.  Bad enough that Lacey French’s father and ex-boyfriend had put the Dark One into the hospital; that was a handicap Regina could ill afford at the moment.  She had a curse to break, and Rumplestiltskin was now beyond useless.  He’d be stuck in that bed for weeks, if not months, and here in the Land Without Magic, any handicap worse than his limp was really going to get in the way. 

 _I guess it’s on me, now,_ she realized with a sigh, turning away from the odd scene in front of her as Lacey put her head down on the bed next to Rumplestiltskin’s.  The Dark One was sleeping now, or unconscious, but the girl’s worried expression hadn’t changed.  Regina still didn’t trust her, but either Lacey was the world’s best actress, or she wasn’t playing her employer.  Whatever was going on between them, however, had suddenly thrust itself right into the middle of Regina’s curse-breaking quest, and that meant she had to figure out what it was.

* * *

 

_1 Year Before the Curse_

That evening, Rumplestiltskin had told Gabrielle a bedtime story about two sisters, one of whom saved the other with an act of True Love, and that got Belle to thinking.  First of all, because she was fairly sure that she knew that story from another angle, but also because it was the first example she’d ever heard of where True Love had not the exclusive province of lovers.  That, of course, had made her research True Love a bit—her husband really did have the best library of books on magic in the entire world—and what Belle found was rather illuminating.  She hadn’t known much about True Love before meeting Rumplestiltskin and accidentally discovering she shared it with him.  Every child born in the Enchanted Forest had heard of it, of course, but knowing that True Love existed and knowing exactly what it could do were two very different things.

 _True Love comes in a myriad of forms: love between lovers, love between siblings, and even love between a parent and a child,_ the _Great Book of Greater Magics_ told Belle, but it was the last bit that stood out to her.  She had seen Rumple kiss Gabi a hundred times, and vice versa.  But perhaps their daughter was too young for such emotions to make sense in her mind.  Did that mean that someday Gabrielle would be unable to kiss her father?  That very thought made Belle’s heart ache.  She accepted—albeit unhappily—that she would never be able to kiss Rumplestiltskin outside of Amorveria, and maybe in this Land Without Magic that he planned on taking them to.  But to force their little girl to walk that same path would break both her and Rumple’s hearts.

That knowledge was what made Belle start additional research the following day.  There had to be some way around Rumplestiltskin’s curse, something they could do to prevent the kiss from taking away his power.  Belle understood why Rumplestiltskin couldn’t let go of the magic, and she also had seen him, time and again, successfully fight back the darkness and prove he could love his family.  She loved _all_ of him, even his darkest core, and she would not take his power away unless he wanted her to.  He needed the magic to find Baelfire, and Belle had promised years ago to help him on that quest.

That said, she might have also been feeling a bit selfish when she started reading _Dark Power: the World’s Darkest Curses_.  Belle also very much wanted to be able to kiss her husband again.

The book was fascinating, although less than helpful.  It did not tell her much that Rumplestiltskin had not already shared or Belle had not figured out for herself, but she read the appropriate sections from start to finish, anyway.  Rumple had planned a day out with Gabrielle today, taking her to see some magical creatures that their two year old was fascinated by, which meant Belle had plenty of time to read and no need to rush.  So, when she finished with that book, she hefted another, and then another, combing through the books that she knew Rumplestiltskin kept hidden away from the world.  Long ago, he had admitted to her that he had destroyed every meaningful reference to his curse that he could find, saving only one copy of each for his own library.  She’d never quite understood his paranoid need for secrecy, but it wasn’t like he kept the books where she couldn’t find them.

Finally, however, she flipped open the _Leabhar Dubhailt Dìomhair_ , mentally translating the title to mean something along the lines of ‘the book of darkness’ secrets’.  This book had been gathering dust in a corner of Rumplestiltskin’s workshop, high on a shelf and obviously not read in years.  When Belle started the first chapter, she immediately understood the reason for that: it was a book full of theories written by a group of sorcerers and lords almost four hundred years earlier.  None of the authors had actually _been_ the Dark One, and Belle almost put the book aside before she read a notation at the end of one of the biographies.

**_Lord Reinhold, Earl of Whitefish Bay:_ ** _controlled Prospero, the Dark One following the demon Rasputin, for sixteen years until the dagger was stolen by the sorcerer Atlantes, later to fall in the hands of Zoso (see appendix 4 for a list of all Dark Ones and appendix 5 for a list of all masters and mistresses of the Dark One)._

Blinking, Belle flipped to appendix 5, resisting the urge to look at the rest of the book—which had apparently just become a lot more useful—until she was done.  Although she was not how anyone calling themselves the ‘masters and mistresses of the Dark One’ might actually accomplish such a deed, given that she fully understood exactly how powerful Rumplestiltskin was, she was curious.  So, her eyes scanned over the list of names, narrowing as they read the most interesting ones of the bunch.  The list started with _Danns' a'Bhàis (the First, Tia Dalma, Sekhmet, Väinämöinen, Muriel, Gargamel_ ) and ended with _Tobias, Duke of the Frontlands (Zoso)._   Turning a few pages back to the previous appendix, Belle was able to discover that _Danns' a'Bhàis_ —who ever that was—had ‘controlled’ the first six Dark Ones, and the Duke of the Frontlands had controlled Zoso, who was the last Dark One listed in the book. 

Had Zoso been Rumple’s predecessor?  Judging from the date on the book, and from how old Rumplestiltskin was, that seemed likely.  Belle also knew that her husband was originally from the Frontlands, and didn’t that make the pieces fit together?  And yet as interesting as this information was, it was of absolutely no use in her quest, so Belle flipped back to the table of contents to see if she could find anything else.  Most of the chapter titles seemed less than useful, but one jumped out at her, although Belle didn’t know why. 

**_Chapter 8 – the Dagger of the Dark One_ **

She’d never seen Rumple carrying around any specific dagger, but the reference piqued her interest.  So, she flipped to the chapter and began to read.

 _“The source of the Curse of the Dark One appears to be a kris dagger.  Although how the curse was initially created remains a mystery, the fact that the kris dagger is irrevocably linked to the Dark One and can control him or her has been proven time and again.  Some theorize that the dagger was a later addition to the curse, while others maintain that the Black Fairy, or perhaps the Sorcerer, had a hand in fusing the two together in the beginning. The truth is that_ how _the connection was forged is immaterial.  The fact that no Dark One has succeeded in cleaving themselves from the dagger’s control since the origin of the curse is most important._

_“The kris dagger’s control is absolute.  When wielded by anyone other than the Dark One, it forces the Dark One to do their master’s or mistresses’ bidding.  Although most Dark Ones will fight this control, their curse will exact a heavy price upon them for doing so, namely subjecting the Dark One to excruciating pain until obedience is granted.  The Dark One may not harm the holder of the dagger so long as the kris dagger remains in their possession, and few have ever escaped the control._

_“For example, when Lord Reinhold held the dagger, he commanded Prospero to slay the royal families of three kingdoms, which was immediately done, save for the royal daughters, whom Reinhold commanded be brought to him so that he might choose a wife from amongst them, thus inheriting the kingdom.  Later, Prospero would (at his master’s command) harness the creature Caliban, losing it and his dark magics upon all of Reinhold’s enemies.  Prospero was said to have resisted battling Caliban, fighting against the command until he bled from the ears and the eyes.  After his victory, Reinhold imprisoned his slave in a tower for a score of years, granting the monster neither food nor water and sending clerics in to force the Dark One to pay for the great deeds of darkness done in Reinhold’s name.”_

“That’s horrible,” Belle whispered to herself, staring at the page and re-reading the description of how absolute the control of the dagger was.  There were further examples of the things that Dark Ones had been forced to do, of how they had been harmed by their masters (or by their own curse) for resistance. 

Further down the page, a few more lines leapt out at her.  _“Few Dark Ones have lived out their entire lives in possession of the kris dagger.  To date, only Feyja was able to keep the dagger out of another’s hands, and she was slain only sixteen years after taking on the curse.”_

Then there was this interesting tidbit: _“The kris dagger also remains the only way to kill the Dark One, and the death comes at a high price.  Upon stabbing the Dark One in the heart, the killer becomes the new vessel for the curse, which transfers immediately to him or her.  There is no avoiding this, as heroes Dallben and Taran discovered when they sought to rid the world of their monstrous predecessors. Soon enough, the curse consumed them as well, leaving both men simply horrific shadows of their former selves.  Several sects of clerics believe that the best course of action is to torture a Dark One until they are unable to use conscious magic, thus keeping them unable to resist commands…”_

Belle felt nauseous.  Unless there was some other Curse of the Dark One, the people detailed in this book had been Rumplestiltskin’s predecessors, which meant what had happened to them could also happen to him.  The authors of the _Leabhar Dubhailt Dìomhair_ didn’t seem to think that any Dark One could ever possess any goodness whatsoever, but Belle had seen that was a lie.  She knew Rumplestiltskin was not like that…and yet he had never once told her of this dagger.

She had started this quest for information to find a way to kiss her husband without breaking his curse, but that lack of trust made her heart ache.

* * *

Belle finally left the hospital around lunchtime, knowing that she couldn’t leave Renee alone for the entire day but burning to stay by Rumplestiltskin’s side.  He was in and out, alternating between loopy and logical, and obviously in more pain that the morphine could keep up with.  Seeing him like that absolutely broke her, and she wanted to help him more than anything, but what could she do?  Right now, she couldn’t even stay by his side.  She needed to go home, take care of their daughter, and clean herself up before coming back that evening—despite the fact, as Whale had already told her firmly, she would be forced to leave when visiting hours ended.  The fact that Dove was there to watch over her husband comforted her little, but Belle had to leave.

The wind was blowing pretty hard when she stepped out of the hospital, and Belle thought she smelled snow in the air.   Ruby had driven her to the hospital the previous night after Belle called her in a panic, but she had planned on walking home today, knowing that she needed the time alone to clear her head and figure out what she was going to do.  Rumple was down for the count, and not much good at planning at the moment, and that meant that Belle needed to step in and shepherd the curse breaking while he could not.  _I am not going to let him lose his chance to find his son because of this,_ she thought determinedly.  It was now January, and Emma’s birthday had been in October.  That meant they only had seven months left before the end of her twenty-eighth year, and given how stubborn Emma was, that could be a problem if Rumplestiltskin was out of the game for too long.

She would have to pick up where he had left off.  Fortunately, Rumplestiltskin kept her appraised of Emma’s progress, using Belle as a sounding board or someone to vent his frustration to.  She knew what had happened and what had not, and knew that although Emma owed both a favor and ‘belief’ to Rumple, the Savior was still dragging her feet.  Regina was more hesitant to help, particularly after Cora had so obviously targeted her son, and that meant that _someone_ had to talk Emma into believing. 

Belle could do that.  In fact—

“Hey, Lacey!” a voice interrupted her thoughts, tires squealing. 

Skidding to a stop as she crossed the street, Belle found herself inches away from the bumper of a rusty red pickup truck, complete with Keith Law waving at her from the driver’s side window.  Had he almost _hit_ her with his truck?  Belle knew that the man was a regular menace on the road—because if he was awake, he’d probably been drinking—but that was a bit more than even Keith usually did.

Unbidden, the memory of the Sheriff of Nottingham came to mind, of a drunk and disgusting man demanding that Rumplestiltskin give him twenty minutes with his ‘wench’ in exchange for information.  Even back then, the Dark One had been more of a gentleman than this oaf, and Belle firmly believed she had started to love Rumple that day.  He’d looked so shocked and so horrified when Nottingham made that demand, and had defended her honor expecting nothing in return.  _That was the first day that I really saw the man behind the monster,_ she remembered, and that thought brought a smile to her face.

“Going somewhere?” the deputy sheriff asked, and hearing his voice brought back far _less_ pleasant memories and killed Belle’s smile.  Lacey remembered how this human piece of garbage trying to rape her one night, and Belle wasn’t prepared to forgive that, not given what the real man behind Cora’s curse had once tried to do.

“Yes,” she replied shortly, wrapping her arms around her chest to keep warm.  “Home.”

“To Gold’s?  I hear he had quite the accident,” Keith actually chuckled, and suddenly the idea of slapping that grin off his face was very appealing.  “Remind me to buy Tony and your dad a drink when the judge commends them for doing a public service.”

 _“What?”_   Belle gasped, staring at the grungy looking man in shock as he put his truck in park and climbed out. 

“Well, they freed you from that bastard, didn’t they?”

“What is _wrong_ with you people?” she demanded before she could stop herself.  “Gold isn’t forcing me to do anything, and I am exactly where I want to be!” 

Keith grabbed her arm, leering down at her chest.  “Well, then, babe, why don’t you come along to somewhere else you want to be?” he asked, grinning and obviously pleased at his own clever remark.  “With me.”

“I wouldn’t want to be with you if the world was ending.”  Belle tried to yank away, but he managed to hold onto her.

“Ah, c’mon, Lacey.  You know you want me.  You always have.”

Keith leaned in for a kiss, and Belle dodged, trying again to pull away and only finding that he was stronger than he looked.  _And drunker_.  She could smell the cheap booze on his breath, and it made her want to gag.

“Let go of me,” Belle hissed.

“Not until you give me a kiss,” he giggled.

What she gave him was a resounding _slap_ , right to the left cheek, swinging as hard as Belle could manage.  She was not terrified wallflower, and she wasn’t Lacey French, either, who always tried so hard to be brave but never quite managed to stand up for herself.  She was Belle of Avonlea, Lady of the Dark Castle, and she wasn’t about to let this demented lecher slobber all over her.  Yowling in pain, Keith stumbled back, and Belle bared her teeth at him in a sneer.

“I’d rather kiss an ogre,” she told him fiercely.  The reference confused Keith for a moment, but the moment she tried to walk away, he lunged for her, grabbing Belle by the upper arms and squeezing hard.

“No woman hits me, you bitch,” he snarled, leaning in.

“Fine,” she snapped, and slammed her knee into his groin.  _Hard._   She poured all of her worry and her anger into the blow, and was rewarded by Keith dropping like a rock, swearing and sobbing.  Soon enough, he was rolling around on the ground, and Belle looked down at him disgustedly.  She finished: “I won’t _just_ hit you, then.”

“You—you—” the words disappeared into another moan of pain, but Belle couldn’t summon up a flicker of pity for him.

“You’re an absolute Neanderthal, you know that?” she asked, moving a step back.  “I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on Earth.  Oh, and by the way?  Gold is ten times the man you are, even from his hospital bed.”

With that, Belle turned and walked away, almost running into Emma Swan as she approached.

“Everything okay?” the sheriff asked, her gaze flickering to where Keith still lay moaning on the ground.

“Just fine, thank you,” Belle replied, but of course Keith had to speak up.

“She hit me!” he wailed from the ground, still clutching helplessly at his crotch.  “She—she assaulted a police officer!”

Belle hoped that his manhood fell off.  He certainly wouldn’t need it once the curse broke and he returned to his emasculated state, after all.  Once, she’d yelled at Rumplestiltskin for that little spell, but now she rather thought it justified.

“I’m sure you deserved it,” Emma replied, rolling her eyes and turning back to Belle.  “You need a ride somewhere?”

Relief flooded through her.  Belle hadn’t been sure if Keith would try to chase her down or not, and he could afford to roll around on the ground for a while and still catch her in his truck before she got home.  She smiled.  “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

“You bet.  C’mon, my bug’s this way,” the blonde grinned at her, and then paused as they started to walk away together, throwing over her shoulder at Keith: “You’re parked illegally, Keith.  You’d better move that hunk of junk before I ticket you.”

The ride home was surprisingly companionable.

* * *

 

Things had _not_ gone according to plan, and there was no taking it back now.

Hanging up the phone with a snarl, Cora stood from her plush office chair and started to pace.  Of course, she’d known that Moe French and Tony Rose had put ‘Mr. Gold’ in the hospital the night before, but she’d not received a detailed report on his condition until now.  Nurse Zephyr had helpfully provided the mayor with all the details she could possibly desire, and _none_ of them had been what Cora expected.  She’d wanted bruises and broken ribs, wanted to teach Rumplestiltskin an important lesson in who possessed the power in Storybrooke.  She hadn’t wanted this!  A broken leg, internal bleeding, and a disfiguring blow to his pretty face had _not_ been what she wanted.

Not that having Rumple out of the picture was particularly onerous, but she was still furious.  She wanted to _beat_ him, to outplay him at his own favorite game.  Putting him in the hospital for months utterly removed him from the equation, and the idiots’ actions had actually put his life in danger.  Back in the Enchanted Forest, everyone was able to take the Dark One’s immortality for granted.  Cora knew the one way to kill him, and a simple, if savage, beating would not do it.  Here, however…here, he was human.  And vulnerable.  Cora grimaced.

She was going to miss hurting him, too.  There was no way around that.  Knowing he was awake made their sessions particularly delicious, and it also made Rumplestiltskin far less likely to stand against her when he knew the price of doing so.  He thought he was a few steps ahead of her, but apparently he had forgotten that he’d told her—long ago—about his reasons for getting to the Land Without Magic.  She’d known _exactly_ why he’d written the Dark Curse when he gave it to her, even if Cora had pretended to forget.  When it came to breaking the curse, or even the aftermath of that event happening, Rumplestiltskin was not the threat.  She knew how to control him, both with the Dark Curse and without it.

But now he was out of play, and Cora was furious.  There was nothing she could do about his condition, either; the Dark Curse could not help or heal injuries.  It could only manipulate people and make them forget who they were, and both of _those_ abilities were steadily dwindling.  So, she could not call on the curse to make this right.

No, all she could do was make sure he had the finest care available, and move forward from there.  No matter how angry it made her.

* * *

 

He’d stopped floating, but the pain was enough to make Rumplestiltskin want to ask any nurse but Chloe Zephyr for an increased morphine dose.  He didn’t want anything to do with Zelena, cursed or not.  She was one of the last people he had expected to see in Storybrooke, and had she not stopped by again after his delirium had receded, he would have thought that he’d only imagined her face.  Thankfully, her demeanor quickly confirmed that she _was_ cursed; Cora might have let the pirate retain his memories, but she had not extended the same courtesy to her eldest daughter.  Then again, Cora hadn’t found Zelena particularly useful back in the Enchanted Forest, so although Rumplestiltskin was surprised to see her here, he wasn’t at all shocked to see Zelena had received no special treatment.

But it wasn’t her presence that made him resist the urge to hit the call button and ask for more drugs.  No, it was the knowledge of how very much those painkillers addled his brain that stopped Rumplestiltskin.  His greatest asset here in the Land Without Magic had always been his mind, and he could not afford to have it scrambled right now.  As near as he could tell, he’d been in the hospital for around eighteen hours, and it was late afternoon.  People kept showing up, kept asking questions, and that meant he needed to be able to use his brain.  He couldn’t start answering questions like a tripped-up Rumplestiltskin when he needed to be thinking like Gold.  Even if Cora _did_ know who he was, there were plenty of secrets he had no intention of letting slip.  So, the need to _think_ outweighed the need for less pain, and he resisted the very overwhelming desire to get his dose upped. 

The amount of morphine already rolling through his system was enough to leave him a bit loopy, anyway.  The fact that it wasn’t nearly enough to blot out all the pain just left him cranky, too.

Doctor Whale’s arrival did nothing to soothe either of those current personality quirks, particularly when he got past his summary of the injuries Belle’s boorish father and idiot ex-fiancé had inflicted upon Rumplestiltskin and added: “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Such as?” Rumplestiltskin asked testily, feeling his face burn in response to speaking.  Whale had just finished lecturing him on how he was actually lucky in how his cheekbone had broken; the fracture had been clean and none of the bones had jammed themselves into anything else, which meant it should heal without surgery. 

Without _more_ surgery, anyway.Frankenstein had already rooted around inside Rumplestiltskin with his uncouth ‘medical’ tools, and once of _that_ was quite enough for his tastes, thank you very much.  Just thinking of letting this doctor drug him into unconsciousness and then cut his insides open was not an appetizing thought.  Particularly when he had already done it once without permission.

“You have some other injuries that I’d like to discuss.  Ones clearly not caused by the attack, such as welts and—”

“I am aware of them, yes,” he snapped, wincing as he spoke too quickly.  But he didn’t want to hear the details.  His last night with Cora had only been two days ago, and it had been particularly vicious.  She hadn’t been careful at all, and the mayor had left far too many marks on his skin.

To his credit, Whale looked very uncomfortable, although Rumplestiltskin couldn’t figure out if that discomfort was due to the subject matter or his own foul temper.  “Mr. Gold, if someone is hurting you, there are ways to address that, and—”

“Oh, you poor dear, you look _terrible_ ,” another voice interrupted Whale, and Rumplestiltskin would have rathered listen to Frankenstein go on about the injuries _he_ certainly wasn’t going to talk about than see her face.  Unfortunately, however, Cora turned to the doctor with a patently false smile, saying: “Would you excuse us, please, Doctor?  Mr. Gold and I have some things to discuss.”

Even in his drugged up state, Rumplestiltskin could feel her pulling on the tendrils of the curse surrounding Doctor Whale, which meant that Frankenstein nodded stiffly and departed the room without anything more than a glare as argument.  For his part, Rumplestiltskin could only sigh and watch Cora warily; there wasn’t anywhere he could go.  Hell, he could hardly even shift around on the bed with his leg in traction like this, not to mention his broken ribs and various other bruises.  Seeing Cora just made everything feel worse.  _At least Belle isn’t here right now,_ he thought, desperately wishing that she _was_.  He wasn’t a courageous man, and he didn’t deal with pain well at all, and right now he just wanted his wife there, not this horrible woman who had spent so many years hurting him.

Cora waited for Whale to leave before sitting on the edge of the bed at his left side, right where Belle had been sitting that morning.  “You really _are_ a frightful mess, aren’t you, Rumple?”

“You state the obvious with startling expertise,” he replied as dryly as he could manage, trying not to wince in pain as the bed shifted due to her added weight.  He didn’t manage.

“And as cranky as ever.”  Reaching out, Cora made to brush hair out of his eyes, and it didn’t seem worth the energy to stop her—until her fingers brushed his bandaged cheek, ever so slightly, and Rumplestiltskin let out a strangled whimper of pain.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” he snarled, coughing as fiery fingers of agony danced across his vision.

“That’s no way to talk to your lover,” she purred, trying to take his left hand in her own.

Spitefully, Rumplestiltskin yanked away.  At least his arms worked properly, even if his ribs burned in protest if he moved too quickly.  “You’re not my lover.”

“And little Lacey is?  Come now, Rumple, we both know that you have to be bored with her by now.  Certainly the knight in shining armor routine is getting old?”

“I’m no hero,” he growled, glaring at her.  But the words came out slurred, ruining the effect.  _Never wanted to be one, either.  Not even before,_ he thought _.  All I’ve ever wanted to do is protect my family._ “As you well know.”

“And that’s always why I’ve been so found of you,” she said directly, reaching for his hand once more.  Yet again, Rumplestiltskin evaded her, his movements sluggish, causing a frown to crease Cora’s perfectly made-up face.  “Let me take your hand.  Now.”

Magic wrapped around him, harder than Rumplestiltskin anticipated, and he let out a soft whimper of pain.  For a long and terrifying moment, his vision went white, and his mind went utterly blank, incoherent save for venomous fury whipping through him.  He was in no condition to fight this; everything still hurt, and his ribs protested angrily as Cora gently took his hand and pulled it away from his body.  The movement left him gasping for air and pushed the darkness back, but the mayor waited patiently for him to calm down before continuing:

“You have no one but yourself to blame for this one, you know.  If you _hadn’t_ taken that girl in and made her do lord knows what for you, her father and fiancé would not have felt the need to take their worry and their anger out on you.”

He gaped.  Cora smiled thinly.

“I’ve always known that you were good at twisting things to fit your own warped ambitions, but that’s really going a bit far, even for you,” Rumplestiltskin rasped.

“How so?” she asked, cocking her head innocently.

It was the innocent look that confirmed his suspicions.  Cora’s previous remark had made him wonder, just a little, if she might have at least known the attack was coming, but the smile lurking in her eyes while she tried to look uninvolved sealed the deal.  Although Rumplestiltskin was sure that his actions _had_ served to egg Moe and Tony on, neither man was the type to lash out _quite_ so energetically on their own.  Not like this.  Without proof he was hurting ‘Lacey’, both men would probably have continued to complain and harass Belle.  But with Cora pulling their strings…

Oh, he was going to _murder_ this bitch when the curse broke.  _With pleasure_.  Perhaps he would find her heart and torment her a bit with it before he did so.  Even Belle was unlikely to stop him from doing that after everything had happened.  That thought brought a vicious sneer to Rumplestiltskin’s face, as did his curse’s heated pleasure at the idea.  The fog of drugs seemed to bury it a bit, or maybe the fog buried _him_ a little and it was hard to tell his own thoughts from those of the curse.  That last idea was more than a little frightening, but at the moment, Rumplestiltskin did not care to differentiate.  He would deal with his own personal demon later.  For now, he’d let it loose.  Just a little. 

“This was your doing, wasn’t it, dearie?”  And yes, his voice did grow rather high-pitched on that one.

 _You’re going to kill her slowly,_ a voice that he finally recognized as the curse whispered seductively.  It _had_ been trying to take over his thoughts, managing to do so more thoroughly than it had in centuries.  Cursing the drugs in his system, Rumplestiltskin pried his mind away from the curse bit by painful bit, focusing on the one way he’d learned _could_ separate his soul from the demon: his love for his family.  Slowly, he felt the curse retreat, howling furiously within his mind, even as Cora replied:

“Whatever gives you that idea?”

Rumplestiltskin snorted, relishing the pain because it was _his_ , and not his curse’s.  “Because I know you, Cora.  Always have.”

“Well, I will admit that I might have thought a lesson was in order,” she shrugged.

“For what?” he demanded.

“You, of course.  I won’t have you choosing some trollop over me, Rumplestiltskin.  You refused me before, but you don’t have that option now, do you?” Cora said softly, leaning over so that her face was inches from his.

Sweet smelling hair brushed against his chin as Rumplestiltskin snarled: “Your curse won’t last forever.”

“Won’t it?”

“Overconfidence never did you any favors, my dear,” he smiled.  “If I were you, I’d start planning for the future, the one that comes _after_ Eva’s granddaughter breaks the curse.  Assuming I _let_ you have a future.”

The taunt did not have the desired affect; chuckling, Cora leaned down to brush her lips over his, giving Rumplestiltskin a mysterious smile. 

“Oh, Rumple.  Defiant until the end.  I do love that about you,” she said softly.  “We shall see what comes, and who has power over who.”

She shifted to kiss his right cheek before Rumplestiltskin could reply, and his choked off whimper of pain filled his world, filling his vision with red and gold sparks.  By the time he hauled himself back from the edge, Cora was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, Rumplestiltskin’s still in a bit of a tight spot, isn’t he? Regina’s now determined to find out what’s going on, and Belle’s getting worse at hiding who she is. How do you think this is going to work out?
> 
> Up next, Chapter 48: “Love and Misery”, where Emma continues her investigation, Regina visits her old mentor with questions, Belle brings Renee by the hospital. Back in the past, Regina has a spat with her mother and Belle asks about the dagger.
> 
> Also, check out my tumblr (toseehowthestoryends) to see a sneak peak of FOTS48!


	48. Love and Misery

Whale had kicked Emma out when she’d tried to question Gold the day before, citing the fact that his patient had had quite enough visitors already, so she came back the morning of January 25th, two days after the attack.  Storybrooke’s top surgeon didn’t seem terribly happy to see her, although he shrugged and grunted when she asked if she could see Gold, just telling Nurse Zephyr to take her in.

“What’s his problem?” she asked Zephyr as they walked through the spotless white hallways together, wondering why Whale had suddenly decided she needed a chaperone.

“The mayor came to see Mr. Gold yesterday, and he was very irritable afterwards,” Zephyr replied with a shrug, her red hair bouncing as they walked.  “He tried to refuse further medication, and Doctor Whale had to sedate him.  His condition really has been touch and go.  He didn’t really calm down until Lacey French showed up, either.”

“Lacey was here again?” Emma blinked, not having expected that.  After all, what kind of kept woman would keep visiting her ‘benefactor’ in the hospital?  Emma had expected Lacey to be reveling in her freedom, or at least visiting her father and ex-boyfriend in the Storybrooke Jail.  She hadn’t done the latter, however, apparently finding that her time was better spent here.  _And_ she was the only one who could calm Gold down.  Weird.  _Well, you were wondering about their relationship,_ she reminded herself, trying not to feel surprised.  Besides, Lacey kneeing Keith was hardly the type of thing some terrified kept woman would do, which meant there remained more to the ex-librarian than most people thought.

“We had to send her home at the end of visiting hours,” the nurse said with a soft smile.  “Otherwise, I think she would have slept here again.”

_Again_?  But Emma didn’t get a chance to ask that question, or even to decide if she wanted to ask it, before they arrived outside Gold’s hospital room.  There really was something more to Gold and Lacey than met the eye, but she couldn’t decide what.  _Particularly not after listening to Moe French and Tony Rose try to rationalize their actions all day yesterday,_ she thought irritably.

“Here we are,” Zephyr said unnecessarily.  Her manic cheerfulness grated on Emma’s nerves, but the sheriff tried very hard not to show that.  “Call if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Emma told her, and headed inside, relieved to find that Gold was alone.  He still looked like hell, though, lying pale and broken against the sheets, with bruises covering half the skin Emma could see and bandages covering the rest.  She had hoped that he’d looked so terrible last time because he’d been fresh off a beating, but now she finally realized just how _tiny_ the man was.  He wasn’t just slender; he was actually rather short, too.  Somehow, his power always made him seem larger than he was, although at the moment he looked like she could snap him in half like a twig.

“Sheriff Swan.”  His voice was hoarse, too, and lacking his normally controlled cadence. “What can I do for you this fine morning?”

“It’s actually snowing out. I’m not sure I’d call that fine,” she replied without thinking, gesturing at the window.

“Ah, you’ll have to forgive me.  It seems I’m not allowed outside at the moment,” Gold quipped, and Emma had to give the man some respect.  Apparently he was more coherent now, because if he was being sarcastic, that had to mean he was feeling a little better.  _Even if he looks worse._

“I hear that’s a side effect of being beat straight to hell,” she said with a shrug, plopping down in the chair next to the bed.  “You up to answering a few questions?”

Something flickered over his face.  “I’m at your service, of course.”  Then he hesitated before adding: “Though I do have to ask you to take anything I said the other night with a grain of salt.  I was a bit…”

“Drugged?” Emma supplied.  “Yeah, I noticed.  And the concussion, too.”

“Indeed.”

“So, are you ready to make an official statement?  I arrested Moe French and Tony Rose based upon what you said on Monday night.  Please tell me you’re not going to say that someone else attacked you instead of them.”

_Particularly since I found them with two bent golf clubs and a load of excuses,_ Emma didn’t add.  But given the way Cora seemed to pull the strings on everything around here, she wouldn’t be too surprised to find that someone’s testimony abruptly changed…even if it was Gold’s.  He might have been the one person in town who didn’t seem afraid of Cora, but the kind of beating he had just suffered could change anyone’s mind.  Suddenly, that thought made Emma blink. _Wait a minute.  Am I even_ thinking _that Cora might be behind this?  There’s not a shred of evidence to support that._

_I have_ got _to stop letting Henry and Regina influence what I believe about her.  Yeah, she’s an absolute bitch, but she’s not some kind of Evil Queen manipulating everything that happens in this town,_ the sheriff told herself for the thousandth time.  Fortunately, Gold saved her from her thoughts by replying:

“Certainly not.  I might have been out of it, dearie, but I wasn’t that far gone,” he grimaced. 

“Good,” Emma breathed, not even bothering to conceal her relief.  “So…can you make an official statement?”

“Ask your questions, and I’ll do my best to answer,” Gold answered, shifting slightly on the bed.  A spasm of pain seemed to shake him, and Emma found herself wondering exactly what _‘touch and go’_ meant in reference to Gold’s condition.  Maybe Whale did have a reason for being so annoyed to see her.

“Right,” she said, resolving to get this done with quickly.  Moe and Tony really had done a number on Gold, and although Emma wouldn’t have expected to feel sorry for the tricky pawnbroker under other circumstances, his current condition certainly was awakening stirrings of pity in her.  “So, can you positively identify your assailants?”

“Moe French and Tony Rose,” the patient replied succinctly.  He still looked uncomfortable as hell, but his eyes were relatively clear for someone on what looked like a mean drip of morphine.

“Did either of your assailants say why they attacked you?”

“Mr. Rose said something about ‘avenging Lacey’,” Gold said dryly, and Emma could see a mixture of frustration and fury flicker across his face.   “They seemed to think that I have forced her to live with me.”

“Have you?” Emma asked bluntly.

_“No,_ ” he snapped, but the force of the word immediately made him cough.  One cough became four, however, and soon enough, Gold was wheezing for air.  Emma leapt to her feet and headed for the door, but his voice made her turn around before she could stick her head into the hallway and shout for help.  “I’m fine, Miss Swan.  There’s no need to…go running about.”

“You sure?”

“I’m not going to get better any time soon, dear, so you might as well ask your questions,” he replied hoarsely. 

“If you’re sure,” she said slowly, lowering herself back into the chair and pulling her notepad back out.  Gold nodded, the movement jerky and pained, so Emma continued her questioning: “Did you give them any reason to think you might be hurting Lacey?”

“Aside from being the town monster?” he countered, and for a brief moment, Emma thought she saw something raw, truthful, and vulnerable streak across his expression.  It vanished quickly, but it left her wondering.  How much _did_ Gold hide behind that prickly exterior?  Nurse Zephyr had indicated that they’d had to up his medication level to control the pain levels, and she knew that such things often lowered inhibitions.  Perhaps lots of morphine made him more honest, because Emma thought she might be seeing the man behind the mask for the first time.

“I didn’t say that’s what you were,” she protested, not sure what else to say.

Gold shrugged again, the movement making him suck in a ragged breath.  “Let’s not beat around the bush.  We both know my reputation,” he rasped, sounding out of breath.  “But no, to answer the question you _aren’t_ asking, I’ve never hurt Lacey.  And I wouldn’t.”

“Yet no one thinks you’ve hired her as a live in maid out of the goodness of your heart,” Emma couldn’t stop herself from pointing out.

“And what did Lacey say when you asked her why I hired her?”

Emma smiled wryly, remembering the conversation.  “Pretty much that it’s no one’s business what she does with her life.”

“Well, then.  There you have it,” the enigmatic bastard replied, apparently coming back on balance despite the painkillers.

He was clever, even when he was hurting, and even when it looked like breathing took a greater effort than thinking did.  She had to give him that, and it really wasn’t her business why Lacey lived with him, anyway.  Emma _wanted_ to know, but she was sure that any gory details there might be would come out during Moe and Tony’s trial, assuming things got that far.  She was there to investigate _their_ actions, not to find reasons to blame their victim.  _Particularly when Lacey seems to be satisfied with her life.  I wonder who is playing who there?_   _Or maybe they’re_ both _telling the truth, odd as that sounds?_ Clearing her throat, Emma continued after a moment:

“Right.  Anyway, can you tell me what happened when they attacked you?” she asked, getting back to the subject she should never have left.

Gold hesitated for a moment, and Emma watched his eyes focus on the wall behind her before he answered quietly: “I went to Game of Thorns to buy Lacey some flowers,” he admitted, the words coming in groups as he tried to breathe around them.  “My assailants and I…had a bit of a, uh, verbal altercation there, and apparently Mr. French and Mr. Rose followed me out of the shop.  They attacked me on No. 1 Road, near the parking garage.”

He looked winded from speaking so much, and Emma waited for Gold to catch his breath before she continued:

“With what?”  She already knew the answer, but she had to hear it from him.

“A pair of golf clubs, I believe.”  Gold grimaced. 

“Did they say anything else while they, uh…”

“Beat me?”  Even while in pain, Gold apparently didn’t pull any punches.  “Nothing I remember, but I was…a bit distracted.”

“I can imagine, yeah.”  Emma had to wrap this up soon, or Whale would probably drag her out personally.  Gold was growing more wan and pale as he spoke, and although he was obviously trying not to show it, he was clearly not doing well.  Whale had been hesitant to hand her the medical report the day before, but Emma had a feeling she’d really need it now.  _Not that there’s a hurry.  Gold’s going to be in here for weeks,_ she thought.

“Please do tell me that you haven’t waited so long to arrest them, Sheriff,” Gold said, his voice growing smaller and weaker.

“Nope, they’re safely in jail.”  At least she could tell him that.  “Neither of them is going to be bothering you any time soon.  I can promise that much.”

“Good.”

The fury that surged through his eyes was natural, Emma tried to tell herself as she nodded to Gold and walked out.  And it wasn’t like the pawnbroker could do anything to those two, anyway.  He was strapped to a hospital bed and had doctors and nurses fawning over him twenty-four/seven…so why did Emma suddenly worry for the safety of the two homicidal idiots in her jail?

She was still contemplating that question when she passed Regina in the hallway, not noticing that Regina was obviously heading in to see Gold as well.

* * *

 

Emma seemed engrossed in what she was doing, and in Regina’s opinion, that was a damned good thing.  The last thing she wanted to do was explain the coming conversation to the sheriff; Emma still didn’t want to believe that the curse existed, so trying to tell her that Gold used to be an ultra-powerful sorcerer with moral difficulties would only complicate things in was that Regina really wasn’t up for today.  Particularly if they got into the whole not-really-human part.

She supposed that this was none of her business, and she should just leave it well enough alone.  But she couldn’t.  Rumplestiltskin had always been unpredictable, yet he was also her _friend_ , and she needed to understand what the hell he was playing at.  She’d overheard what he said to Lacey French, what Lacey had said to him, and none of it made sense.  Regina had already asked him once what the hell was going on between the two of them, and he’d evaded answering, but she wasn’t about to let him do that a second time.  Not when it might suddenly explode and hurt _all_ of them.

The image of Rumplestiltskin lying bleeding on the ground in a puddle of shattered blue glass and yellow roses just wouldn’t leave her mind, and that little tart’s father had done that to him.  The connection was irrefutable, and while most people would have though the cold-hearted ‘Mr. Gold’ was too detached to fall for someone who might use him, Regina knew Rumplestiltskin better than that.

“So,” she said, walking into the private hospital room they’d moved him into since she’d last seen him, trying to sound casual.  “Are you going to croak, or what?”

“Very funny,” her old teacher replied, and the pain in his voice made Regina wince. 

“You look like hell warmed over, Rumple,” she commented before she could stop herself, swallowing hard.  She wanted to be detached, wanted to act like none of this mattered, but she couldn’t.

“Huh,” was all he said, and the word was a wheeze of pain.

“I won’t stay long,” Regina promised quickly, suddenly losing her stomach for a confrontation.  Under normal circumstances, she enjoyed arguing with her old friend and teacher, but not when he looked like this.  She was used to thinking of him as absolutely indestructible...but now he just looked so human and so broken that she had to swallow.  Back in the Enchanted Forest, Regina wasn’t sure that there was anything that could actually hurt him.  Here, however… “I just need to ask you something.”

“Well, I’m a bit of a captive audience, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin rasped in response, quirking a smile that made her think of the Dark One.  But his voice was uneven and full of pain, which rather ruined the effect.  “Until Frankenstein kicks you out, anyway.”

“Who?”

“I’ll tell you that story…another day.”  He looked like a laugh might just kill him, so Regina chose to file it away under the Rumplestiltskin’s odd sense of humor.

She rolled her eyes.  “Sure.  Look…I need to talk to you about Lacey French.  The whole town is going on about how her ex and her father put you in here, and the truth is becoming pretty damn important.  So enough of your games.  Tell me the truth.”

Regina didn’t plan on telling him about the conversation she’d eavesdropped upon unless he proved less than helpful…which he probably would.

“What truth would that be?” he asked evasively. 

“You and Lacey French.  What the _hell_ is going on between you?” Regina demanded, her already thin patience wearing out.  She was worried about him, damnit, and if the bastard wouldn’t look out for himself, she’d try to help him, anyway.  Regina _needed_ Rumplestiltskin.  He was the only one who really understood her.  Even once Snow and David woke up, they’d never understand her fury and her darkness.  Or the fact that she would weep zero tears over her mother’s grave, that she’d cheerfully _help_ kill Cora if it kept her family safe.  Snow and Charming were too good for that, but her teacher never had been.  He’d always somehow understood the line between anger and love…even if Regina had never really thought he _could_ love until now.

Truthfully, she still wasn’t sure about that.

“She’s my maid,” Rumplestiltskin replied stubbornly, and Regina snapped.

“Oh, come on!”

Brown eyes met hers, and it was Rumplestiltskin who looked away after a moment.  After several long moments of silence, he asked softly: “Why does it matter?”

“Because I’m afraid she’s playing you,” she answered bluntly.  “Playing off whatever relationship the curse gave you—because am I right in assuming this started then?”

“Yes,” he coughed, sounding worse and worse by the moment.  Part of Regina knew that she should leave, should call the nurses in and let him rest, but the rest of her knew Rumplestiltskin well enough to know that he _wouldn’t_ answer her questions if he was feeling any better.  Besides, she wasn’t sure anything could actually kill him here, even if a florist and a jewelry store owner could beat the hell out of him.  “There was a…relationship while I was cursed.”

“So, what the hell are you doing?  Is she playing you for the money and the expensive clothes, or are you playing her to throw smoke in my mother’s eyes?” Regina pressed.  “I’ll grant you that no one would ever expect you as the Dark One to get in a relationship with a mousy little librarian, but that cover is wearing a bit thin now that she sic’d her family on you.”

“She didn’t cause this,” Rumplestiltskin snarled almost before Regina was done with the last sentence, suddenly looking more alive and more angry than Regina would have thought he could, given his injuries.  “Don’t even imply that.  She”—he coughed—“was as surprised by this as anyone else.”

“Great.  So she’s a good actor.”

“No,” he wheezed.  “She isn’t, actually.”  He coughed again, his entire body shaking weakly, and Regina couldn’t help cringing.  “I’m not going to give you the gory details of my…personal life, Regina, but…let’s just say that I know exactly what Lacey’s motivations are.”

She frowned.  “That’s not terribly helpful.”

“Wasn’t meant to be.”

Regina almost pressed further, but Rumplestiltskin’s breathing was growing far too labored, and she knew how stubborn he could be.  Either he actually believed what he was saying—a distinct possibility, since he preferred twisting the truth to an outright lie—or he wasn’t in the mood to share anything more.  He didn’t look like he could weather further questioning at the moment, anyway, so she let out a slow sigh and changed the subject.

“Is there anything I can get you? It looks like you’re going to be here for a while.”

A twitch of a smile actually crossed the Dark One’s face.  “No.  Lacey…will be by in a bit.  I’m all right.”

“Let me know if I can do anything,” Regina told him sincerely, remembering all the times that Rumplestiltskin had stood by her when she had no one else to turn to, when her mother had forced her to do some truly terrible things and she felt like the world was against her.  She wouldn’t abandon him now, not when he was laid so low.  Even if he was a pain in the ass.

Receiving a nod, Regina gave him what she hoped didn’t look like a helpless smile and headed out, having had her fill of hospitals and difficult Dark Ones.  She still wasn’t sure what in the world was between him and Lacey French, but hell, maybe they were just using one another.  She wouldn’t put it past Rumplestiltskin to have invited the maid to live with him so that rumors _would_ start; the presence of a beautiful young woman inside Gold’s mansion was probably driving her mother to distraction, so that tactic appeared to be working.  Maybe their relationship was purely business, and Lacey had been acting in what Regina saw.

Or maybe Rumplestiltskin really _was_ in love with the librarian.  Stranger things had happened.

* * *

 

_3 Years, 9 Months Before the Curse_

“What do you have against mermaids, anyway?” Regina asked her mother, striding into Cora’s boudoir with a scowl firmly in place.

Her mother looked up from the book she had been oh-so-gracefully reading.  Regina swore that her mother arranged herself just-so, even when she was doing something like reading a book on curses and hexes, just in case someone were to see her.  Cora always wanted to be the perfect queen, the ideal evil sorceress, and Regina was pretty sure that her mother was utterly incapable of actually relaxing.  “ _Royalty is always on display, darling,”_ Cora had told her more than once.  _“Act the part.”_   Thinking on that memory made Regina stop and cross her arms, not caring if she looked petulant.

“Nothing in particular.”  Cora shrugged eloquently.  “But that one?  She befriended our dear Snow when the brat and her prince were on their way back to old George’s kingdom.”

“So?” Regina had to ask, not understanding her mother’s all-consuming need for vengeance at all.  “Who cares if she befriended Snow and James?  That hardly matters with what you’re planning.”

The thought of giving her sister the nightmare curse still utterly turned Regina’s stomach; she’d spent countless nights awake, tossing and turning and dreading the day that her mother would force her to do so.  But now she felt terrible for something else, too.  _I put a curse on a mermaid because the poor girl befriended Snow?_ Regina felt sick.  This was not the first time that she’d wondered after her mother’s sanity, but it was perhaps one of the most remarkable.  Cora’s response certainly did nothing to improve Regina’s opinion, either.

“I want her to suffer.  And that means that anyone who wants to stand with her stands against me.”

“Ariel wasn’t standing _with_ Snow, Mother,” she tried to point out.  “She just wanted to meet her own True Love.  She rescued him in a shipwreck, and—”

“And did you do as I asked?” Cora demanded, acting as if she’d given Regina a choice.

“Yes.”  Regina shuddered, thinking of Daniel and what would happen to him if she had done any less.  Cora had eyes and spies everywhere, and Regina’s own cousins ruled that kingdom.  Prince Eric, the man that Ariel had saved, was actually Regina’s first cousin, and she knew that Cora still possessed plenty of hearts from that kingdom.  Any one of them would have told the Evil Queen if Regina refused to do her bidding, no matter how vile it was.

Cora peered at her closely.  “You are _certain_ that the Lovers’ Curse took root in her?”

_“Yes,_ ” she snarled, trying to swallow back her own self-loathing.  It wasn’t like she knew the mermaid.  And all Ariel had to do was never speak to her True Love, never finish falling in love with him.  For if she did…

“Excellent.  I always enjoy watching True Loves murder one another.  I believe that it is the ultimate expression of power.  Don’t you, darling?”

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d ever actually loved someone,” Regina spat before she could stop herself.

“But I have.”  Her mother stood up, gliding over to straighten Regina’s hair emotionlessly.  “I simply learned that love is less important than power.  And that includes True Love.”

“True Love is the most powerful magic there is!”

“You’ve been listening to Rumplestiltskin too much, Regina,” Cora purred, continuing to smooth out Regina’s long locks.  “True Love—if it could be harnessed—would indeed be the most powerful magic there is, but the act of _breaking_ it is even more powerful.  And in this case, our little mermaid will kill her True Love long before he can completely fall in love with her, which means that his kiss won’t break the curse you’ve put on her.”

“You’re horrible,” Regina said, yanking away from Cora’s touch.

Her mother only smiled.

* * *

 

Regina did not expect to find her mother waiting in her office when she returned from visiting Rumplestiltskin, and, frankly, was not happy to see her there.  Regina was still a little _off_ , still trying to swallow what had happened to her old friend.  For the first time since she’d woken up, Rumplestiltskin had looked so human and so damn helpless, and accepting the fact that either of those words applied to him was a bit hard to swallow.  Especially when they had a Savior to shake belief into and a curse to break.  Regina didn’t want to do this on her own—she had enough on her plate between raising a son (while trying to keep him safe from her homicidal mother), managing her cursed husband’s affair with his actual wife, and trying desperately not to fall too much in love with a man who might hate her when _he_ woke up.   She needed the wily old bastard, and seeing him in a hospital bed was just too much to process in a hurry.

“Mother,” she said warily, not liking the way Cora sat perched on the edge of her desk, looking so satisfied.  “What are you doing here?”

“Been to visit Rumple already?” was the too-sweet reply, and Regina could have strangled the Dark One if he’d been within reach.  _You might have mentioned that Mother knows you’re awake, Rumplestiltskin!_

Taking a deep breath, Regina did her best to look like she’d already known that vital bit of information.  “Yes, actually.  He looks horrible.”

Let her mother chew on that.  _She_ knew that her mother had once been in love with Rumplestiltskin before she ripped her own heart out, and there had been times—particularly early in her tutelage with Rumplestiltskin—that Regina thought they deserved one another.  Of course, that had been before she’d actually gotten to know him.  Now she understood what her mother had actually done to Rumplestiltskin with that choice, and Regina felt that Cora deserved it when Rumple had spurned her second attempt to get back together with him.  _Not that she didn’t curse him straight into her bed as Gold.  I wonder how_ that’s _going now that she knows he’s awake?  Probably not very well,_ she thought with no small amount of pleasure.  _Unless he wants to be there._   Now that was a thought she didn’t want to have, and Regina pushed it away firmly.

“I know.  I’ve already visited,” Cora replied easily.

“I bet he was happy to see you,” she shot back, figuring that she’d get her digs in where and how she could.  Regina might be being more careful with how she helped Emma these days, but the library fire was over a month into the past, and her mother hadn’t seemed willing to try anything again.  Maybe that had been Cora’s best shot—or maybe she’d really been after Lacey French, after all.  _Maybe Rumple has a good idea getting in a relationship with someone else.  It probably pisses Mother off to no end._

“I wasn’t terribly concerned with his happiness,” her mother replied with a shrug.

“That’s so new,” Regina grumbled, rolling her eyes.  _Mother’s love usually does turn into a self-centered endeavor.  I doubt Rumple was surprised._

“Don’t be obnoxious, darling.”

Regina tried not to sigh and failed.  “Did you need something, Mother? I have some work to catch up on.”

“Oh, there’s nothing I need.  I just wanted to see what you thought of your dear teacher being so thoroughly…out of the game, so to speak.”  The thin smile her mother wore was the one that she always put on when she felt that she’d bested someone, and suddenly, the implication Cora was driving at hit Regina like a ton of bricks.

“ _You_ were responsible for this?”

“Of course I was.  Do you think that idiot florist would have gotten that idea by himself?” Cora snorted.  “No.  He required proper encouragement, although I’ll admit that I did not expect him to bring Tony Rose along.  That was an interesting addition.”

“Interesting in that they seem to have _crippled_ him?” Regina gaped.

Cora shrugged again.  “He was already crippled, and a lesson needed to be taught.”

“They could have killed him!”

“Don’t be overly dramatic, Regina.”  There was that look, the one that told her she was acting like a child again.  Regina _hated_ that look.  “Rumplestiltskin needed to be reminded who has the power in this town, and how far I am willing to go to maintain that power.  Do you?”

Regina’s heart stopped.  “What?”

“I asked if you need a reminder on that front, darling.  Of course, I would never send thugs armed with golf clubs after my beloved daughter, but…”

She didn’t need to hear her mother finish that sentence; Regina’s blood had already turned to ice.  The implication was clear; just when she had started to think that Henry was safe, Cora had resumed resorting to violence to achieve her ends.  And, of course, if she pressed, Cora would remind her that Henry was no blood of hers.  That difference mattered to Cora, and Regina suddenly understood that her son had _never_ been safe.  Not if the man who she thought her mother still loved had just been beaten within an inch of his life.

“No,” she whispered.  “No, I don’t.”

* * *

 

His attempts to survive with fewer drugs in his system had turned out to be an absolute and painful failure.  Shortly after Regina left, Rumplestiltskin stopped arguing with Whale’s attempt to up his dosage yet again.  He didn’t have the energy to do so, and everything hurt too much.  Of course, it was just his luck that Nurse Zephyr came in with the doctor and smiled her sickeningly sweet smile.  Thinking of Zelena’s ham-handed attempts to seduce him in the past was just too much at the moment, and Rumplestiltskin tried to pretend he was asleep to avoid conversation with either one of them.  Doing so _did_ let him eavesdrop on what they said about him, though, and that wasn’t particularly news he wanted to hear.

Whale was worried about internal bleeding…and his leg.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t bothered to ask about the recently re-broken limb yet, not with everything else hurting so fiercely, but what Frankenstein said to the Wicked Witch was not promising.  He was drifting a little by then, floating on a sea of morphine, but Rumplestiltskin was aware enough to hear that they weren’t sure that he’d ever walk again.  _Give it time,_ the inner voice of logic tried to soothe the desire to panic.  _Don’t get worked up until they’re sure.  It’s too early to start worrying_.  But Rumplestiltskin knew himself well enough to know that he _would_ be consumed by fear on that front had he not been so drugged up.  Even with the drugs dulling his mind, he spent the next hour or so mulling over how he’d manage if his leg was even more mangled this time than the last, dreaming up horrible possibilities and hopeless futures until a hand landed on his left arm.

He’d been staring blankly at the ceiling, but the touch made his head snap left, and slowly, Belle’s beautiful face swam into focus.  She was smiling gently at him.

“Hey,” she whispered.

“Hi,” Rumplestiltskin managed, feeling like his mouth was full of cotton and his brain was stuffed with molasses. 

“I know you told me that I should stay away as much as I could, but someone wanted to see you,” she said softly, and Rumplestiltskin blinked, finally noticing the three year old that sat next to Belle on the bed.

The last thing he’d wanted was for his daughter to see him like this, but when Renee smiled a toothy but hesitant smile, Rumplestiltskin found himself trying to smile back.

“Hullo,” his little girl said, looking around in confusion.  “Mamma said you hurt and need happy.”

“Hello, sweetheart,” he managed to reply, hesitating a moment before reaching his hand out to take the much smaller one.  His motor control was a little off, but Rumplestiltskin’s fingers made it to their target after a bit of fumbling.  His relationship with Renee had come so far in the mouth since the fire, and although it wasn’t quite what he’d had with Gabrielle, Rumplestiltskin was still so grateful that is daughter’s cursed persona accepted him like this.

“Renee made you a card,” Belle told him, shifting to hold a card made out of yellow construction paper in front of Rumplestiltskin’s face. 

“Is for you!” their daughter confirmed, and he felt a strange warmth roll through him that had nothing to do with the morphine.

“For me?” he asked as clearly as he could manage, trying to mask the tightness in his chest.  The painkillers made speaking a little easier, though not much, but at least he could focus on the card well enough to make out the drawings on the front.  Or at least he _thought_ they were drawings.

“Uh huh.”

Blinking, Rumplestiltskin realized that they were band aids, just colored on and around, complete with blue flowers and some very sparkly clouds.  The words “Feel Better” were written on the outside in a very three year old hand, and when he glanced at Belle, he could see the same softness in her eyes that he felt in his heart.  Even his curse was silent right now, overcome by the sheer love and warmth he felt in the presence of his family, and Rumplestiltskin looked back at his little girl.

“Thank you, Renee,” he rasped.

“Read inside, Mamma!” their adorable little tyrant demanded, and Belle chuckled, glancing at him.

“Shall I read it to you?”

“Please.”  Rumplestiltskin was pretty sure that making out the outside of the card hit the limit of his mental capacity at the moment, and besides, he’d always loved it when Belle read to him.  She shot him a knowing smile as she opened the card, reading the note that was clearly in her handwriting—but so obviously dictated to her by a child.

“’Dear Daddy Gold’,” Belle read as Renee bounced excitedly.  “These band aids are for you to make you feel all better.  When you feel better, can we have ice cream?  Love you lots, Renee.’”

Rumplestiltskin had to swallow before he could find words, clumsily squeezing his little girl’s hand as he looked at the stick figures drawn on the card.  They appeared to be an adult and a child eating ice cream, and judging from the dark colors on one of the stick figures, it was supposed to be him.  _Although I can’t ever remember wearing a shirt quite so brightly green,_ he thought with some amusement, shifting to look into a pair of big brown eyes that were full of love for a man who did not deserve to embrace such innocence.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Rumplestiltskin whispered again.  “You make lots of things better.”

“We miss you,” Renee replied, and Rumplestiltskin had to swallow.  Gentle fingers touched his left shoulder, and he could feel Belle’s presence next to him, giving him strength and helping him cope with the pain and the horrible feeling of helplessness. 

“I miss you, too.  Both of you.”

Short sentences were much better, he’d found out earlier.  That made him less likely to have a coughing fit or lose himself in the pain, and Rumplestiltskin would be damned if he’d scare his little girl like that.

“Come home?”

“Soon,” he promised, glad, for once, that a three year old who had grown up (or not grown up, technically) in a cursed Storybrooke had little concept of time.  But he couldn’t help exchanging a glance with Belle, who gave him a worried smile.  They both knew that he’d be in this damn bed for weeks, at best, and neither of them really wanted to explain that to their daughter.  Not yet, anyway.

“Okay,” Renee said with the sunny attitude of a child who knew they were loved.  Then she shocked Rumplestiltskin by squirming forward to kiss his left—and un-bandaged—cheek.  “Love you.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered, giving her a smile for all he was worth.  Everything might have hurt, but somehow he had earned this remarkable little girl’s love, and he was not going to ruin that.  Not for anything.

However loving and adorable she was, however, Renee did have a three year old’s patience, which meant that Belle soon had to deposit her in the chair next to the bed, pulling out a coloring book and crayons for Renee to amuse herself with.  Renee became engrossed in coloring a picture of a dragon quickly, murmuring to herself about which colors went where.  Then Belle sat down next to Rumplestiltskin on the bed and spoke quietly:

“How are you actually feeling?”

“More drugged,” he answered truthfully, deciding to leave out his worries about his leg.  After all, Whale hadn’t told him about the potential problems yet, and he didn’t want to bother Belle with that before he actually knew there was an issue.  Rumplestiltskin might have hated his limp, but he did know how to deal with it.  The injury had actually been _worse_ back in the Enchanted Forest, which meant he did know how to cope with that, too, if worst came to worst.  Assuming the leg remained even vaguely usable, he would figure out how to manage.  Besides, Belle had enough on her plate right now.  He’d tell her later if the leg turned out to be completely unsalvageable.

“You sound like it,” she replied, bending to kiss him on the forehead.  “That’s a good thing, right?  Now that you’ve stopped being an idiot?”

No one else in any realm could call him that so lightly, but for Belle, he smiled.  “Something like that,” Rumplestiltskin allowed, and then found himself being more honest than he wanted to be.  “Everything still…hurts, though.”

“Oh, Rumple,” Belle whispered, squeezing his hand.  “I wish I could do more.”

“You do,” he told her.  “Just by being here.  You…do.”

“It’s not enough,” his wife argued, and Rumplestiltskin let his eyes drift to Renee. 

“You have to…keep her safe.  Can’t trust Cora.  Not now.”  The last two words were almost lost in a coughing fit, but they made it out clearly enough, judging from the worried way Belle was looking at him when he finally got control of the painful wheezing.  His vision was dancing again, but Rumplestiltskin was fairly sure he knew which face belonged to the _actual_ Belle, so he focused on that one.

“I thought your pleases…?” she trailed off.

“Should hold her.  Not counting…on it,” he managed to say before pain made further words stick in his chest.  “Be careful.”

The last sentence was almost a gasp, and Belle held his hand in silence while Rumplestiltskin struggled for air for several moments.  As much as he had told her to stay away to lessen suspicion—Regina’s ironic theory that Belle was playing _him_ was only the icing on that cake—Rumplestiltskin was so glad that she was there.  He needed Belle more desperately than he could express, particularly in moments like this when he wasn’t sure if the pain was ever going to stop.

Could he live like this?  He couldn’t imagine _how_ he’d do so, but Rumplestiltskin had a nasty habit of staying alive, and a family to fight for besides.  He was _so_ close to finding Baelfire, and he wouldn’t let two drunks ruin that.  Or ruin his family.  He’d never been a fighter, but this was worth fighting for.  Every bit of it.

* * *

 

_1 Year Before the Curse_

“Rumple, can we talk?” Belle asked the evening after she had started reading up on his curse.  Gabrielle was asleep for the evening, and they’d headed to their chambers as well.  She’d just finished changing into her nightdress and had watched him exchange his wonderfully tight leather pants for night clothes as well.

Rumplestiltskin paused halfway to the bed, studying her where she sat on the edge, on top of the covers.  “Of course, sweetheart.  What would you like to talk about?”

“There’s something I wanted to ask you,” she said hesitantly, trying to frame her words properly.  After reading about the dagger of the Dark One in that first book, she’d found references to it in three other books, and that was starting to worry her.  Rumplestiltskin had never once mentioned anything like that, and although Belle wasn’t fool enough to think that he told her everything about himself—particularly given what a long life he had lived before he met her—she would have thought that something so dangerous would have been on the list of things to tell his wife of three years.

“Of course.  You know you can ask me anything,” he replied lightly, sitting down on the bed next to her.

“Anything?” Belle echoed before she could stop herself.

“Yes.”  But now he looked wary, and that wasn’t what Belle wanted.  “Sweetheart, you know there are things that I’ve done in the past that—”

“This isn’t about your past,” she cut him off, not wanting to open that can of worms.  Although Belle knew intellectually that Rumpelstiltskin had done some truly horrible things in the years before she’d met him, she had always wanted to focus on their future together.  She knew she could help him be better, and that mattered more to Belle than any past misdeeds of his.  This topic, however…well, her instincts told her that it might be a sensitive one, but it was one that she _needed_ to know about.

“Then what it is?”

Belle took a deep breath.  “I was started reading up on your curse,” she replied slowly.  “On the Curse of the Dark One.”

“Why…why would you do that?” he stuttered, but just as Belle had expected, Rumplestiltskin seemed to tense. 

_Why does he never want to tell me about this?  What is he trying to protect me from...or hide from me?_   Belle was no little girl.  She was a mother and his wife, and she needed to know these things.  Why was he so hesitant?  Wiling her voice to be firm, she told him the answer that she knew he needed to hear, and not the reason that had actually started her digging.  “Because I think I need to know these things.  There’s so much you aren’t telling me, isn’t there?”

“It’s my business,” Rumplestiltskin snapped, but Belle could tell that the answer was automatic and told herself to be patient.

“And mine.  I’m married to you, Rumple.  And I _love_ you,” she told him, reaching out to wrap her arms around his right arm, which was closest to her.  “I’m not going to use any knowledge I gain against you.  I just need to know.”

“Why?” he demanded, sounding more hostile towards her than he had for years.

Belle bit her lip, gathered her courage, and then the words came out in a rush.  “Because there’s  a way someone can control you, isn’t there?”

“ _What_?” Rumplestiltskin jerked away and leapt to his feet so fast that Belle almost fell off the bed, twisting to look at her in fury.  “Where did you hear that?”

“Several books mention a dagger,” she said as calmly as she could, standing to face him and squaring her shoulders.  “They say that it can make you do terrible things if someone has it.”

“You don’t need to worry about that, dearie,” her husband snapped in response, his voice going high pitched and horrible.

“Don’t call me that,” Belle retorted automatically, hating the way he used that word to distance himself from people.  “I’m not some random ‘dearie’.  I’m your _wife!_ ”

“Does that mean I’m supposed to trust you?” he demanded, and Belle jerked back as if struck.

For a moment, she couldn’t believe what she’d heard.  She’d worked so hard to get past Rumplestiltskin’s thorny exterior.  They _loved_ one another.  How could he ask that, and in that horrible tone?  Suddenly, he was looking at her like she was a stranger, like she was a _threat_.  That glare hurt, cut her to the very bone, and Belle heard herself snapping back:

“Yes, it does!  I love you, Rumple, whether you like it or not!”

“Well, you’re not exactly acting like it right now, are you?” he snarled, baring black teeth at her, his expression vicious and dark.

“How can you say that?” she gasped, feeling like she wanted to fall down and cry.  But she wouldn’t.  Not now, and not ever.  “I asked a legitimate question!  The fact that someone could control you, could force you to do anything at all, could endanger us, and I need to know!”

“No, you don’t,” Rumplestiltskin retorted, his voice going higher pitched and panicked.  “And if you love me at all, you’ll forget about this.  Or I’ll _make_ you forget about it!”

It was those last words, panicked and crazed, that finally made everything make sense to Belle.  She’d read about the dagger, read about what it could force a Dark One to do, and she suddenly realized that her husband wasn’t being closed off; he was _afraid_.  The books had said that most Dark Ones were controlled by someone else, but if Rumplestiltskin was free—and Belle knew that he had to be—he had to have been incredibly careful and incredibly paranoid about the dagger. 

“I’m not trying to _take_ it from you,” she whispered, reaching out for his hand.  “Rumple, I love you.  I just—”

He didn’t let her say another word, jerking away from her fingers and storming out.  As he walked—obviously too angry to even teleport away—his night clothes melted away and were replaced by the hard leathers that he normally wore around outsiders, with all sharp edges and no softness at all.  Belle could only stand staring at his retreating back, wondering if she had just ruined something wonderful due to her own curiosity…and how she was going to fix this mess she’d inadvertently created.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next is Chapter 49: “What Heroes Do”, in which Henry continues to believe, Emma visits Graham with questions, Whale gives Belle some frightening news, and a decision is made that will change everything. Back in the past, Rumplestiltskin and Belle face off over the dagger.
> 
> On a different note, if you’re not already following me on tumblr (my blog is toseehowthestoryends), you might want to check it out! I post sneak peeks of FOTS chapters a few days after each chapter goes up, so there will be one for FOTS49 on Wednesday or Thursday. I also have a new story here on AO3, featuring Rumbelle (and others) in the Hunger Games universe, titled “This is No Game.”


	49. What Heroes Do

“Henry,” Regina said slowly, stepping into his room as her little boy sat reading in bed.  “We need to talk, sweetie.”

Immediately, he looked up from the Book.  “Sure, Mom.  Is it about the curse?”

“Yes.  Yes, it is,” she sighed, sitting down next to him.  “In an indirect sense, anyway.”

“Did Grandma have something to do with what happened to Mr. Gold?” Henry asked, and Regina barely managed not to groan.  Her boy really was too perceptible sometimes.  There were days that pleased Regina, but at moments like this it frightened her.  Henry was only ten, after all, and Regina’s job as his mother was to protect him.  David could hardly do that; he was a victim of the curse as much as anyone else.  And Emma didn’t appreciate the threats to the son she’d given up; she still thought this was all some story made up by crazy people.  No, Regina was the only one who _could_ protect him, especially now, and that meant she needed to make him understand that this curse breaking was not a game.

Taking a deep breath, Regina nodded.  "Yes," she told her son softly.  "Yes, she did."

“But why?” Henry asked.  “Mr. Gold is just the Beast.  He wasn't a threat to her...unless she was angry because he and Belle got together again?”

“It's...not that simple, sweetheart,” Regina said, blinking.  How had she not put those pieces together?  Of course, Rumplestiltskin couldn't be the Beast from _Beauty and the Beast_...unless he was?  She knew that he’d played at being Cinderella’s fairy godmother at one point, and had done all kinds of other strange things, besides.  And he’d certainly looked beastly enough back in the Enchanted Forest, hadn’t he?

Except for one thing.  Regina had suffered through that Disney movie with Henry a dozen times over the years, and she knew how the story ended.  The Beast’s curse was supposed to be broken by the beauty he’d imprisoned, and she remembered visiting Rumplestiltskin in his cell before the Dark Curse came rolling down upon them.  He’d looked like his usual vile self, which meant he had still been the Dark One.  Ergo, no curse breaking, no happy ending, and no True Love.  Someone else had to be Lacey French’s beast, which meant Henry’s theory went right out the window.  Not that she wanted to tell her son that this instant.  What Regina _did_ have to say would be damaging enough.

“So, what is it, then?” he asked, looking at Regina curiously.

“Mr. Gold is…well, he’s a very clever man, and he and I are old friends.  He’s been helping a bit, keeping Mother distracted, and she’s not happy about that.  You can see what happened there.”

Henry frowned.  “Did she really put Mr. French and Mr. Rose up to that?”  Regina nodded.  “She really _is_ evil, isn’t she?”

His innocent question have given her the perfect opening, so Regina gathered herself and answered:

“She is.  More than your book tells you, too.   That’s why we have to be careful, Henry.  My mother is prepared to hurt anyone who gets in her way, even family.”

“Even you?”  Big brown eyes studied her, and Regina bit her lip briefly.

“Even any of us,” she replied, trying not to reference the fire.  She didn’t want Henry terrified of Cora, after all; she just needed him to be careful.  Much more so than he was now, which was to say that he wasn’t being cautious at all.  Henry was determined to the point of recklessness, believing so strongly that everything would fall into place and good would win if he just kept fighting.  “Henry, sweetie…we have to be careful.  Mother is watching all of us, and she’s read your book.  She knows that you know, which means that I need you to lay off for a while.  Stop trying to convince Emma, okay?  We’re only halfway through the year.  We’ve got time.”

Regina wished that she could fully believe those words herself, but convincing Henry was more important than her own faith.  Her son, however, went off in a different direction.  Rather typically.

“Mom, we can’t stop now!  If we do, evil wins.  Don’t you know how it goes?  Things always get worse before they get better.  That’s how these things work.”

“Honey—”

“We have to keep fighting.  That’s what heroes do.”

Regina didn’t have the heart to tell her son that she was no hero.  She’d been evil more often than not, had become what her mother forced her to be.  Every time she tried to help those she loved, they seemed to suffer for it, and she had learned the hard way that it was smarter to give in, lest they be hurt even more.  Almost everyone she had ever loved had been punished for that mere fact: Daniel, Snow, and even Henry.  Her son might have come from a line of heroes, but Regina hadn’t.  She was the daughter of the Evil Queen…and people like her did not become heroes.

Even if they wanted to.

* * *

 

Out of other ways to figure out what was going on, Emma paid Graham a visit the next morning.  Her feelings towards her predecessor were still jumbled; she still cared about him, even if he’d made it plain that he didn’t care about her.  It probably didn’t help that the all-too-handsome marina owner seemed determined to step into the void Graham had vacated before Emma was sure if she wanted to let _anyone_ in.  She’d thought that she had something special with Graham, thought he felt that way, too—right up until he kicked her to the curb and told her that he didn’t want to see her again.  Then he’d avoided her, and Emma had let him because it stung so damn much.

She was good at short term failed relationships, after all.   The last man she’d truly let into her carefully guarded heart was Neal, and that hadn’t turned out at all the way a seventeen year old Emma Swan had thought it should.  Even now, with evidence of their once-strong love here in the same town as her, laughing like Neal, smiling like Neal, and with Neal’s deep brown eyes, Emma was hesitant to think fondly of the man who had let her go to jail for his crimes.  Part of her heart would probably always be with him, no matter how hard Emma tried to fight it.  Perhaps that was because Neal had been her first love, or maybe it was because he’d given her Henry, albeit unknowingly.  Why didn’t really matter, though sometimes Emma wondered if thinking of Neal was why she’d never had—or wanted—a successful relationship since him.  She _had_ spent two years in Tallahassee after getting out of jail, half hoping and half fearing that he would show up. 

Emma squared her shoulders.  Neal hadn’t shown up, and she’d never tried to track him down, either.  She didn’t know if he’d ever looked for her, but now that didn’t matter.  So, she knocked on Graham’s door, determined that she could at least talk to him like a professional colleague even if he obviously didn’t want a relationship with her.

Several moments passed before Graham opened the door, looking up at her in surprise from his wheelchair.  “Emma,” he said, a slight smile creasing his face.  “What are you doing here?”

How could he look at her like that when he’d told her to get lost?  Emma tried to tell herself that it was just because he had to be lonely, never leaving this little apartment as he did, but something about that thought rang wrong.  Still, she swallowed and spoke as levelly as she could, saying:

“I’ve got an interesting case that I was hoping you might shed some light on,” she answered vaguely, gesturing at the door.  “Can I come in to talk about it?”

“Sure,” Graham offered immediately, maneuvering himself backwards to make room for her.  “Sorry about the mess.”

Emma just shrugged, glancing around.  The apartment did seem to be worse off than the last time she’d been here; actually, with the number of empty pizza boxes and beer bottles in the living room, she would have thought Keith Law lived there, and not disorganized-but-clean Graham.  A stab of guilt flashed through her, but Graham _had_ been the one to tell her to stay away.  Still, she should make sure that someone other than Keith dropped by to see him from time to time.  Maybe Ruby would. 

“I’ve seen worse,” she answered honestly, following as Graham led her into the kitchen, which was a great deal cleaner.

“So.  What do you need help with?” the former sheriff asked.  “What kind of case, I mean?”

“Attempted murder, it looks like.  Or at least a really nasty case of assault.”

Graham whistled.  “In Storybrooke?  Nothing like that ever happens around here.”

“Well, this time it did. Do you know Moe French and Tony Rose?” Emma asked, already aware of what the answer had to be.  Graham knew everyone, which was one of the things she’d admired most about him as sheriff.

“Yeah, of course I do.  Someone attacked them?”

“No, actually, they did the attacking,” she replied, and watched Graham’s eyebrows go up in shock.  His reaction matched up perfectly with what everyone else had already said: Moe French in particular lacked the guts to go after anyone.  Tony Rose was another matter, a ‘big dumb jock’, in Ruby’s words, but even he wasn’t usually aggressive enough to actually attack someone.  Usually, Ruby had said, he was too stupid to know when he was being insulted.

“Who?” Graham asked, still looking puzzled.

“Mr. Gold,” she said, Emma he whistled.

“That’s got to be one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard of anyone in town doing.  Did Dove make mincemeat of them, or did Gold just shoot them?” the former sheriff asked immediately.

“Dove?  You mean that giant henchman of his?  No, he wasn’t there,” she said as she processed the questions, but then the far more important piece of information stood out: “Wait a minute.  Gold’s got a gun?”

“At least three, if I recall correctly.  He’s got permits for them.  They’re somewhere in the station.”

“Right,” Emma replied slowly, filing that one away for future reference.  Then she shook her head.  “Gold didn’t shoot anyone, and he didn’t have a gun with him when they got him to the hospital.  They beat the hell out of him with a pair of golf clubs.  Gold’ll be in the hospital for weeks, if not longer.”

Obviously, it took Graham a moment to swallow that news; he sat back in his wheelchair thoughtfully, staring blankly at the empty stove.  “Damn,” he finally said.  “What made them do that?”

“Lacey French moved in with Gold about a month ago,” Emma replied, summing up the problem as neatly as she could.  She knew it was a lot more complicated than that—probably—but that really had been what started Moe French’s crusade to prove that Gold was hurting his daughter.

“Oh.  That.”  Graham shrugged like it was no big deal.  “They’ve been seeing one another for years.  Quietly, though.  Like they didn’t want anyone to know.”

“They have?” The words rocketed out of her mouth before Emma even thought about asking, because there was no way to contain her shock.  Like everyone else, she’d assumed that Gold had just taken advantage of the homeless librarian’s situation, but this was confirmation that they’d had a relationship that predated the fire.  That _really_ put things into a different perspective, particularly the way Gold acted around Renee.  Emma had tried more than once to tell herself that she was crazy for thinking there was something between those two, but if Graham knew about it…

“Yeah.  Lacey’s a friend, but since she didn’t say anything—or never mentioned who she was seeing by name, or at least not to me—I kept my mouth shut.  It wasn’t my business, and it wasn’t like they were committing a crime,” the former sheriff pointed out.  “I guess she was afraid of how her dad might react or something.”

“Damn,” Emma whispered, letting out a huge sigh.  “I wish I’d known that earlier.  She didn’t say anything like that to me when I asked her about him a month back.”

Graham gave her a crooked smile.  “Lacey’s protective over Gold.  Lord only knows why.  The man’s better at taking care of himself than anyone else in town.”

“Not this time,” she pointed out.  “They really did a number on him.”

“Moe owes Gold money, too,” Graham volunteered.  “A huge loan, put his truck up for collateral.  Some of it was for the flower shop, but most of it was for a couple of impressive gambling debts.  He used to hang with Leonard Blanchard, and they got in deep together.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Another shrug.  “Most people don’t.  It’s why he wanted her to marry Tony, though.  All that money, and no brains to manage it.  Lacey could ask Tony for a hundred thousand, and he’d probably give her two by accident.”

“What is it about that girl that makes men go for her?” Emma had to ask, thinking of Keith lying so deservedly on the ground after Lacey had put him there.

“She’s pretty and she’s kind.  Lacey’s the type of girl you bring home to meet your parents on the first date, because they’ll like her right away,” he replied.  “I think just about every guy in town has had a crush on her at one point or another.”

The next words slipped out before she could stop them as Emma forgot her promise to herself to never talk about the curse with Graham.  The last time she had, he’d kissed her and gone a little crazy.  “Henry thinks she’s Belle from _Beauty and the Beast_.”

“She could be.  I wouldn’t know.”  Something odd crossed Graham’s face, and Emma wound up leaving soon after that.  The ease of conversation between them was half there, half gone, replaced by an awkwardness that she didn’t quite understand.  Despite Graham having told her that she should give up on him for his own good, Emma still wanted to be his friend.  She wasn’t sure if she’d ever want to be romantically involved with him again—it was too much like riding an out of control roller coaster—but that didn’t mean she didn’t care about him.

Something was wrong with Graham, Emma reflected as she said goodbye and left his messy apartment.  But she had no idea how to figure out what.   _He said that Cora has his heart,_ she remembered, thinking back to the date that had ended in a kiss and disaster.  _He said he can’t feel anything._

And Regina had never said that he was wrong.  She’d just avoided answering when Emma had told her about that conversation months ago…and that had to mean something.  Maybe Emma was crazy to start believing this, but maybe she wasn’t.  _When the only logical thing makes you sound crazy, maybe everything around you_ is _crazy and_ you _just need to get with the program,_ she thought, and headed back to her bug.  She had some criminals in jail to deliver lunch to, and at least _that_ made logical sense.

* * *

 

Belle got to the hospital room just in time to hear Doctor Whale say: “…of course you are entitled to your privacy, Mr. Gold, but some of these injuries really have me worried.”

“Leave it,” Rumplestiltskin replied as Belle slipped in, but his voice held none of the strength that she had hoped another night’s sleep would give him.  Instead it was even raspier and weaker than it had been the day before, although he might have just been putting on a brave front for Renee, then.  Now his face was even more drawn and pale than before, and Belle could see the pain shining out of his eyes, along with a defensiveness that she knew all too well.

“Mr. Gold—”  Whale started with a scowl, but Belle cut him off as gently as she could.

“Perhaps you can bring that up another time, Doctor?” she asked quietly, reaching out to take Rumplestiltskin’s hand and squeeze it slightly so that he didn’t start arguing that ‘never’ was a better time than later.  After all, she could guess what injuries Whale was so worried about, and she knew that Rumplestiltskin had no intention of discussing them with anyone.  Even if she wished he would.

“You might be right.”  Whatever else Whale was, or had been in another life, he was a good doctor here in Storybrooke, even if he had hit on Lacey rather more often than either Lacey or Belle had liked.  He shot his patient a glare and then turned back to Belle.  “Can I speak to you for a moment, Miss French?”

“Sure,” she replied, and followed him into the hallway, her heart hammering frantically against her ribcage.  Somehow, Belle got the feeling that Whale was not about to ask her out to dinner. Again.

“You’re Mr. Gold’s medical proxy,” the doctor said directly, gesturing back at the partially closed door.

“I am,” Belle replied slowly.  The serious look on Whale’s face only served to worry her further, and she found her hands clasping, holding onto one another as if they could somehow hold back bad news.  _Rumple will be all right,_ she tried to tell herself, biting her lip to keep tears back.  _He_ has _to be all right._

“He’s not doing well,” Whale confirmed her worst fears bluntly.  “I believe that he’s started bleeding internally again, and although I don’t _think_ it’s serious, we need to keep a close eye on him for now.  And I’m particularly worried about his right leg.  I know the original injury was from a car accident and left him crippled, but the combination of the old breaks and the new is, frankly, a big problem.  His circulation appears to be impaired, and I think I’m going to have to do another surgery to improve it.  If I don’t, he may lose the leg.”

“What?” Belle whispered, her eyes going wide.  “You don’t mean…”

“If I can’t restore circulation and reset the bones properly—all of them—we’re going to be looking at tissue death,” he confirmed.  “If that sets in, I’m going _have_ to amputate, or it could kill him.”

“You can’t.”

She couldn’t say more.  Those words came out in a broken whisper as her arms snaked around her chest for warmth; all Belle could think of was how much Rumplestiltskin would _hate_ that, how hard he’d fight against the entire idea.  He hated his limp, hated the old injury that the curse had restored to him, but how much more would he hate missing a limb?  Rumplestiltskin already had a hard time thinking of himself as human, and something like this would only serve to further distance him from everyone else.  Belle wouldn’t see him any differently, but he’d hate himself even more because of this, and the mere thought of making that decision, of doing that to him, broke Belle’s heart into little tiny pieces.

“Hey.”  Suddenly, Whale’s hand was on her arm, and his tone was comforting.  “It’s not necessary yet, and even if it becomes necessary, plenty of people live very normal lives with a prosthetic limb.”

“He’d hate that,” Belle said without meaning to, staring blankly at the floor and trying desperately to blink back her tears.

“It’s better than dying,” the doctor replied gently, squeezing Belle’s elbow.  “And the decision doesn’t have to be made today, all right?  We’ll try surgery again in the morning.”

“How…how likely is the surgery to work?” she asked after clearing her throat.  The words still came out uneven and small.

“It’s about a fifty-fifty chance.”

Belle bobbed her head jerkily, chewing on her lip again.  “All right.  Is that all?  I…I need to go see him, now.”

Whale nodded, and she pulled away from him.  Her mind was whirling as she walked back into Rumplestiltskin’s hospital room.  She had to come up with a solution.  There had to be something, didn’t there?  Their story didn’t end like this, didn’t end in the Land Without Magic, with her father and Gaston—

Wait a minute.  This was the Land _Without_ Magic, but Rumple had prepared for that eventuality, hadn’t he?  Her heart hammering in her chest—now with possibility, and not just terror—Belle hurried back to his side, taking his left hand in her own and squeezing it.

“Rumple?” she asked quietly, after checking to make sure that Whale hadn’t followed her in.

“Hey,” he whispered, and it hadn’t just been Belle’s imagination.  He _did_ look worse than he had the previous evening, and her heart clenched as she saw the pain gleaming in his eyes and the way his right hand twitched periodically. 

“Whale says it’s getting worse,” Belle told him, biting her lip.  She wasn’t sure if the doctor had actually told Rumple that or if he’d just argued with him, but Belle had never believed in keeping secrets from her husband.  They’d learned firsthand what a bad idea that was.

“I know.”

The way he said that made it sound like he was already defeated, but Belle couldn’t believe that.  She knew her husband’s tricky mind, knew that Rumplestiltskin was the smartest man she’d ever met.  Rumple _always_ had a plan, usually two or three, and always had an exit strategy.  He’d come up with something, maybe better than the idea that had occurred to her, or he’d find a way to make Belle’s plans better.  So, she squeezed his hand gently, waiting for him to say more, only to find that Rumplestiltskin was oddly silent.  The look on his face was painfully depressed, too, and Belle leaned over to kiss his unmarred cheek.

“I love you,” she whispered in his ear, and that finally made him quirk a tiny smile.

“And I love you,” Rumplestiltskin replied, coughing.  “I just…oh, sweetheart, I…”

“I know.”  Taking a deep breath—and another glance around to make certain they were alone in the room—Belle said: “We have to something.  I know that I…argued with you about bringing magic here, but the bottle is in the trunk, and—”

“Not now,” he rasped, cutting her off, and Belle jerked back in surprise.

“I’m not going to leave you hurting like this!” she hissed, struggling to keep her voice down. “Not when bringing magic here could let you heal yourself with a _thought_.  I can’t do that, Rumple.  Not like this.”

Somehow, he managed a laugh, and fingers squeezed hers in return.  “No.  I meant not during the day.  If it’s going to be done…it must be at night.”

“Oh.”  That jerked her up short.  “Why?”

“It’ll look like another curse cloud coming,” Rumplestiltskin replied, his voice still scratchy and hard to hear.  “Can you imagine…what these poor cursed fools…would make of that?”

Despite the situation, Belle bit back a giggle, trying to think of how the cursed denizens of Storybrooke would react to purple (would they be purple? The last ones had been) clouds rolling over the horizon and engulfing the town.  They’d probably riot, or declare it the oddest storm ever, depending upon what the curse allowed them to do.  Odds were that they’d stay still and shake in terror, though; Cora didn’t like independent-thinking peons, and that meant they’d stay quiet.  _Except for the fact that the curse_ is _weakening,_ Belle reminded herself.  That meant that anything could happen.

“What do I do?  Do you know?” she asked, swallowing her humor.

A tiny spark glinted in Rumplestiltskin’s eyes; the manipulative dealmaker was coming out again, the brilliant sorcerer who had an answer to everything.  Hope had was drowning his depression, and the sight of it warmed Belle’s heart.  Of _course_ he knew.  When they’d discussed this possibility back home, Rumplestiltskin hadn’t then been sure how he’d bring magic to the land without it—and Belle hadn’t been sure if she wanted him to do so at all.  _Silly me,_ Belle thought.  Somehow, she had assumed that he hadn’t been thinking about doing so ever since he woke up. 

“Of course I know,” her husband told her, quirking that slight smile again.  He was still in pain, but at least now Belle had given him something to think about, and she was grateful for that if nothing else.  “You remember…the wishing well?”

“I do.  The one with the funny plaque about restoring things long lost?” she asked, smiling.  Lacey had loved that well, and Renee still did.  Before the fire, she’d taken her little girl hiking out there from time to time, because it reminded her of…

 Somehow, it had reminded Lacey of a home her cursed self had never known but still yearned for. 

“The waters come from Lake Nostos,” Rumplestiltskin whispered.  “Take the bottle…drop it in the well.  Magic will do the rest.”

“Are you sure?”

Rumplestiltskin gave her a look, and Belle shrugged.  She hadn’t meant to question his knowledge of magic, but he _was_ awfully loopy.  Instead of replying to that, she asked:

“I thought you wanted to use Snow and Charming’s True Love potion for this?”

He shook his head, and then grimaced when the motion hurt.  “No time for that.  Just use ours.”

“I can do that.”  She squeezed his hand.  “Right after dark?”

“Better to do it after midnight.  Make sure…Cora’s asleep.  The longer we can keep this from her…the better.”

“Then I won’t be able to see you until morning,” Belle objected.  Visiting hours ended at eight thirty P.M., and she didn’t want to leave Rumple any longer than she had to.  Not when he was hurting like this.

“I’ll be all right,” he told her, and Belle felt him squeeze her fingers again.  “Just…bring magic.  And then you know what you have to do.  Keep it safe at all costs.”

Taking a deep breath, Belle nodded.  “I will,” she promised, not wanting to think about what would happen if Cora got ahold of the dagger.  She had already abused Rumplestiltskin enough as it was.  Bending down to kiss her husband’s forehead again, she added:  “You can trust me.  I’ll keep you safe.”

* * *

 

_1 Year Before the Curse_

_Kill her!_ the curse screamed in mind.  _She knows your secrets!  She knows too much!_ Darkness welled up around Rumplestiltskin as he paced in his workroom, thick and choking and visible if you looked from the right angle.  _The child doesn’t need her now—kill her!_   Centuries of protecting the dagger at all costs fueled his rage and his terror; Rumplestiltskin had inherited memories from many of his predecessors, _all_ of whom had been controlled brutally by one master or another.  He’d long ago sworn that he would never let that happen, and aside from one brief blip—which he’d quickly rectified—he had managed to keep the dagger safe for the many so-called heroes who had sought it out.

Until his wife, his _True Love_ , had asked about it.  Oh, she’d couched it in generalized terms, talking about how worried she was and how she needed to know if there was something that could control him, but the curse knew the truth.  She wanted to control him.  They _all_ did.  They wanted his power for their own, wanted to make him into a slave.  _Kill her for that,_ the curse whispered seductively.  _Kill her slowly and show her that you will be no one’s slave, no matter how clever they think they are.  Or keep her.  Break her.  Teach her._

Whipped into a fury, his magic lashed out at the shelf of potions ingredients to his right, smashing bottles into pieces.  But that wasn’t enough, wasn’t nearly enough—he had _trusted_ her!—so Rumplestiltskin whirled and reached out to grab the shelf in his hands, using his curse-enhanced strength to pull it down.  Relishing the shower of glass and precious ingredients, he then turned and tore a bookshelf off the far wall, throwing rare and priceless books across the tower as his curse raged in his mind, egging him on to destroy everything he held dear.  He’d trusted Belle, opened his scarred little heart to her, and _this_ was how she repaid him?  He had given her everything he was, had—

_“I’m not trying to_ take _it from you,”_ Belle had whispered as he’d stormed out.  Rumplestiltskin had been too angry to hear the words then, but now they sank in.  Did she mean that?  Belle had said that someone controlling him could endanger her and Gabrielle, and she was so right about that.  That was why he couldn’t tell her, mustn’t let _anyone_ see the dagger.  Wasn’t it?

_Kill her!_ the curse repeated insistently, not at all liking the way his thoughts were tracking.  But Rumplestiltskin had lived with his True Love for over three years now.  They had somehow managed to create a family despite the evil demon raging within his mind, and he was learning how to shut that voice out.  His love for Belle had proven, time and again, to be a better compass to follow than the voice of his curse, so Rumplestiltskin now shoved it aside, trying to _think_ without his fury clouding his mind.  Belle had only asked a question.  She had not even asked to see the dagger—although Rumplestiltskin knew she would, because Belle was just a tactile person like that.  She had asked an innocent question of her husband, of a man who claimed to love her so much, and he had snapped at her.

In fact, he had said terrible, hurtful things to her.  Things Belle had every right not to forgive him for saying.  What was _wrong_ with him?  Rumplestiltskin had accused Belle of not loving him because she’d asked about the dagger.  What kind of fool was he?  He would deserve it if she walked out and left him here and now.

He’d never deserved her in the first place, after all.

Sinking onto the floor, Rumplestiltskin let his shoulders slump and his head drop.  Had he done it this time?  Had he been such a fool that he was going to lose her?  What if Belle took Gabi with her?  Losing the both of them would destroy him, and he knew that.  They were all he had aside from the obsessive quest to find his lost son; his wife and daughter were proof that, Dark One or not, Rumplestiltskin _could_ love, could do the right thing despite his curse, and—

_You know what you have to do,_ an inner voice whispered, and for once it was not his curse.  Or if it was, he was interpreting the words differently than the curse wanted him to.  Because Rumplestiltskin knew exactly what he needed to do, and somehow he gathered the courage to lever himself to his feet.  Belle was worth fighting for, and he was the one that had hurt her.  He needed to make that right, lest he truly turn to dust.  So, Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath and left the mess in his workroom behind, walking slowly down the stairs and refusing to let himself stop.  He had to make this right.  He did.  He couldn’t let the coward win, couldn’t hide until the storm passed and Belle left him.  Belle had taught him to be stronger than that.

Tentatively, he tapped on their bedroom door before opening it.  Belle sat on the bed again, her knees pulled up tight to her chest and with her arms wrapped around them.  Her head had been buried against them, but snapped up when he crept in, her blue eyes red-rimmed and full of tears.  She looked up at him, broken and hurting, and _this was all his fault._ Rumplestiltskin’s feet kicked him into motion before he even decided to move, and suddenly, somehow, he was kneeling at the side of the bed, looking up at the love of his life. Silent tears were still running down her cheeks, and Rumplestiltskin wanted to hold her, but he was afraid that he’d thrown away the right to do that.

“Belle…” Rumpelstiltskin whispered timidly.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  I shouldn’t have said what I did—I didn’t mean it, I was just—”

She launched herself at him before he could say more, and suddenly, Rumplestiltskin found himself with his arms full of his wife, with both of them sitting on the floor and leaning against the bed.  “I’m sorry, too,” Belle said in a rush.  “I don’t want to enslave you, Rumple.  I read about all the horrible things people have done to Dark Ones, and I just want to—”

The last words were lost in a sob, and Rumplestiltskin shifted to the bed to pull her closer.  “It’s my fault, sweetheart.  Not yours.  I’m a monster.  I should have listened to you, but I…I couldn’t.”

“You’re not a monster, Rumple,” she told him fiercely.  “A monster wouldn’t have apologized.  A monster wouldn’t have come back in here.”

“I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

“I wouldn’t leave you just because of a fight!”  Leaning back, Belle looked him in the eye, and he felt a smaller hand touch his cheek gently.  “You silly man.  I love you, and True Love must be fought for, remember?  You told me that.”

“And you taught me how,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, feeling the distant voice of his curse snarl in objection, but with Belle in his arms, that demon was easy to ignore.  “I do love you, Belle.  More than the world.”

“I know.”  Her smile, despite her tear stained cheeks, grew a little cheeky.  “I’ve seen your real face, remember?”

She leaned in and kissed him on the nose, and the fact that Rumplestiltskin didn’t even try to pull away said a lot about how far they had come from that first disastrous kiss.  He just leaned into her touch, burying his face in her shoulder and breathing in the amazing scent that made Belle into _Belle_.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered again.

“It’s all right.  I shouldn’t have brought it up like that.  I just…I just needed to know.  If something like that can control you…”

Belle trailed off, and Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard.  _She can’t know!_ his curse all but screamed.  His head was pounding with every word it thundered.   _You’ve killed people for less knowledge than she has!_   The fact that the curse was right did nothing to change his feelings for Belle.  He trusted her.  Didn’t he?

“I would never let anyone use me to hurt you or Gabrielle,” he reassured her.  But even as the words came out, he knew they were a lie.  If someone got a hold of the dagger, Rumplestiltskin knew he would have no choice.  “I would burn the world to ash before I let either of you be hurt.”

“Don’t say that,” she objected, and Rumplestiltskin found a twisted little smile touching his features.  His wife was such a _good_ person; there were times that he wondered how she had fallen for someone like him.  He didn’t deserve her, but what he had said was the pure truth.  Rumplestiltskin would destroy entire realms before he let anyone hurt his family. 

“All right, then,” he replied softly.  “I won’t say it.” 

Rumplestiltskin kissed the top of Belle’s head, again gathering his courage.  Belle might have accepted his apology, but she deserved better than that—and he had to do this before the coward won out.  So, he freed himself from Belle’s arms, feeling her shiver in response but refusing the coward’s need to dive back into her embrace.  He took a deep breath.

“To answer your question,” he said softly.  “Yes.  This”—a flick of his wrist summoned the kris dagger out of his vault, with the jeweled hilt landing in his right hand.  Its familiar weight rested heavily in his grip, and the curse’s voice rose a little louder within his soul the longer the dagger was there, but Rumplestiltskin did not let himself banish it right away—“can indeed control me.”

“Oh,” Belle whispered, staring at the wavy blade.  Rumplestiltskin had summoned it so that his name, carved artfully into the blade itself, was visible, and he could see her eyes tracing over the letters again and again.

“It is also the one thing that can kill me,” Rumplestiltskin continued, trying to ignore the way his voice shook.  He tried to smile, but he could feel the way the expression turned grotesque and tense right away.  “Whoever kills me with this dagger becomes the Dark One.  I killed my predecessor with it…and here I am.”

“The books said something about that,” she replied after a moment, looking up at his face instead of at the dagger.  Rumplestiltskin imagined that his terror and his tension were written plainly there for anyone to see, but Belle gave him a real smile.  “Thank you for showing me.”

A jerky nod was the only response he could manage for a moment, until Rumplestiltskin found his voice enough to whisper: “I’ve killed everyone who ever saw this,” he admitted.  “Except Bae.  And now you.”

“I love you, Rumple,” Belle said instead of thanking him, and then reached out for his hand.  Even though her fingers were seeking his left hand, the hand without the dagger, Rumplestiltskin found himself jerking the dagger back defensively, his breath growing short and fearful.  Yet Belle still managed to capture his free hand, squeezing it lovingly.

“I…do trust you, sweetheart,” he told her, and they were some of the hardest words he’d ever forced himself to say.  “I’m just…”

“Afraid,” she finished for him, squeezing his hand again.  “I can’t imagine what it would be like to have something that you knew would allow anyone who held it to control you, to make you do anything.  You always say that all magic comes at a price, but I never thought that your curse would come with one that is so steep.”

“The dagger holds my soul, I think,” Rumplestiltskin said raggedly.  “Or what’s left of it.”

So many years of darkness.  Did he have any soul left?  Whatever remained of it certainly belonged to Belle, and he owed her these answers, even if his curse was trying to tear at his mind for giving them.  Once, so many years ago, he had told another woman of this dagger, and Rumplestiltskin had lived to regret it.  Only his lingering affection for her kept him from killing her for that knowledge, but Rumplestiltskin did truly believe that Cora was not so foolish as to try to control him.  She was after other sorts of power, and knew that even attempting to take the dagger would be worth her life.  Cora was many things, but she didn’t have a death wish.

And Belle was nothing like Cora.  He’d never shown Cora the dagger, but he had shown Belle.  And she hadn’t even tried to touch it, sensing his tension and seeking to soothe him instead.  Rumplestiltskin truly didn’t deserve her love, particularly after what he’d said to her earlier, but he allowed himself to embrace her again, anyway, after he banished the dagger back to the vault, whispering apologies in her ear as they curled up to sleep. 

* * *

 

Shortly after the fire, Rumplestiltskin had shown Belle where he had buried the dagger, a demonstration of trust that still floored her on so many levels.  Her experiences on that front back in the Enchanted Forest had taught her that her husband was downright paranoid about the dagger, and Belle had read enough of his books—and asked him enough questions—to understand why.  She had no desire to ever even hold it, and yet now Rumplestiltskin was trusting her to dig it up and keep it safe while he was in the hospital.  Belle was no fool, and she knew that her husband was far from perfect.  There was a great darkness eating at him, and yet somehow he managed to overcome that enough to trust her with his very soul.

She drove the Cadillac out to the cabin as soon as she left, pausing only to go to the house and pick up the vial containing her and Rumplestiltskin’s True Love potion.  He’d made a second one, she knew, and had Prince ‘James’ hide it somewhere, but Belle had never asked where that vial was.  It didn’t really matter, anyway.  Their vial was inside the blue and gold chest that the curse had delivered to her apartment, which she and Rumplestiltskin had then transferred to his study after she moved in.  Giving her daughter a quick peck on the cheek and promising Marie and Dove that she would be back soon, Belle grabbed a shovel from the garage and drove out to cabin Mr. Gold owned.

Belle’s memory was accurate, and she’d remembered that the cabin held a pair of battery powered lights, so finding the dagger was easy.  Digging it up took a little more work, but there was no way that she was going to wait until after she brought magic to locate the dagger.  Perhaps her husband had still been loopy thanks to the drugs in his system, because Belle saw the gaping weakness in his plan that he did not.  He had asked her to bring magic late at night to keep anyone, particularly Cora, from knowing, but if Belle had learned anything about Cora over the last twenty-eight years, it was that Storybrooke’s mayor was anything but stupid.  She probably _would_ notice the moment that magic came, and the way that she’d abused Rumplestiltskin under the curse told Belle that Cora would be eager to control him now.  Her caveats were not nearly as all-encompassing type of control as the dagger would be, and Belle knew enough about the older woman to know she would want _more._ Cora would try to find the dagger with magic as soon as she knew that she could, and Belle was not going to let that happen.

So, she spent two hours digging holes—three of them in the frozen ground—until she finally found the exact right spot.  Finally, Belle was able to kneel in the three-foot deep hole and remove the cloth-wrapped weapon, holding the dagger of the Dark One in her hand for the first time.  Oddly, even without magic here in Storybrooke, Belle could feel power resonating off of the blade, even before she unwrapped it.

_Rumplestiltskin_.

The word was there, carved in deeply, just like she remembered.  _“The dagger holds my soul, I think,”_ Rumplestiltskin had said to her, once.  And Belle believed that now, holding the distillation of his curse in her hand and staring at the blade.  Even here, she thought she could hear ghostly whispers if she concentrated hard enough.  The whispers were too quiet for her to discern words, but Belle could tell they were there.  _Is this like what Rumple hears inside his mind all the time_? she wondered.  Her husband didn’t speak often of the way his curse spoke to him, but he’d told her about its voice once or twice.

Shivering, Belle slipped the dagger inside her purse, hugging it close to her body and glad to have the wavy weapon out of her hand.  Holding the dagger made her feel even colder than she already felt in the chilly January air…but even worse, it made her feel powerful.  _It’s only going to get worse when you bring magic,_ Belle told herself firmly.  _So you’d best get used to resisting it now._   Rumplestiltskin had never put it in so many words, but she knew that one of his greatest fears was having someone he loved control him with the dagger, and Belle would not let that happen.  She was going to keep the dagger safe, and then give it to him.  As soon as she could.

Returning to the car, she kept her purse close by for the drive, terrified that someone might leap into the car and steal the dagger away.  Belle had watched Cora hurt her husband often enough.  There was no way she was going to stand by while someone else did the same, just far more effectively.  Fortunately, the drive to the well was not a long one, or at least the trip along the road wasn’t.  Grabbing her purse, Belle climbed out of car and started to hike up the hill, wishing she’d worn slightly smaller heels but deciding that it was too late to care.  Under other circumstances, she would have taken her shoes off for the climb, but the ground continued to crunch under her feet and she passed several large patches of snow.  The winter hadn’t been too terrible yet, and the largest snowfalls had mostly melted away in the last week’s warm spell, but the night was still around thirty degrees, and not wearing heels would have made walking faster a lot easier.

Still, she reached the wishing well without any trouble, only tripping a handful of times and never dropping her purse, which held both objects that were so precious to her.  Once, Belle had hoped that coming to the Land Without Magic _would_ free her husband from the darkness that gripped his soul.  She had hoped that they could keep magic where it belonged, in the Enchanted Forest, and that way Rumplestiltskin could just be himself.  But he’d already told her that he’d heard the voice of his curse—albeit more quietly—from the moment he woke up, and now Rumplestiltskin _needed_ magic.  He was in pain and facing injuries he might not recover from, and Belle was not going to let him suffer for one moment longer than she had to.

“I hope you’re right, Rumple,” she whispered, looking down into the miraculously un-frozen waters of the well as she shined a flashlight down into its depths.  Taking a deep breath, Belle reached into her purse, put the flashlight away, and removed the vial of True Love.

The night filled with warm golden light, and for a moment, Belle _felt_ warm.  It was like this little bottle of pure magic could chase away even the coldest air around her, and that thought made her smile.  The vial she held in her hand was proof of her love for Rumplestiltskin, proof of his love for her, and it would save him.  _She_ would save him, and that thought warmed Belle as much as anything else.

Planting a quick kiss on the outside of the bottle, Belle extended her arm and dropped it into the well.  Several seconds passed, and then purple smoke started creeping up from the water, misty and ethereal in the light of her flashlight.  It pooled around her feet, greeting her like an old friend, and Belle could feel the change in the air.

Magic was coming to Storybrooke. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is Chapter 50—“Magic”, in which Storybrooke reacts to the strange clouds, Rumplestiltskin starts healing himself, David and Mary Margaret talk about Regina, August spies for Cora, and Belle visits the hospital once more. Back in the past, Charming overhears Cora offering George an alliance. 
> 
> For my tumblr followers, the sneak peek for the next chapter should be up Sunday.


	50. Magic

David had long since gone to sleep—in the guest room, since he insisted on leaving Regina the master bedroom—but she was still awake, even if she was now too tired to pace.  Her conversation with Cora from two days earlier still rang in Regina’s mind, and she wasn’t sure what she should do.   Back in the Enchanted Forest, the choice had always been straightforward: Cora would kill Daniel if Regina acted against her (save in small ways; her mother seemed to find those amusing).  But Cora had been in control of Daniel there, had imprisoned him starting back when Regina knew nothing about magic and could do nothing to save him.  Here things were different, and Henry’s words to her about how heroes always fought back kept ringing in her mind, too.

Sighing, Regina leaned against the window, looking out at the lights of midnight in Storybrooke.  She had never been a hero, but she’d always wanted to do what was right.  She’d failed at that, so very miserably, so many times, but that didn’t change the fact that Regina _wanted_ to.  And maybe Henry was right.  Maybe it was time for her to fight back, particularly here where—

That cloud formation was moving far too quickly to be a natural weather event. 

She _had_ been staring out the window blankly as those thoughts tore wildly through her mind, but movement caught Regina’s eye.  Focusing on the clouds as they quickly rolled in, she blinked once, and then twice, trying to make sense out of what she was seeing.  Regina had only seen something like this once before, and that had been when the curse clouds engulfed the Enchanted Forest, sucking the inhabitants out and bringing them here.  This looked _just_ like that, although Regina had no idea what could have caused it. 

_Mother, what have you done?_   She just had enough time to think that thought before the purple—she thought they were purple, but it was hard to tell at midnight—clouds engulfed her home, and Regina suddenly felt an undeniably tangy taste in her mouth.

_Magic._

A shiver tore down her spine, and Regina immediately knew that her thought was right.  Someone had brought _magic_ to the Land Without Magic—but how?  Oh, if her mother had known how to do that, the curse would have given it to her in the beginning, because Cora loved power, and magic was power.  So, it couldn’t be Cora.  That only left one person, the wiliest bastard Regina had ever met, but he was stuck in a hospital bed, broken and beaten half to death.  How in the _world_ could he have pulled this off from the hospital?  And how do to it, anyway?  Bringing magic to the land without it was, or at least should be, impossible.  Utterly so.  This land didn’t _have_ any magic; that was why everyone was so miserable!  Yet here it came.

However the feat had been done, Regina had no doubt that it was Rumpelstiltskin’s doing.  Apparently, he was sick of lying in bed with such grievous injuries, and she couldn’t blame him.   He’d solved his own problems…but he also might have changed hers.  With magic here in Storybrooke, did Regina have other options?  Her mother would be able to hurt Henry, but Regina would be able to _protect_ him, too.  Wouldn’t she?

* * *

 

It was like being able to breathe after an eternity in vacuum. 

The very thought could send a shiver down Rumplestiltskin’s spine, but the feeling of magic seeping into his bones was even better.  He suddenly felt alive again, like he had been sleeping for decades and was only now returning to himself.  But those first few moments were crucial, and he had to use them right.  With magic came his curse, came darkness and evil, and he had to restrict that.  The curse of the Dark One was native to the Enchanted Forest, and if he made a few sacrifices now—restricted his own power, distanced himself from the curse just a tiny bit—he could leave some of it there.  He only had seconds to do so, seconds to choose to be better than his curse wanted to be, but his family deserved that.  All of them.

_I will find you, Bae,_ he promised silently, feeling his curse latch onto him as fully as it could.  _And I will try to be the man you wanted me to be.  I promise._

It was done, or as much as he could do the deed.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t managed to push much of the curse away, but he had done what he could, and he would have to live with that.  Perhaps he could be better for his family’s sake, but either way, he had magic now.  And now he could slowly begin to heal.  _Finally_ , he thought desperately, feeling the first tendrils of magic working to ease his breathing.  Each breath had burned terribly since his ribs were broken, but now the pain slipped away, allowing Rumplestiltskin to suck in his first deep breath in days.

Ribs first, then.  Rumplestiltskin did rather like breathing.  He couldn’t heal them entirely, lest the medical establishment here in Storybrooke realize that something _very_ odd had happened, but he could speed the process along and cushion the rest of his body from the still-fractured bones.  Interestingly enough, his curse hadn’t started the healing process automatically, as it would have back home.  Generally speaking, he stopped it when that happened, as he preferred to heal himself consciously and properly, as opposed to letting his curse do it the quick and dirty (and often more painful and costly) way.  Here in Storybrooke, however, his curse had not gone to work immediately.  _Odd._ Was that from the way he’d walled part of the curse off in the Enchanted Forest, or simply a limitation of the Land Without Magic?

Rumplestiltskin had always known that magic would be different here, particularly for him.  After all, its basis was True Love, and although that was the most powerful and purest magic of all, it was undoubtedly light magic.  Oh, there was room for darkness in love—love could drive people to do the most terrible things—but at its core, True Love was light magic.  As the Dark One, he’d anticipated accepting a handicap because of that.  His very nature was dark, and although Rumplestiltskin had found that he could use light magic, doing so was not pleasant.  He’d never liked to be limited, magically speaking, so he had painstakingly taught himself to heal—actually heal, not the throw-power-at-a-wound-and-force-it-shut approach of dark magic—and perform other feats of light magic.  But it had never been easy, and never been powerful…until he and Belle had been surrounded by werewolves and he’d drawn on something other than his curse to protect her.

Now he found light magic easier to harness than it had been in the Enchanted Forest, and Rumplestiltskin had to wonder if that was because the True Love potion used to bring magic to Storybrooke had been theirs.  His and Belle’s.  The one he _hadn’t_ intended for this purpose, but had wound up telling Belle to use anyway.  He supposed—hoped—that he could make another bottle, but that would have to wait until he was out of the hospital and until after he’d figured out the pitfalls and weaknesses of magic in this world.

His magic went still, waiting for his command impatiently as it finished the job of mostly healing his ribs.  Rumplestiltskin paused for a moment, contemplating what to heal next, and finally aimed for his cheekbone and the nagging concussion.  Perhaps his thoughts inadvertently shied away from the mess that was his right leg, but he really didn’t want to think about that right now.  He had no idea how much of it he could actually heal, if he’d be left worse off than before or—

_Stop that,_ he told himself firmly.  _You are the Dark One, not the village coward.  You can face this._ This _injury isn’t one you did to yourself out of desperation and terror.  This was done_ to _you, and you will not let them win by letting it destroy you._ He could do this without losing himself in fear.  He was not helpless.  He would not be afraid.

Sucking in a deep breath, Rumplestiltskin smoothed out the rough edges of his head injury, knitted up his cheekbone—again, only mostly, and throwing a cushion between the damage and the rest of his face so that it could do no more harm—and finally forced himself to focus.  Age old terrors tried to rise up, along with them the crippling self-hatred that he had carried with him since he had been a small boy, but he pushed them aside with an effort.  His eyes slid shut, and for the first time in his long life, he _looked_ at the mangled mess his lower right leg had been for centuries.

The leg was a mess.  Whale had been right; circulation was impaired, and some of the bones were outright pulverized.  Most of them, even.  But what science could not heal, magic could, and his attackers had inadvertently done him a favor.  _A favor.  Right._   Rumplestiltskin snorted.  _Next time I’ll be sure to thank them as I lie on the ground being beaten!_   A surge of fury, hot and powerful, accompanied that thought, and he had to spend several moments beating that down before he could focus on his injuries once more.  _Kill them all,_ his curse threw fuel on the fire of his rage, louder than it had been since the Enchanted Forest, and Rumplestiltskin heard an ominous rattling coming from his right.  His eyes flew open, and even as they did, he felt a cold wind rising in the hospital room.  Magic whipped around him, dark and dangerous, shaking any objects that weren’t fastened down and making the door rattle in its hinges. 

“No,” he growled, forcing his fury down and the curse with it.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t lost control like this in ages, but the verbalization of his refusal to let it continue did him no good.  Desperately calling up joyful thoughts—Bae touching his nose as a baby, Gabrielle giggling as he threw her in the air, Belle kissing him in Amorveria—he slowly throttled back his anger, ignoring the deafening cries of his curse for vengeance.  The voice was louder now, and his rage a tangible force to be reckoned with; he was the Dark One again, fully, and there was no avoiding that.  Still, thoughts of his family finally calmed the tempest, and after several tense moments, the wind died down.

Rumplestiltskin let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.  Now wasn’t the time to destroy the hospital, although judging from his curse’s demands, it would have been happy to do so.  Delighted, even.  Forcing it aside, he focused on his leg again, starting at the knee and working his way downwards, grasping thread after thread of magic and weaving them around the shattered bones and injured tendons.  Slowly, he worried the damage in a way no healer had ever done for him, piecing it together bit by bit, with patience and with skill.  It was a far cry from the way the Duke’s army healers had been refused permission to even set the leg, so many centuries earlier.  The ramshackle brace Rumplestiltskin had worn was something he had cobbled together himself, because magic should not be wasted on a coward, and if he wanted to hurt himself, he was welcome to lose the leg, so far as the Frontlands generals were concerned.

He hadn’t lost the leg, but had gained an injury that kept him from walking unassisted until Rumplestiltskin took on a terrible curse to save his son, discovering immediately that the demon inside him did wonders for his bone structure and muscle tone.  He’d all but forgotten about the injury until he visited Amorveria for the first time, and then much to his devastation, had discovered that it carried through to the Land Without Magic.  But Rumplestiltskin was honest, at least with himself.  Had the leg not been so energetically re-shattered by Moe French and Tony Rose, he probably would never have bothered healing it.  He lacked the courage to recreate the injury himself, which would have been what was required, even to heal it using magic. Maybe he would have eventually constructed some sort of magical brace so that he could walk unassisted, but he never would have actually faced the pain it would have taken to _fix_ the injury.  Now, however, he had little choice in the matter, and that made his decision for him.

Days would pass before the healing process was complete; once Rumplestiltskin set his magic to work, and fueled it properly, it would do the job with only a corner of his mind required to supervise the process.  But within four or five days—it would have only taken two in the Enchanted Forest, but magic _was_ different here—he wouldn’t have a limp at all, and that thought finally made Rumplestiltskin smile.

_Thank you, Belle,_ he thought towards home, wishing he could have her here but knowing she’d come in the morning.  He still wasn’t sure how he’d come to deserve an amazing woman like his wife, but he would not give her up for the world.

* * *

 

The next morning, the majority of the residents of Storybrooke were still oblivious.  They went along with their daily routines, which were slowly but irrevocably changing as time continued marching onwards, adapting to the _real_ people beneath the curse and slowly allowing their true selves to shine.  Still, none of them had any idea what had happened the night before; the few people who had noticed the “storm” just seemed to think it was some very odd weather event.  The slumbering magic users amongst them sometimes realized that there was something different in the air, but none of them knew what, and all of them ignored the feeling.  Most people hadn’t even noticed the sudden onset of dark clouds near midnight, particularly because they’d only lasted a few minutes. 

Oddly enough, Leroy seemed to be one of the few people who had noticed, and he was talking about it with a nun.  “I swear, I wasn’t drunk,” he told Sister Astrid.  “I know what I saw, and there ain’t no clouds in this world that are supposed to be _purple_.”

Astrid giggled. “Are you sure that you hadn’t been drinking?” she asked him with a smile that no one could stay mad at.  “Just a little?”

“Well, sure, I’d had a few, but not enough to make me see colors,” the janitor argued.  He’d finally gotten his old job back after years in the asylum, and although no one made the mistake of thinking that Leroy was satisfied with that very-not-glamorous role, he seemed happy to be working.

“If you say so,” the young nun said with another smile and a self-effacing giggle.  “I bet it was just some very strange storm, like everyone else is saying.”

“But what do _you_ think, Astrid?” 

She shrugged.  “I’m not smart enough to think of something.  Everyone says so.”

Mary Margaret had to turn away at that heartbreaking response; Astrid was a lovely girl, even if she was a bit clumsy, and Mary Margaret hated the way everyone seemed willing to call her stupid.  She _wasn’t_ stupid, or at least not as far as Mary Margaret could tell, but even the other nuns picked on her.  It wasn’t right, but judging from Leroy’s response—which she only half heard—at least Astrid had someone in her corner now.  Maybe Leroy would be the friend she needed to finally find her courage.

“Hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon, right?” a voice asked, as if David didn’t already know exactly how she liked her hot chocolate and they hadn’t meant to meet at Granny’s that morning.

“Yes, thank you,” Mary Margaret replied, smiling up at him as David sat down across from her.  Now, she only felt a flicker of guilt when she met with this amazing man, even though he was married to someone else.  But Regina had told them both that it was all right, and Mary Margaret now knew that someone else seemed to be finding his way into Regina’s heart.  She wasn’t sure how David and Regina had wound up together in the first place, because they didn’t seem to fit at all, even though she knew they were still friends.  She and David, on the other hand…well, she felt like she had known him forever.

“You know, Henry likes his hot chocolate the exact same way,” David supplied with a shrug.  “Regina hates it, so I’ve never figured out where he got it from.”

Mary Margaret chuckled.  “Well, if he’s right about this fairy tale thing, then I’m his grandmother.”

“And I’m his grandfather,” David snorted with laughter, but then he shot her an evaluating look.  “You know, it wouldn’t be so bad to be married to you.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” Laughing harder, Mary Margaret punched him lightly in the shoulder.  “That’s a ringing endorsement!”

“Well, spousal abuse is frowned upon in any world,” he shot back with a grin.  “I think.”

A few moments passed as they grinned at one another and dug into their steaming hot drinks—a necessity in January—but then Mary Margaret saw a flicker of something pass across David’s face.  “What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.

“It’s nothing.”

“David.”  She reached out to put her hand on top of his, and watched him grimace.  “Let me help.”

“It’s just…well, you’re the last person that I should talk to about this.  It’s not fair to you,” he answered after a moment, looking uncomfortable.

“Regina.”

“Yeah.  I…I’m just worried about her, that’s all,” David replied, obviously trying to make light of whatever was eating at him.

“Did something happen?” Mary Margaret asked.

“I don’t know.  We still seem to be friends, but she’s been closed off, lately. Like she’s really worried about something, but when I ask her, she just brushes it off or says that I wouldn’t understand.”  He groaned.  “I think it has to do with her witch of a mother, but she won’t say.”

That made her cock her head.  “I thought you liked Cora?”

“If I ever did, I’m not sure why,” David said dryly.  “She’s horrible.  She treats Regina like she’s her servant, and looks at Henry like he’s dirt beneath her feet.  Even when she’s trying to be nice, you always feel like there’s a headsman waiting in the next room, just in case you tick her off.”

“That’s terrible!” But Mary Margaret had a hard time holding back a giggle at the mental image of Cora hauling a headsman around with her.  She could see a black-dressed reaper following Cora around town, just waiting for his next victim.  Oddly enough, the only person in Storybrooke who she could even think of fulfilling that frightening description was Mr. Gold, though, and Mary Margaret couldn’t imagine him ever doing Cora’s bidding.

“It makes family dinners suck, that’s for sure,” he replied with a shrug.  “I’m not even sure if Cora’s the reason Regina seems so jumpy lately, but I wish I could help her.  I mean, we _are_ still married, and even if we weren’t, I still care about her, you know?  I’m just not in love with her.”

The last words sounded defensive, and David looked at Mary Margaret like he expected her to hate him for them.  But she didn’t.  How could she?  David was a good man stuck in an impossible position, and she understood caring for Regina.  After all, she’d liked David’s wife the few times she’d met her, and they’d really hit it off during that last dinner.  She wanted to help Regina, too.

“Do you want me to try talking to her?” she offered with a shrug.  “Maybe it’s something she doesn’t want to talk to a man about.”

David scowled.  “Are you serious?”

“Hey, don’t pretend to understand the mysteries of a woman’s mind, Mister,” Mary Margaret teased him.  “You’ll only make a fool out of yourself.”

David laughed, but in the end he accepted her offer.  Mary Margaret wasn’t sure how she was going to find a time to talk to the mayor’s daughter, but she was going to do it.  If Regina needed help, Mary Margaret was going to be there for her.  She wasn’t entirely sure why she was so determined to do so…but she knew that it was right.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, ‘Mother Superior’ stared wide-eyed at her wand, looking at the sparkling flower lying on her desk.  _This cannot be happening,_ she thought desperately, but she knew that it was.  She had done the spell three times, and although her magic was choppy and erratic, there was indeed magic in the Land Without.  That changed _everything_ , and although she had no idea how such a thing had happened—it should have been _impossible!_ —there being magic without the curse having been broken was a disaster waiting to happen.  Magic existing in this world at _all_ was catastrophic.  Her fairies should be safe enough since she had their wands carefully locked away, but there were dozens of other magic users in town, minor and major both.  What would happen if one of them unknowingly lost control?

Swallowing carefully, Blue squared her shoulders and forced herself to calm down.  Of course this had to be the Evil Queen’s doing.  Cora must have found a way, probably with her old ally, Rumplestiltskin’s assistance.  Blue had suspected for some time that Cora had awoken the Dark One, probably out of boredom and fear of Emma Swan.  What havoc the Dark One could wreak with magic in this land was beyond comprehension, and Blue knew that she needed to act quickly.  _I must protect the Savior,_ she thought.  _August will have to keep an eye on her, and we_ must _find the dagger._   She would have to push August into impersonating Baelfire.  Rumplestiltskin was desperate enough to hand the dagger over to a man he thought was his son, even with magic in Storybrooke.  That would be the only way to keep Emma safe.

The others who might accidentally access their magic were not her problem unless they endangered those Blue needed to protect.  Any injuries they caused would be regrettable, but Blue had to remain focused.  They had to protect Emma, and that meant gaining a powerful magic ally (unwilling or not)—and prying her away from the Dark Princess.  Despite how Snow felt about her step-sister, Regina had always played her mother’s game, and Blue would not let Regina ruin things now.  Not when they were so close.

_First the Dark One.  Then we will use him to pull Henry away from the Dark Princess and keep him safe for Emma,_ she decided.  _That is the only way._   Henry would not be happy to be separated from his adopted mother, but he would come to understand.  Sometimes, regrettable actions had to be taken in order to protect the greater good.  Blue knew that from experience, and she had not lived so long and fought so hard to falter now.  She would do what had to be done, no matter how distasteful it became.

Above all else, she needed to keep Baelfire away from Storybrooke.  Through Henry, he represented a familial link between Snow’s family and the Dark One, and Blue could not let that happen.  No matter what.

* * *

 

_1 Year, 3 Months Before the Curse_

The royal train arrived at the army’s camp just a day after the final battle of the war.  They’d already been on their way, alerted by Sir Lancelot, the top general in George’s army, that their forces were closing in on Cora’s capital city and expected to encounter the enemy at any time.  So, George, David, and Snow had ridden hard and fast to get there, only to find that they were a day late.  The battle was over—and won, the heralds were quick to announce!—but Lancelot was dead.

David had not known the knight well, but he’d liked him, and he grieved to know that  Lancelot had given his life in service to George’s kingdom.  Lancelot had once saved his mother from a group of ruffians; the thieves had had no idea that they were attacking the actual mother of their ‘prince’, but Lancelot was one of the few people who were aware of the fact that David was actually not the same person as James.  He’d been a friend of James’, even, but he’d still looked after Ruth when David could not be there himself, and that alone would have made him a lifelong friend.  Now, however, he was gone before David could really get to know him, and there was a suspiciously empty pang in his heart because of that.  _And doubly so because my adopted ‘father’ barely seems to grieve for his general, even though he’s known Lancelot for years,_ David thought darkly, trying not to snarl something regretful out loud as he walked across the camp.

No one would ever call King George an affectionate man, although he’d melted slightly towards David and Snow both in the past few years.  He’d taken Snow’s miscarriage very badly, particularly because Cora had deprived him of an heir to both kingdoms with her poison, but he didn’t seem to blame Snow for that, thankfully.  David was very well aware that George _could_ have chosen to blame her, despite the fact that she’d never done anything to make Cora hate her so much.  Fortunately, George had reserved all of his ire for Cora, and had proven extremely supportive of Snow…or at least since three separate midwives all confirmed that she was still capable of bearing children.

Slipping between two tents, David headed for the center of the camp where the royal enclosure was located.  After the last battle, the army—under its new general, of course—had begun to lay siege to Cora’s capital city.  The war would end when they could wrest Cora out of the city or negotiate some sort of surrender, although David had to admit that he really hoped they could kill his stepmother-in-law.  Snow might hope that Cora would see reason, but David knew better.  Cora had been trying to kill Snow since she was a child, and she would never stop.  They either had to strip her of her powers, or—

The sound of voices stopped him cold, and for a moment, David thought wildly that the rumors about Cora’s power had to be correct, and she _could_ hear people thinking about her.  But that was ridiculous, and she was taking to someone else already.

“I thought we could come to some sort of accommodation without all these silly armies standing in our way,” the Evil Queen purred.  “After all, continuing to get so many men killed is rather uncivilized, isn’t it?”

“Says the woman who has tried repeatedly to kill her stepdaughter,” George retorted, and David almost jumped out of his skin.  “I would hardly call that _civilized_.”

Heart hammering in his throat, David inched closer, staying behind the tent that was the king and queen’s view of him, but trying to find an angle at which he could spy on them from.  He didn’t like George, but he’d come to trust him.  Was he wrong?  Was Cora’s ‘accommodation’ going to make George swap sides?  If so, then were would Snow be?

_Right in the middle of an army with no reason to keep her alive.  If George comes to a separate agreement with Cora…_ David shivered, but strained to hear more when Cora laughed.

“Needs must, dear.  The girl is a nuisance, as I’m sure you’ve already discovered.”

“She _is_ incredibly willful,” was the dry response, and David had to stop himself from bursting out of the shadows then and there, to see if they’d carry on this conversation with him present.

“Well, then,” Cora smiled; David could not see her face from this angle, but he could hear the pleasure in her words.  “I understand your desire to unite these two kingdoms, and you’ve made admirable efforts on that front.  But I do think you’re going about it the hard way.”

George snorted.  “Do you?”

“There is a much more simple way to do so.  You and I should marry.”

There was a long moment of silence before David heard his adopted father laugh.  “Do you know…I think that’s the first weakness I’ve ever seen you show.”

“It is not weakness to admit that an enemy has strengths.  Or to seek to harness those strengths alongside one’s own,” Cora replied easily, and George snorted.

“So you can kill me like you did your last two husbands?  No thanks.”

“Of course I would never kill a king such as you.  Henry was weak, and Leopold was…an irritant,” the Evil Queen replied.  “You, on the other hand, have proved your strength.  I can respect that, and we would make a good team, don’t you think?”

David _could_ see George’s face as the king pulled away from Cora, and he was scowling.  “I prefer not to marry the woman who murdered my grandson,” he snarled, and relief washed through David so quickly that it almost tore him off his feet.  “Guards!”

Men leapt into motion at George’s call, David amongst them.  He knew what George was thinking.  If they could capture Cora now, the war would be won in one fell swoop and—

“You will regret refusing me,” Cora snapped at George even as a dozen guards rushed towards her, swords in hand.  “And you _will_ bow before me one day.  You will kneel until your kneecaps break.  _All of you_!”

With those words, the Evil Queen disappeared in a swirl of purple smoke, leaving the guards threatening nothing but thin air.  George, on the other hand, simply stepped out of the fracas and gave David a shrug.  “It was worth a try.”

“I…I guess it was.”  He wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, but much to his surprise, George laughed.

“How much of that did you hear, son?”

“Most of it, I think,” he replied.  “How did you know?”

“I didn’t until you confirmed it just now,” the king replied, and then reached out to pat David on the shoulder.  “You still have much to learn.”

Trying not to gape open-mouthed, David just nodded.  He _did_ have much to learn about politics and warfare both, but it appeared that George was still willing to teach him.  He would never be his brother, but they both seemed to accept that, and perhaps they could really keep moving forward from here.  George didn’t seem as bad these days.  David was even starting to like him a little.  _Or respect him, anyway.  I’m not sure how much I can_ like _someone who is willing to play the game he just played with Cora,_ he thought  honestly.  David was a straightforward man, and the lies and deceit inherent in politics often left him uneasy.  But George was good at that game, and at least George was on their side.

Heading towards Snow’s tent, David decided to share that story with her.  She’d appreciate knowing that Cora was desperate enough to proposition George.  That meant that they were winning, and perhaps by winter they would be able to capture Snow’s childhood home once and for all.

* * *

 

August spied on the pair miserably.  How had it come to this?  He was supposed to come through the wardrobe to watch over Emma, to help her break the curse when the time came, and yet here he was, spying for the Evil Queen.  On Snow White and Prince Charming, the same royals to whom his beloved papa had raised him to be _loyal_ to.  And now he was working for their arch enemy.

He wasn’t sure what made him feel worse: the fact that his body was slowly turning to wood again, or the fact that he’d betrayed all of his papa’s beliefs to save him.  But August couldn’t figure out any other choice that he could have made.  Working with the Evil Queen meant that she’d turn him back to human when she could, and it also kept Geppetto alive.  August missed his father so much, and if she killed Geppetto…everything he’d done, everything he was, would be for nothing.  He couldn’t let that happen, no matter what he had to do.  _I’ll save you, Papa.  Just wait and see._ He was sure that his father would understand in the end.  This was his only choice.

He couldn’t go to Blue about this, either.  Even though he’d been to see her just a few days ago, telling her about how Emma was slow to believe and he was trying to help her where he could, he didn’t dare tell Mother Superior about the fact that he was now acting as Cora’s spy.  The Evil Queen was too powerful—no one had to tell August that she’d had that reporter killed because he had angered her.  He was good at seeing patterns, August was, and Sidney Glass’ death was an easy one to spot.  She wouldn’t hesitate to do the same thing to a mere handyman, so August didn’t say a word to Blue.  Particularly since, if August’s instincts were right, Cora was _also_ behind what happened to Mr. Gold.  That kind of beating certainly wasn’t an experience August cared to acquire, and not one he’d let happen to his father, either.  He couldn’t afford to anger the Evil Queen.  Besides, it wasn’t as if he was doing anything harmful right now.  All he’d done was _not_ go spy on the people in the Basement for Emma, and now he was watching two people eat breakfast.  That was all.  It was nothing, right?

Mary Margaret and David weren’t even doing anything interesting.  They were only talking about Regina, although why they’d be concerned for the Dark Princess’ happiness was beyond August.  He remembered his papa telling him about how Princess Regina had covered for the Evil Queen, had fought for her mother, and had even poisoned Princess Snow on her behalf.  Regina was bad news, and good people like the Charmings didn’t need to worry about her.  As far as August was concerned, she deserved to be miserable.  Who cared if something was wrong with her?  David was well rid of her, which he’d undoubtedly understand when the curse broke.  August thought it was particularly sick of the Evil Queen to have married her daughter off to the husband of the woman she hated so much, but he supposed that was par for the course.

And if she could do that, punishing a mere carpenter would mean nothing to her.

August swallowed hard, and then went back to taking notes on what Mary Margaret and David were talking about.  It wasn’t his business, but Cora wanted to know, and he couldn’t afford to defy her.  _Just break the curse, Emma,_ he begged silently.  _She’ll lose her power then, and I’ll be free.  Then I can make up for everything I’ve done, and I will.  I promise._

* * *

 

Belle didn’t care how little sleep she’d gotten that night, and it turned out not to be much.  She’d asked Marie and Dove to stay over in the house so that she could head to the hospital first thing, and they’d been downright wonderful about it.  Renee was a little out of sorts that her mother was gone so often, but even at three, she seemed to understand a bit of how important this was.  Belle was just glad that she was able to be there when Renee woke up that morning and for most of her daughter’s breakfast, although she’d left the cleanup to Dove while she headed back to the hospital.  Visiting hours started at eight sharp, and Belle planned to be there right away.

She walked through the doors at 8:01 and made it to Mr. Gold’s private room by 8:03, stopping cold in the doorway as she evaluated her husband’s condition.  At first glance, not much seemed to have changed; his leg was still in traction and he was still bandaged and pale, but then Belle looked more closely.  Pale or not, there was a lot more color in his face, and his eyes were clear as he smiled at her.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Rumplestiltskin greeted her, and his _voice_ sounded worlds better.  He even sounded coherent.

“Hi,” Belle said breathlessly, rushing to his side and taking the hand he extended to her.  “Did it work?  Are you healing?”

“Yes, and I am,” he replied with another smile.  “I even managed to…impede the flow of morphine.”  Belle followed his nod, glancing at the IV still in his arm and giving him a quizzical look.  Rumplestiltskin continued: “Well, until I can get them to take me off of the meds, it has to go somewhere, so…I improvised.  It’s vanishing, for now, winding up in a garbage bin outside.”

Despite herself, Belle giggled—but then a thought occurred to her.  “How are we going to explain your sudden improvement?”

She hadn’t thought of that last night in her hurry to bring magic so that Rumplestiltskin could heal himself, but now it seemed to be a huge obstacle.  Obviously, no one in this cursed town was going to be willing to believe that magic had come and suddenly Mr. Gold was a sorcerer.  They’d probably try to lock both of them up in the defunct asylum for saying such a thing, and Belle had no intention of _ever_ going into that place.  Besides, she’d let her husband get himself locked up once, and once was quite enough.  They’d been separated for twenty-eight long years, and Belle wasn’t letting that happen again.

“What improvement?” Rumplestiltskin countered with an innocent smile.  “My charts, x-rays, and MRI results all say that the damage was not nearly as severe as everyone thought at first.  A concussion, a few broken ribs, and a pair of breaks in the leg that are already healing properly…nothing to worry about.”

“Whale will remember differently,” Belle warned him.  “You can’t change his memories, can you?”

“Not without a powerful potion or six,” he admitted, and then gave her a shrug.  “But he’ll believe the paperwork, sweetheart.  He’ll have no choice.  The curse will help with that, too.  For once.”

“I’m just glad you’re feeling better,” she whispered, picking up his hand to kiss it.  “I was so worried.”

“I know.  I’m sorry.  I—”

“Stop it,” Belle cut him off.  “This is _not_ your fault.  This was my idiot father and the moron who he talked into helping him.  And Cora.  I blame them, Rumple, not you, so don’t you even start apologizing.”

Her silly husband actually blushed a little.  “I love you,” he said after a moment, looking abashed.

“I love you, too,” Belle replied immediately, squeezing his hand.  Then she bit her lip before asking: “Is your face…?”

“I’d love a kiss,” Rumplestiltskin told her without missing a beat, and she could see his eyes shining a little.  He’d read her mind, obviously, but he hadn’t addressed the other worry that suddenly occurred to Belle.

“With magic…?” she trailed off.

“Let’s find out,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, and Belle did not need to be told twice.  She leaned in and brushed her lips carefully against his, reveling in being close to this man who she loved so much.  She didn’t want to endanger his magic, because Belle did understand that he _needed_ it, but she also needed him.

Her husband returned the kiss, at first gently and then a bit more insistently, and Belle felt his hand tighten in hers.  They’d spoken of his fears last night when he’d been in far worse condition, and Belle knew that Rumplestiltskin needed her as much as she needed him.  They were in this together, after all, and had been ever since she’d walked back into his castle because she loved him.  Even when they stopped kissing, she didn’t lean away, instead letting her forehead rest against his and smiling.  She’d be able to bring him home soon, Belle knew, and then maybe the three of them could be all right again.

“My magic is just fine,” he said softly, and Belle didn’t even try to hold back her snort.  Finally, she leaned back, sitting on the bed next to him and giving him a _look_.

“You knew that it would be.”

Rumplestiltskin didn’t even bother to look guilty.   “Of course I did.”

Well, Belle hadn’t married the slyest man she’d ever met without knowing what he was, and she hadn’t spent four years of marriage _not_ kissing him without knowing that he’d never let her break his curse until he was good and ready to do so.  Still, she _was_ curious about how he’d managed to pull of having magic and kissing her.  After all, it was researching that possibility that had caused one of their biggest fights, because she’d inadvertently found out about the dagger then.  She’d never found an answer, either.  Never found a way for them to kiss without Rumplestiltskin losing his magic.

“So, are you going to tell me how you’ve managed this?” she asked pointedly.

“Ah, it wasn’t me.  Magic is different here,” he replied.  “My curse is a creature of the Enchanted Forest.  It can only be broken there, I think.  Or perhaps I can just stop it from breaking in this world.  Here…we can kiss all we like, and be just fine.”

_And that means you’re trapped as the Dark One for as long as we are in this world,_ Belle didn’t say, feeling a pang of pain for her husband’s soul.  She knew that he was used to his curse, that he didn’t really know how to live without it, but she had always cherished hopes that she would be able to free him once he had completed his work and had found Baelfire.  She loved him the way he was, of course, but now that option was gone, and thinking of that made her a little sad.  Yet…there were certain advantages to this world, even if she would miss the old scales.  _And the leather pants.  I’ll particularly miss his leather pants._

Perhaps Belle could get him to wear them around the house sometime.  Her favorite pair _had_ come across in the chest, after all, and she was willing to bet that she could talk Rumple into that.  It probably wouldn’t even be too hard.  That thought made her smile, and lean down to kiss him gently once more, making the kiss a promise of more to come.

“I can live with that,” Belle told her husband, and he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next is Chapter 51: “Rebellions”, in which August spies on Emma for Cora, Whale tries to puzzle out Mr. Gold’s condition, Regina gathers her courage to defy her mother, and Nurse Zephyr makes an interesting phone call. Back in the past, the war to take back the kingdom ends, and Cora is captured.
> 
> In the meantime, please let me know what you think! The sneak peek for the next chapter will be up on tumblr Wednesday or Thursday.


	51. Rebellions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To answer a question that came up after the last chapter, Rumplestiltskin made two True Love potions. He used Snow and Charmings’ to make Emma the Savior, but he used his and Belle’s to put a safety valve on the curse that allowed him to wake Belle up. This second potion he kept safe, intending not to use it…but circumstances changes, and he wound up needing it to bring magic earlier than expected.

Cora had been in a bad mood, even after he’d told her what Mary Margaret and David had been talking about over breakfast.  She’d called August’s notes ‘insignificant’ and had sent him to talk to the Savior instead, making a few pointed threats about wooden legs and heartless bastards who carried axes.  Grudgingly, August had done as he was told, finding Emma in the sheriff’s station right after she finished another round of questioning Moe French and Tony Rose.  August had no idea who they had been in the old world, and was tempted to ask Mother Superior why they would have attacked Gold, but he pushed those thoughts out of his mind.  He had a job to do, and that was that.  Even though Cora had sent him, August was sure that he could find a way to help Emma break the curse on the sly, so he sat down with her and offered to help with some of the paperwork both of her deputies were horrible at doing.

Emma seemed grateful, and they indulged in a bit of pointless banter until August figured she was comfortable enough to actually answer some real questions.  “So…” he asked slowly.  “Any closer to becoming a true believer?”

“Are you starting with that already?” Emma groaned, turning an exasperated look on him.

“Hey, I’m just here to help.”

“Yeah, I know.  With this so-called curse and all.  I heard you the first dozen times,” the sheriff shot back, giving August the perfect opening.  He didn’t _want_ to grill Emma for Cora, but he still had no choice…and maybe he could drop enough hints that Emma would figure out what was going on.  Cora had said that he couldn’t _tell_ her, but it wasn’t his fault if the Savior figured it out on her own, was it?

“Well, maybe if you’d start believing…?” August trailed off meaningfully.  The first thing Cora really wanted to know—once he’d admitted that Emma seemed to be having hard time believing that the curse existed at all—was if she’d stopped being such a skeptic. 

“You know, I’ve got plenty of real police work to do,” she pointed out instead of answering the unspoken question.  “I just had two guys—Emma gestured at the pair of cells—“attack the most feared man in town and put him out of commission for a good long time.  The D.A. either hates Gold or loves him—I can’t tell which—and is breathing down my neck for evidence, while my two deputies would rather drink together than work.  So, I don’t really have time for a curse right now, okay?”

Well, Cora would like that, but August didn’t.   So, he sat back and sighed, eying the little girl he never should have left behind and trying (for the thousandth time) to push the guilt aside.  “Believing in the curse is the fastest way to break it,” he pointed out, hoping he was right.  Blue hadn’t said exactly what Emma needed to do to break the curse, and Cora certainly hadn’t mentioned that, either.  “Everyone here _needs_ you, Emma.  Some more than you know.”

“Look, I’m no ‘Savior’, okay?  I’m just the sheriff.”

“You’re so much more than that, and I bet I’m not the only one who sees it,” he replied, wishing that he wasn’t so good with words and couldn’t twist Cora’s questions into a conversation so easily.  “You’ve already said that I’m not the only one telling you this.  Who else believes in this?”

Emma groaned.  “August, I really don’t have time for this.”

“C’mon.”  He gave her his best smile, which he knew was pretty good.  “Humor me.”

“Well, Regina, obviously, but you got all torqued up when I told you that she was trying to convince me.  And Henry, but he’s a kid.  That’s really it.  Though Gold has said an odd thing or two…not that it matters now that he’s in the hospital.”

“Gold has?” August had meant to ask Blue who Gold was, since he’d noticed that the man was incredibly powerful here in Storybrooke and seemed to know almost everything, but he hadn’t yet gotten around to doing so.  August wasn’t sure if Gold was Cora’s enemy or her ally, but he thought that the canny-eyed pawnbroker was worth watching.

“It’s probably just him being enigmatic.  I think he likes people thinking he knows more than he knows.  Not that it matters, now.”  Emma shrugged again.  “Or, maybe Regina asked him to help.  They’re friends.”

“Are they?” he echoed, filing that one away for future reference.

“Guess so.  Regina found him when those two jokers attacked him, and she was pretty upset.”

“Right.”  Well, that answered two of Cora’s questions; now onto the third.  Could he do it subtly enough without making Emma suspicious?  August wasn’t entirely sure.  He also wanted to drop a hint or two of his own, but he hadn’t found the right opening for that yet.  Unless he could slip one in here.  “You know, Emma, about this curse…it puts a lot of people in really bad situations.”

“Yeah, I heard Regina the thousand times she told me.  No one remembers who they are, almost everyone’s with the wrong family, and no one gets happy endings,” Emma snapped impatiently. 

He probably shouldn’t push her, not now, but August was running out of time. 

“Not everyone has forgotten.  Not everyone was here under the curse,” he pointed out, trying not to sound desperate.

“Like you, you mean?  I know.  You came through the wardrobe with me to protect me and all that.  You’ve told me already, August, but can I get back to work now?”

The next words came out almost in a wail, escaping before August could stop them.  “Why won’t you _believe_ me?”

Somehow, he’d wound up on his feet, and then Emma was standing, too, and they were both glaring at one another.

“Because it’s crazy!” she shouted.  “Normal towns don’t have _curses_.  People don’t go around claiming to have come through from another world through a _magical tree!_   I had a screwy childhood, too, but at least I don’t go around trying to blame it on a curse and a magic wardrobe, okay?  I—”

“Everything all right here, love?” a third voice interrupted, and August whirled to face the newcomer. 

He was a tall man, dressed in a leather coat and dark pants, into which was tucked an expensive looking maroon shirt.  He looked well-off, and looked all too certain of himself.  August didn’t recognize him, either, although he knew that under the curse he was known as Cyril O’Malley.  He owned the marina, or a boat, or both, maybe.  And he was trying to romance Emma Swan, serving as a distraction that August _really_ didn’t need right now.  Whoever O’Malley actually was, he could try for Emma after the curse was broken.  Until then, she definitely didn’t have time for boyfriends.  _I managed to chase the last one off by calling the cops and telling them that Emma stole those watches,_ August thought, sizing O’Malley up.  _I bet I can find a way to get rid of this one, too, if I work at it._

“Everything’s fine, Killian,” Emma replied for both of them, sighing irritably.  “What’s up?”

“Ah, I just wanted to know if you might join me for lunch,” O’Malley replied with a smile that he probably thought was charming.  August wanted to wipe it off his face.

“I ate a little while ago, but thanks.  Takeout from Granny’s is all I can manage when I’m trying to catch up on paperwork, and I’ve got a lot of it right now,” the sheriff replied, sounding a lot less annoyed than August wished she would.

“With all due respect to you, Sheriff, that didn’t sound like paperwork getting done to me,” the marina owner replied, throwing a significant glare August’s way.  “Is this…gentleman bothering you?”

“Not any more than usual,” Emma said.  “August was just leaving, anyway.”

“I was?”

“Yeah.  Right about when you stopped helping and started hindering would have been a good place to do that, but now is better than never,” she retorted, glaring at him, and August knew that he was _definitely_ not going to get through to her today.

The painful numbness in his left leg, however, reminded him incessantly that he needed to do that soon.  “I’m sorry,” he said more honestly than he often apologized.  “I guess I just got carried away.  Let me know if I can help with anything else, okay?”

“Sure, August.  And I’ll see you later, too, Killian. Right now, I’ve just got to get some work done,” Emma said pointedly, and at least she was kicking them _both_ out.

O’Malley gave her a nod and another sultry smile, but August didn’t head out until he was sure that the other man was doing the same.  So, the two ended up stepping into the street together, not even pretending not to be sizing one another up.  O’Malley’s upper lip curled up into a sneer as he studied August, obviously not liking what he saw, but August only shrugged under the scrutiny. Compared to Cora, O’Malley was just an expensively dressed thug, and he didn’t frighten August at all.

 

* * *

Whale’s second visit after magic arrived was, if possible, even more comical than his first.  The first time the doctor had arrived, Belle had been there, and she’d been able to smooth things over a great deal. Rumplestiltskin had already finished using magic to corrupt every record the hospital had on his condition—fortunately, he’d had all night to do so, even if that meant he got very little sleep—which meant that Whale had been more than a little confused when he’d intended to discuss surgery options and ended up finding that operating on Mr. Gold’s right leg wasn’t necessary at all.  It wasn’t healed completely, of course; that process would take several days at best, and a week or so at the outside, but Rumplestiltskin actually thought that he might not walk with even the slightest limp when the healing was complete.  But Whale’s worries over impeded circulation and impending infection and/or tissue death were certainly no longer an issue, and Whale had left, scratching his head and vowing to recheck everything.

Belle had departed a little after that, reluctant but needing to get back to their daughter now that Rumplestiltskin was rather firmly out of the woods.  He’d indulged in several hours of a good nap once she was gone, needing the rest after using so much magic.  He couldn’t remember ever having been so tired out after using a similar level of power in the Enchanted Forest, but magic _was_ different here, and here his body was human, even if the same old demon did live inside him.  So, Rumplestiltskin simply had to accept that as the price of doing business, even if he missed the old imp-like form’s ability to go six rounds with a dragon and still only need a few hours of rest a week.

Now, however, Whale was back and he was awake, which promised at least a few interesting conversations. 

“Mr. Gold,” Whale started, still looking like he’d been smacked in the face by a two-by-four.  “I have to admit that you’re doing much better than I thought you were.  Maybe…maybe I’m simply remembering incorrectly, but I thought you were in much worse shape yesterday.”

_Play your cards right, and the curse will smooth over the rough edges over for you,_ Rumplestiltskin reminded himself.  Although the Dark Curse was annoying in many ways, particularly when he wanted it broken, it _was_ good at making its victims believe the unbelievable.  Otherwise, they would never have forgotten twenty-eight years passing, a fact he knew from vast personal experience.

“I’m not exactly what you’re talking about, Doctor,” Rumplestiltskin said as convincingly as he could, which was pretty convincing.  He wasn’t _quite_ lying, just skirting the edge of the truth like he preferred, though what he’d done would be very hard to cover without resorting to outright untruths.  The demon within his mind cackled gleefully, loving the subterfuge, but now was not the time to let his inner imp out.  “I do feel a bit better than I did yesterday, but, to be honest, I’m still not enjoying myself.”

The last bit was utterly true; there was nothing Rumplestiltskin liked less than being stuck in this hospital bed, unless it had been the four months he spent in solitary confinement.  Both time he’d had to leave his family to fend for themselves, and although he knew Belle was both smart and capable, not being there to protect them made him incredibly nervous. 

“Most people aren’t while they’re in a hospital,” Whale replied, obviously at a loss for what else to say. 

Fooling Frankenstein like this made Rumplestiltskin feel a little bad.   By all accounts, the man was a good doctor here in Storybrooke, and he’d been something of a friend, once upon a time.  He’d tracked the Doctor Frankenstein down in the Land Without Color to see if the ‘mad doctor’ really could resurrect the dead, bringing him to King George’s attention when he lost his best general and wanted him back.  Sir Lancelot had turned into something of a raging monster—as had the other brother Frankenstein, as far as Rumplestiltskin knew—but his actual intention had always been to bring King Leopold back to life and undermine Cora that way.  She’d kept her second husband’s body preserved as something of a trophy, but given how thoroughly the experiment failed, Rumplestiltskin had never sent Frankenstein to the dead king.  He’d only wanted Leopold to be a distraction, after all; George had won the war too quickly for Rumplestiltskin’s tastes, and he needed to make sure that Cora’s thirst for vengeance did not arrive too early.

Whale and Jefferson were friends here, too, which was an interesting little wrinkle that the curse had actually allowed to happen.  _Perhaps that’s why the Hatter has stopped bothering Snow White so frequently.  He actually has a friend._   Rumplestiltskin had been so caught up in his thoughts that he’d missed Whale’s next statement, and only tuned in when the doctor prompted:

“Mr. Gold?”

Blinking, he gave Whale what he hoped was a sheepish smile.  “I’m sorry.  I must have drifted a bit there.  What was that?”

“I said that you’ve been healing up very nicely.  If you continue at this rate, you should be able to leave in a few days, provided you have someone to help you at home.”

“I do,” he replied as solemnly as he could, trying to ignore the still-perplexed expression on Frankenstein’s face.

“Then, I guess I’ll be, uh, going.”  The doctor gave him a nod and departed, and it was all Rumplestiltskin could do to hold back the high-pitched giggle.  It still escaped as the door slid shut, whisper-quiet and shaking his body with mirth.  Thankfully, Whale was not there to hear it, because Rumplestiltskin could only keep the imp quiet for so long.

Raising his right hand—the first time he’d been able to do so without pain since the attack—Rumplestiltskin wiggled his fingers slightly.  Magic came immediately to his call, making his fingers glow purple, then blue, then red, and finally green.  Conjuring up a spark of each color, and then a gold one, he rolled the five sparks around in the palm of his hand, enjoying the way magic rolled through his bones and made him feel alive. _Let Cora try her tricks now,_ he thought with a cold smile.  _I will end her if she does._   Oh, having power again felt good.   He was no longer helpless, no longer tied to this hospital bed and waiting for someone else to hurt him.  No, Rumplestiltskin _could_ walk out at any moment, although he was willing to play the game and heal slowly for now.

They’d come to do more x-rays in a little while, and he’d let them see the much better condition of his ribs, since he’d already spoofed the records into thinking that those breaks had not been as serious as they’d been in truth.  His leg was another matter; although Rumplestiltskin had reduced the damage shown on the x-rays, he had to be careful there.  In fact, he would probably have to have the next set of scans show _less_ damage than there actually was now, because he didn’t want to have to leave the hospital in a cast, even if the leg was still currently broken.  Whale had said that he should be able to leave in a few days, though, and by then his magic would have that injury wrapped up quite nicely.  Or at least stabilized. 

Those were minor worries.  Rumplestiltskin was back in the game, and that was what mattered.

* * *

 

Unfortunately for August, the next person he ran into was Sister Astrid, who told him that Mother Superior wanted to see him.  He was really starting to feel like a puppet again, being pulled this way and that while he _tried_ to do the right thing and help Emma break the curse.  Mother Superior, of course, simply wanted to give him some information that she told him to commit to memory—but that was information that August didn’t _want_.  He’d separated Emma from Neal by giving Neal a name that meant nothing to him, but now August knew exactly who Baelfire was.

And he was resolutely not asking himself why Blue had chosen now to tell him about Rumplestiltskin’s son. 

* * *

 

_Hold or cut your bow strings, Regina,_ she told herself, not even pausing to consider the irony inherent in thinking that old phrase at the moment.  Instead, she squared her shoulders and opened the front door for her mother, stepping aside so that the elder woman could come into the foyer.  Henry was doing homework and David was working late, which meant that Regina should hopefully be able to have this conversation in peace.  In an absolute worst case scenario, it would turn nasty and magical, and the two women would unleash a magical battle that might really attract attention.  But Regina didn’t think even her mother’s temper would explode in that manner, or at least not today.  Magic had only been in Storybrooke for twenty-four hours or so, and Regina was still having issues controlling her powers.  It came at her call, but often weaker than she expected or jetting off at unexpected angles, and Cora was not the type to start a fight when she couldn’t be sure of the outcome.

She would have _really_ liked to have a chat with her old teacher before she uncorked this bottle, but when she’d gone by the hospital earlier, the French girl had been there again, and Regina was not going to try to get in the middle of that.  Not right now, anyway.  There were too many unknowns in the relationship between Rumplestiltskin and Lacey French, and Regina had enough of her own problems at the moment.  _One of which is standing right in front of you.  Focus_.

“Mother,” she said as evenly as she could as they stepped into the living room, taking a deep breath and turning to face Cora.  “What can I do for you this evening?”

“Your mask is slipping, darling.  You’ve been to visit Rumple too many times, and I think that should stop,” Cora replied immediately.  At least she didn’t beat around the bush.

“And here I thought that you approved of him teaching me,” she replied dryly, curious to see what her mother would say.

“I doubt Rumplestiltskin is doing much _teaching_ in his current position,” was the response, although did Regina detect a strange mixture of satisfaction and anger in her dark eyes?  Suddenly, Regina realized that there was no way that her mother would have wanted her favorite pet beat up quite so seriously, and that meant that even Cora’s creatures were proving to be more independent than she liked.  That thought made Regina smile.

“No, but you didn’t really mean for that to happen, did you?” she asked, not bothering to keep her suspicions to herself for once.  “You told me to be careful because your little minions might come after Henry next, but you didn’t mean for those two thugs to beat up Rumple quite so badly, did you?  You’re slipping, Mother.  The curse is weakening.”

Cora scoffed.  “Not as much as your precious little step-niece would hope.”

“Emma’s not the one calling the shots on this one,” Regina shot back.

“Rumple is—” her mother cut off, studying Regina intently.  Her voice turned cool.  “Are you trying to make yourself into my enemy, Regina?”

“I’ve been your enemy ever since you killed Daniel to cast your curse!”

Cora’s eyes narrowed.  “There are others that I can threaten.  Your family—”

“I’ll keep them safe,” she interrupted, something she rarely dared do.  “ _All_ of them.  Even the ones who don’t remember me right now.”

“My, that’s ambitious,” Cora purred, walking over to the mantle and brushing imaginary dust off of the horse statue there.  “You don’t want to move against me, darling.  You know you’ll fail.”

“I know that it’s high time I decided to fight for what _I_ believe in.  I won’t be your lackey any more, Mother.  I should have stopped doing that a long time ago,” Regina replied, forcing her fears aside.  She’d crawl to Rumplestiltskin and make any deal she had to if her own powers were not enough, but in a cursed Storybrooke, Regina was fairly sure that she could manage on her own.  “I won’t stand against you if you leave my family alone, but I’m done playing your games.  Forever.”

Cora laughed softly.  “My dear Regina,” she said quietly, stepping forward to reach for Regina’s chin.  Regina dodged, but her mother’s thin smile only grew.  “The curse may be weakening, but don’t forget that I have more allies than you can possibly imagine.  If you become my enemy, I won’t protect you from them.”

“You weren’t protecting me, anyway,” she snarled.  “You never have.”

“I’m hurt.  You know I’ve always wanted what’s best for you,” her mother replied, and for a moment, the sincerity in her voice stabbed at Regina’s heart.  She _loved_ her mother, or had, and she’d always wanted to believe that somehow, something could happen and everything could work out.  But Cora had always forced her to choose one love over another, and it was now Cora’s turn to find out what it was like to be on the losing end of that bargain. 

“You’ve always wanted what is best for _you_ ,” Regina retorted, taking another step back.  Her mother hadn’t resorted to magic yet, and if she was going to, it would come at any time.  Slowly, carefully, Regina gathered power to herself, hoping that the shielding spell she was planning would not turn out to be mouse-shaped fireworks or something else equally ridiculous.  Magic here was different, and she had to be careful.  “You have no heart, Mother.  How can you care about anything other than your ambitions?”

“I have always cared about my daughter,” Cora snapped.  “But if you’re repudiating that title, I suppose I will have to find another.”

Confused, Regina frowned.  “What?”

Cora’s mysterious smile was her only answer on that front.  “You’ll crawl back to me, eventually, darling.  And when you do, you will find that I am no longer so generous.”

_You never were,_ she thought, but didn’t say so.  There was no reason to start a fight when Cora seemed willing to let her go—and with a bare minimum of threats, too.  Relief whipped through Regina, but she knew better than to let it make her confident.  Cora always had a trick up her sleeve, and Regina had to stay wary.  Sooner or later, her mother would lash out, even if that moment was days or weeks from now, and she had to be ready. 

“Goodbye, Mother,” Regina replied, gesturing her towards the door.  Somewhat surprisingly, Cora headed that way, even opening the front door for herself and stepping through.  There she hesitated, as if she wasn’t quite sure that she wanted to walk away, but it was too late for that.  So, Regina added: “Oh, and I quit, too.  You can find yourself a new assistant in the mayor’s office.”

She’d said that last dig in large part just to see how her mother would react, knowing that she didn’t _need_ the job, thanks to the way Cora had cast the curse.  Regina’s bank account was healthy enough to weather several _decades_ without work, and everything was going to change when the curse broke, anyway.  Regina really didn’t want to work for her mother anymore…but she also knew that Cora couldn’t let that assertion of independence stand without _saying_ something.  Even if her mother obviously had some other plan at work.  Otherwise, she would have blown up already.

Pausing in the doorway, Cora stopped and looked over her shoulder at Regina, her expression unreadable.  “I’ll let you play at being ‘good’ for a bit, dear,” she said coolly.  “Sooner or later, you’ll see these _heroes_ for what they are.  They’ll use you and discard you, and then you’ll come crawling back to me.”

“They’re my family, Mother.  In ways you _never_ have been,” she replied, stung at the implication that Snow, David, and Emma would turn their backs on her.

“Oh, Regina.”  Turning, Cora touched her cheek gently.  “You’ll see.  I almost wish I was wrong, but you know that I’m not.  Goodbye, for now.  We’ll see one another again.”

Too stunned to say anything, Regina watched her mother leave, walking calmly to the curb and getting into her royal purple BMW without ever looking back.  Swallowing back pain—because there had been a time when she wanted nothing more than her mother’s approval—Regina watched Cora drive away, and then forced herself to step back in the house.  It was done.  She was free, and there was nothing Cora could do to make her change her mind.  _I will keep my family safe, and I’ll prove to Mother that she’s wrong,_ Regina swore silently. 

“Did you do it, Mom?” Henry’s voice suddenly asked, and Regina jumped out of her skin.

“Henry!  Don’t sneak up on people like that,” she gasped as she turned to face where her son sat on the stairs, her heart beating wildly.

“Sorry.  I’ve been here for a bit.  I thought you knew I was eavesdropping.”

There were times she wanted to throttle this remarkable little boy she loved so much.  Regina glared.  “Then you know the answer to that, you little sneak.”

“Yup.”  Henry grinned, and bounced forward to wrap his arms around her waist.  Closing her eyes, Regina hugged him back, and his next words warmed her heart. “I think you were really brave.”

“Thank you, sweetie,” was all she could say around the lump in her throat, and for a few minutes, Regina could convince herself that everything would be all right. 

Now that she could help Emma start breaking the curse again, she would _make_ everything all right.  If it was the last thing she did.

* * *

 

_1 Year Before the Curse_

They’d done it.  Two years and eight months of war, the final three months of which had been taken up by a vicious and prolonged siege of the capital city in which Snow had been born.  But the gates had finally been opened by citizens who were loyal to Snow, and their armies had taken the castle.  It was _over_ , and they would finally be able to bring peace and justice back to the kingdom.  Even one year under Cora’s rule would have been too long, but Snow’s people had suffered under the Evil Queen for four long years—or longer, if Snow wanted to count the years during which Cora had used Snow’s late father as her puppet.  But now that was well and truly over, and Snow could stand on the steps of _her_ palace and look down at a crowd of people who were finally free.

“Snow!  _Snow!_ ” her beloved’s voice shouted, and she turned to face Charming, sword still in hand and feeling more like a genuine princess than she had in years.

“What is it?”

“They did it.   They found Cora.  She’s in the throne room, under guard,” Charming replied, grinning wildly.

“Really?” Snow gasped, eagerly taking his hand when he held it out to her. 

Together, they rushed into the palace, acknowledging salutes from soldiers as they went.  After all, Snow and Charming were the rightful rulers of this kingdom, and it was their place to dispense justice.  King George had remained in the army camp for just that reason, and although Snow had been a little surprised by her father-in-law’s restraint, she was also grateful for it.  They would have faced a much harder time winning the kingdom back without his help, and now he was willing to let them rule this one while they all started the slow process of uniting the two kingdoms.  Upon George’s death, Snow and Charming would rule as equals, combing their two inherited kingdoms, but until then, this one was Snow’s.   _Not that I’d ever even dream of banishing my husband from my side.  We’ll learn to rule together, just like we do everything._

Entering the throne room was like coming home.  How many times had Snow walked in here as a child and as a young woman, coming to learn from her father and—David’s hand squeezed hers, and only then did Snow realize that there were tears in her eyes.  She looked up at her husband, and he gave her a smile.

“It’ll be okay,” Charming said softly.  “We’ve got her, and we’ll get justice for your father, too.”

“And for Leo,” Snow whispered, thinking of the child they’d been so close to having.  His loss still represented a void within her heart that she was sure would never be filled, and she knew that Charming felt the same way. Their child had been taken from them, stolen away by poison from an evil witch, and today Snow would make sure that no one else ever suffered at her hands again.

“For everyone,” he agreed, and they stepped forward together.

Cora was still seated on the throne, looking down at the prince and princess as they approached, acting as if she was not surrounded by guards.  A prisoner.  They’d won, but why did Cora still look so confident?  Snow’s stepmother looked _perfect_ , of course.  Snow couldn’t remember ever having seen Cora with a hair out of place, even when she was busy ripping hearts out or threatening people.  Even now, in the hands of her enemies, Cora looked supremely confident, and part of Snow wanted to forcibly wipe that smirk off of her face.  Instead, she stepped forward.

“It’s over, Cora,” Snow told her evil stepmother, mounting the dais and nodding to the soldiers.  Two of them reached up and pulled Cora off the throne, earning themselves glares, but surprisingly surviving their actions unharmed.  Snow hadn’t been sure if Cora would be foolish enough to lash out at mere soldiers following orders, but she _did_ know that they would be able to hold her.

“It’s never over,” Cora hissed in response, and although Snow noticed that there was something off in her voice, she never had time to contemplate it.  Suddenly, Cora’s hands came up, magic sizzling in the air, and—

“Look out!” Charming shouted, grabbing her and pulling her aside.  Snow had been prepared for that, but still stumbled, and she saw Cora smiling until a shining blue figure descended from the sky, raining sparkling fairy dust down upon the Evil Queen.

“What—what is this?” Cora twisted around, obviously trying to free herself from the web of fairy dust, but she could barely move.  The magic clung to her tightly, no matter what she did, covering her like a shiny blue second skin.  Her face contorted with fury, and she snarled at Snow: “This isn’t over!”

“It is,” Snow repeated, taking a deep breath.  “The Blue Fairy just bound your magic with fairy dust.  You can’t hurt anyone, now.”

Drawing herself up proudly, Cora stopped fighting and smiled.  “We shall see, dear.  I remain the queen here, and my power is not limited to magic.”

“No,” Charming cut in, his voice hard.  “You _were_ the queen.  Your trial will be held tomorrow.”

“Trial?  For what?”

“For murdering my father,” Snow said before she could stop herself.  “For making the people of this kingdom suffer for years, and for killing _countless_ innocent people.  And for usurping my throne.”  She turned to the guards before Cora could say another word, not trusting herself to look at that smirk and not kill Cora herself.  “Take her away.”

The guards obeyed, and Snow turned to Charming, trying to remind herself to be happy.  They had won, and she was home.  Surely, that had to count for something.  But then why did she have the feeling that Cora had yet another trick up her sleeve, and that the war was far from over?  There had been something just a little bit…off about Cora during that encounter, even if Snow couldn’t quite put her finger on what it had been.  She hadn’t seen her stepmother face to face in years, not since Regina and Charming had helped her escape from the dungeon, so perhaps her memories were just playing tricks on her.  They’d won.  Cora was going to be tried for her crimes, and there was nothing Cora could do with Blue’s spell still on her.

Or could she?

* * *

 

Sometimes, things happened _exactly_ when they were needed. 

Cora had barely put her car in park when her cell phone rang, displaying a number she did not recognize.  Curious, she turned the car off, stepped into her garage, and then answered with a simple: “Yes?”

Anyone who was calling her knew who she was, after all.  Despite what Regina—foolish, rebellious, Regina—seemed to think, this was still Cora’s town.  Even if the curse broke, Storybrooke would be hers, because only a fool would not have planned from the beginning for such an eventuality to happen. Oh, she’d not known about the Savior back in the Enchanted Forest, but Cora was not an idiot.  She knew that _any_ curse could be broken, and although the Dark Curse was the most tightly woven pieces of magic  she had ever encountered, that did not mean something unexpected could not happen.  So, she’d long planned for every possible eventuality, which meant that her daughter’s foolish optimism really was quite misplaced.

“Madam Mayor?” a familiar voice said from the other end, and Cora found herself perking up as she strode into her house. 

“Nurse Zephyr,” she said with a smile the other woman could probably hear.  “So nice of you to call.”

“You wanted me to let you know if I discovered any interesting information on Mr. Gold,” Zephyr—also her eldest daughter, although currently unaware of that fact—said, her tone brisk and helpful.  She continued without forcing Cora to prompt her for more: “Dr. Whale says that we all must be remembering incorrectly, but his injuries have begun to heal at an alarming rate.  I swear that his right leg was absolutely shattered yesterday, and yet today it seems to be only fractured.” 

There were times that Cora almost regretting abandoning Zelena.  It was the only decision she could have made at the time, of course, but Zelena had always been _much_ more loyal than Regina, and so much more eager to please.  Now Zephyr sounded puzzled, but she certainly had Cora’s attention. 

“What do the x-rays say?” she asked curiously, her mind whirling ahead at a thousand miles an hour.

“They seem to indicate that the break never was that bad, but I remember differently.”  The next words were hesitant.  “I know that you said to call you for anything, particularly any suspicious event involving Mr. Gold…but I’m very sorry if I’ve wasted your time.”

“Oh, no, dear.  You certainly have not,” Cora replied, feeling the magic of the curse working on her clueless daughter.  The curse wanted to make Nurse Zephyr believe that everything was normal, and if the curse told her that those injuries—which Cora had been _well_ aware of, herself—had not existed in the first place, there was obviously something going on.  Clearly, Zelena was more resistant to it than Whale, although why she would be was…

_Oh.  Oh, my._ Warmth rushed up Cora’s spine, and she found herself smiling even as Zelena continued in a rush:

“Then I hope I was able to help.”

“You have.  Thank you.  I will call you again.” 

Cora hung up without waiting for a response, because now she was far too distracted by what she _knew_ must have happened.  Inexplicably vanishing injuries?  Zelena, a sorceress, being more resistant to the curse than Whale?  There was only one thing that could explain both of those oddities, and Cora knew exactly what that had to be.  _Magic._   Taking a deep breath, she searched for the tangy taste in the air, the feeling she had once been so used to in the Enchanted Forest and had forced herself to live without in Storybrooke.  She had missed it dreadfully here, and had searched for _years_ to find a way to bring it over, hating Rumplestiltskin for the way he’d neglected to mention that the great and terrible curse he had given her would take them all to a Land Without Magic.  But apparently Rumple could not live without it any more than she could, particularly when a drunk florist was able to hurt him like that.

_Oh, this is going to be marvelous_ , Cora thought to herself, rubbing her hands together.  _Rumple may have brought magic—and I know he was responsible, for he_ would _be the one to find a way—but he is still playing my game.  By my rules._ Letting out the breath she had been holding, Cora held her right hand out, palm up, summoning a small fireball to her palm.

Nothing happened.

Doubling her concentration, figuring that twenty-eight years of not using magic had left her rusty, Cora focused her age-old rage and again summoned the fireball.  She thought of those who had wronged her, of old King Xavier’s smugness as he looked down at her, of Eva tripping her, of Eva stealing Leopold away and _forcing_ her to give up her daughter because of it, and of the gardener-turned-fake prince who had stolen her virtue away.  Her rage threatened to make her shake, and it was a powerful force which had never failed her before…but her palm was still empty.

“What is this?” Cora whispered to herself, feeling her anger raging against its boundaries.  She could _feel_ the magic in the air.  Why couldn’t she touch it?  Why wouldn’t it respond to her?  She tried a third time, and then a fourth, but both times the magic fizzled away before Cora could grasp it, and even as she grew angrier and angrier, nothing happened.

What had Rumplestiltskin _done_? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how long do you think that Cora will continue having problems with her magic? And what does she have planned?
> 
> Up next is Chapter 52: “Sacrifices Chosen”, where Mary Margaret tries to talk to Regina, Belle and Renee run into August, and Cora confronts Rumplestiltskin about magic.  
> Back in the past, Cora’s execution is scheduled, and Rumplestiltskin does a good deed.


	52. Sacrifices Chosen

_1 Year Before the Curse_

The trial was over, and the vote had been unanimous.  Just, he suspected, as Cora anticipated it would be.  Snow and Charming’s little war council (including King George, who certainly wasn’t about to be left out of this decision) had cheerfully voted for Evil Queen’s execution, and now the courtyard was positively _filling_ with curious onlookers.  He could practically taste the bloodlust in the air as people talked amongst themselves.  The new royal couple had invited all and sundry to witness the end of the Evil Queen, and for once, Rumplestiltskin had actually decided to attend one of the fashionable royal events that he so habitually eschewed.  Now that he was here, he realized that he should attend executions more often.  All the rage and fury in the air fed his curse quite beautifully, and the demon within him was humming quite contentedly.

Not that it would be by the time he was through today.  He _needed_ Cora to cast his curse, which meant that if she didn’t have an exit strategy of her own, he would have to create one for her.  That would cause problems between Rumplestiltskin and the royals whom he had shepherded along, which he certainly didn’t prefer to have happen, but he could find a way around that.  If need be.  In fact, he might be able to teleport Cora away without anyone realizing he had done the deed…but to do that he needed to be closer.

Slowly, Rumplestiltskin made his way through the crowd, refusing some sneering noble’s offer to escort him to whatever place was set aside for the more ‘important’ people to get out of the thronging mess of humanity.  He’d never understood how nobles seemed to think that standing too close to peasants might somehow contaminate them, so he flicked a bit of magic at the noble and watched him grow a rat’s tail.  The noble idiot squealed and started spinning in panicked circles, grasping helplessly at the tail that seemed to have a mind of its own and evaded his hands.  Giggling, Rumplestiltskin pressed onwards, noticing how people scampered out of his path now that he’d demonstrated a bit of power and a nasty sense of humor. 

“It’ll go away in a few weeks, dearie,” he told the still-terrified noble in a sing-songy voice.  “If you behave yourself, that is!”

Of course, he didn’t specify what ‘behaving’ himself meant, although eventually the noble would find that offering kindness to a few peasants—or at least treating them like fellow human beings—would make the tail vanish.  Rumplestiltskin rather expected that it would take more than a few weeks for this man to figure that out, but well, that wasn’t _Rumplestiltskin’s_ problem.  Besides, the noble didn’t stick around to ask questions; he ran away, red faced with shame and obviously mortified that mere peons could see his predicament.  _Fool._ Most of the peasants around Rumplestiltskin were laughing, however, which meant that the moron hadn’t been well liked at all, and Rumplestiltskin had no regrets.   Not that he usually bothered with regrets, anyway.  He was the Dark One, after all, and if the worst thing he did today was enchant a stupid noble until the man learned to treat peasants like people, that would be a surprise.  _Belle can’t even be angry at me for that one,_ he thought to himself with a wiggle.  His curse cackled in agreement, but he rather thought his wife might approve of a curse like that.  Maybe.

Glancing to his left at the dais, he noticed that the royals still hadn’t arrived, but the laughing eyes of another sorcerer’s met his, and Rumplestiltskin gave the tall, blonde man a nod of greeting.  Lord Soulis nodded back, and Rumplestiltskin managed not to giggle out loud again.  Soulis had been Cora’s student, and one of her dearest allies, but there he was, standing right next to the thrones that would hold his new monarchs.  Obviously, he’d managed to turn his coat in a hurry—or he was still working on Cora’s behalf behind the scenes.  Of the two, the later was more likely, although obviously he’d convinced Snow and Charming otherwise.  Lord Soulis wore an indifferent expression, but Rumplestiltskin could see the calculation behind it.  Perhaps he was part of Cora’s exit strategy…but there was only one way to find out.

Ignoring the trumpets as they announced the royal couple’s arrival—and that of King George, who was still piously acting as a visiting monarch—Rumplestiltskin instead slipped up to a position from which he could see the post that they clearly intended to tie Cora to.  The Blue Fairy hovered near the archers, and she paused to look Rumplestiltskin’s way, scowling.

“What are you doing here, Dark One?” Blue demanded.

Rumplestiltskin smiled at his age-old enemy.  “Ask your little king and queen, dearie.  _They_ invited me.”

Oh, he loved watching that little face go red with fury.  Blue hated him as much as he hated her, and getting under her skin was one of Rumplestiltskin’s favorite past times.   Not that she ever took it well.

“Perhaps there’s a lesson in this for you, then,” the chief fairy retorted primly, and that made the Dark One giggle.

“You never know, do you?” he replied, wiggling a bit.  Then his voice dropped from the high-pitched imp and into something far more dangerous.  “Unlike some people, I _do_ learn from my mistakes.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” the Blue Fairy demanded hotly, and Rumplestiltskin giggled again.

“Oh…nothing.”

His timing had been perfect; a second set of trumpets rang out, and the crowd split to allow the guards to lead Cora through.  She looked haughty but tired, and looking at her face made Rumplestiltskin blink.  Magic swirled around her, mostly fairy magic but also… _Oh.  Clever girl._   The magnitude of what was happening—without any of the do-gooding fools knowing, even their preciously light Blue Fairy—almost took Rumplestiltskin’s breath away, and he knew that thinking _Cora_ would not have an exit strategy was absolutely ludicrous.  Of course, even he hadn’t expected this out of his oh so cold blooded student, but he should have.  After all, when hadCora _not_ been willing to sacrifice a child to get what she wanted?  When it came to bettering her own life, Cora was willing to sacrifice _anyone_.

After his amazement died down, fury boiled up to take its place.  Rumplestiltskin really had not expected Cora to go this far.  Did she intend for the execution to go forward?  Was she _that_ cold?  He wasn’t sure if he could answer that question for certain, but he did know for certain that the glamour in front of him was Cora’s doing.  The person wearing it could not deconstruct the spell, particularly not with fairy dust wrapped around her like this.  And if Soulis was not there to speak up—which he knew that Soulis would not do, not unless it would raise his standing with his new monarchs—well, that meant that Cora had left her daughter in a bit of a pickle.  _Not your job to help her out,_ his curse sang within his mind, and Rumplestiltskin batted it aside.  His inner imp was a lot less fun when it went against what the rest of him wanted.

While he’d been thinking, the little cricket that Blue had made out of a man—talk about a questionable use of magic!—had flown over to hover in front of ‘Cora’.  It was saying something about regrets and meeting death with a clear conscience, but the very thought of _Cora_ meeting death with anything other than a sneer made Rumplestiltskin giggle.  Loudly.

Heads whipped around to face him, and he decided that this was as good of a time as any.  Cora might have been prepared to let her daughter die, but…Rumplestiltskin wasn’t.

“This would probably be about the time you should ask her for her _name_ , dearies,” he said, sauntering forward and looking at Snow and Charming, both of whom stared at him incomprehensively for several long seconds.

The false ‘Cora’ on the other hand, looked so relieved that Rumplestiltskin almost managed to shut his curse’s complaining out.

The cricket recovered faster than the others.  “Will you state your name for the record, please?” he asked.

“Regina,” the woman who looked like Cora said clearly, her eyes finding her sister’s even as Snow jumped to her feet.

“Regina?”  Snow gasped.

“This has to be some kind of trick,” Charming replied, standing next to Snow and holding out a hand as if to stop her from running to the woman who claimed to be her stepsister.

“Oh, it is,” Rumplestiltskin replied before anyone else could get in, wagging a finger at the royals as if they were errant children who needed educating.  “It’s just not the trick that you were expecting.”

“You were Queen Cora’s teacher,” Blue interjected before either monarch could reply.  “You are clearly here to assist _her_ against those she has pursued a vendetta against for so long.”  The fairy turned to look at Snow.  “I warned you not to trust him, child.  The Dark One is a creature of darkness and ever has his own agenda.”

Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes.  “Let’s not talk about hidden agendas or who helped these two reunite after a certain nightmare curse, hmmm?” he said to Blue, quirking a smile.  But he also didn’t give her a chance to respond.  Instead, he continued with: “Or whose magic shouldhave identified the glamour when she trapped _the wrong person_.”

Blue glared.   Rumplestiltskin twitched his fingers, grasped just the right threads in the very intricate glamour spell Cora had constructed around Regina, and pulled.  The spell collapsed in on itself, leaving a very tired looking Regina in her mother’s place.  She was even dressed in an actual gown of Cora’s, bedecked in red and silver today as befitted the so-called ‘Queen of Hearts’, but Regina looked like she was heartily tired of the fancy clothes.

“Let her go!” Snow cried, and the guards hurried to do so. 

Soon enough, the two sisters were hugging one another tightly, but Rumplestiltskin did not stay to watch the tearful family reunion.  He also didn’t bother to listen to Regina explaining to Snow how Cora had threatened Daniel to make her take her mother’s place, and then had enchanted her so that she could not utter a word that might make anyone suspect she was not Cora unless she was asked directly.  He wasn’t interested in the sap or their joy, or even in the Blue Fairy’s stammering apology to Snow—but not to Regina, who she mistrusted and despised.  He just faded into the crowd, not looking for thanks (which he wasn’t sure any of them but Regina would offer, anyway; heroes were fickle sorts), and heading home.

There.  He’d done his good deed for the day, and Regina would live.  He’d need her gratitude someday, anyway.  He hadn’t saved her out of sentimentality or out of disgust that Cora would ever sacrifice her own child to save herself.  It would be useful.

And he was _not_ a sentimental man.

 

* * *

 

Mary Margaret had tried to stop by the mayor’s office (when Cora wasn’t there, of course) to see Regina, only to be told by some snotty secretary that Mrs. Nolan had quit the day before.  Confused, she headed over to the Nolans’ house, aiming to make good on her promise to David to try to find out what was bothering Regina, only to find Henry there instead of Regina.

“Aren’t you a little young to be home by yourself?” she asked curiously, causing the boy who claimed to be her grandson to roll his eyes.

“I’m almost eleven,” he pointed out.

“In several months,” she countered.  She’d been his teacher, after all, and Mary Margaret had known _all_ of her students’ birthdays.

“It’s close enough,” Henry countered with a grin.  “Do you want to come in?”

“That’s probably not smart when your parents aren’t here.”

“Why not?  You’re hardly a stranger.  I know you don’t remember it, but you’re my grandmother.  _And_ you’re my adopted step-aunt, too,” Henry said, somehow making it all sound logical.  “You’re also related to me somehow because you’re married to Gramps and _he’s_ my adopted father in addition to being my grandfather, but that part gets a little confusing.”

Despite herself, Mary Margaret laughed.  “Yeah, that part does.”

“So, do you want to come in?  Mom baked cookies earlier, and they’re _really_ good,” he coaxed her, and somehow Mary Margaret found herself being pulled inside the Nolans’ home by an enthusiastic ten year old.  Henry’s next comment didn’t help her resolve when it came to leaving, either:  “Mom said she’d be back after lunch, so it shouldn’t be long.  You can help me with my homework, if you want.”

“Shouldn’t you be in school today?” she asked.  It was the 28th of January, and that was a Friday.

“Teacher work day,” Henry supplied, dragging her into the kitchen and handing her a cookie.

“Oh.”  How had she forgotten that?  Mary Margaret had been a teacher not too long before, but somehow that seemed like another life.

“I think you should get a pet bird.”

She blinked.  “Huh?”

“Well, you could speak to birds back in the Enchanted Forest, so having a pet bird could be neat.  You never know what one might say,” he replied, grinning around a mouthful of cookie.

“Wipe your mouth,” Mary Margaret said automatically, but her mind was already turning over wildly.  Just that morning, she’d _sworn_ she heard voices while she’d been on her way to Granny’s, but when she’d turned, there’d only been a set of bluebirds.  She’d thought she was crazy or imagining things, but Henry seemed to think…

It was impossible.

Wasn’t it?

* * *

 

The day after Belle brought magic to Storybrooke, she decided to take her daughter out for a little bit of shopping.  First, they stopped off at the hospital and visited Rumplestiltskin, who had just finished a fitting for a brace/half-cast for his right leg and was therefore monstrously cranky (a mood which Renee was able to charm him right out of).  Then they headed out to Renee’s favorite toy store, the Wonderful Toymaker.  Belle now found herself wondering about the proprietor of the place, but she didn’t recognize him from back home, much though she wanted to.  Still, the old gentleman was beyond kind, and helped Renee find a hobby horse in just her size.

Belle felt her daughter deserved a reward for how well behaved she’d been in the last few days, and the gift also served to distract Renee from worrying about ‘Daddy Gold’, as she’d taken to calling him.  So, they’d picked out a hobby horse that had a black unicorn’s head, complete with shiny horn and a long, flowing mane.  Renee named her hobby unicorn ‘Fenton’ before Belle even had a chance to pay for it, and refused to stop ‘riding’ it as they walked out of the store.  However, Belle was just happy to see her daughter smile, and knew that Rumplestiltskin would chuckle when he saw the toy their daughter was now so in love with.  Knowing him, he’d promise to help her meet a real unicorn someday, although Belle didn’t know how unicorns felt about the Dark One or if they’d ever make it home.

She found that she really didn’t care if they never made it back to the Enchanted Forest.  Oh, she’d miss the sweeping halls of the Dark Castle, but there were some undeniable benefits to modern homes, including the wonderful kitchen (and Rumplestiltskin’s unexpected cooking talent).  She also liked the way their daughter could play with other children without having to tromp all the way down the mountain to Caerleon, and Belle sincerely hoped that part of Storybrooke’s dynamic would not change when the curse broke.  Gabrielle had made many friends while she was Renee, and Belle prayed she’d be able to keep them.  In fact, she was heading to a play date with Jamie Forrester and three other children right now, so Belle turned left out of the Wonderful Toymaker and led her (hobby unicorn-riding) daughter towards Storybrooke Park.

“Mamma, watch!  He gallops!” Renee announced, showing that she really was learning new words every day.  Belle hadn’t known that Renee knew what a horse’s running gait was called, but sure enough, she was demonstrating just that at the moment.

“Watch where you’re galloping, sweetie!” she warned as Renee raced down the sidewalk as fast as her three year old legs could carry her.

Too much of her attention had been focused on her daughter, however, and now it was _Belle_ who didn’t watch where she was going.  While walking past the entrance to Standard Clocks, she managed to run smack into a tall man in a leather jacket, one she had never seen before.

“Oof!” she cried, stumbling back and barely catching her balance.

The stranger did the same, muttering something under his breath that Belle was really glad Renee was too far away to catch.  Then blue eyes focused on Belle and gave her a smile.  “Hello.  I’m sorry about that.  I was distracted.”

“No, it’s my fault,” she said quickly.  “I was too busy watching my daughter.”  Speaking of which, she needed to call Renee back before she got too far ahead on the sidewalk.  “Renee!  Gallop back this way, sweetie.”

“Okay!”

“Cute little girl,” the man said, and Belle turned to face him, peering up at the unfamiliar face.

“Thanks,” she said, and he held out a hand.

“August W. Booth,” he introduced himself.

“Lacey French,” she replied, wishing that she could use her own name—and wondering if the odd naming conventions of this world made her _Belle Gold_ now, instead of Lady Belle.  She rather liked the sound of being Mrs. Gold, come to think of it.  _Maybe when Rumple gets home, we can finally go to town hall and tie the knot in this world, too,_ she thought.  _It would make a lot of things easier._

“Nice to meet you,” August smiled as Renee raced circles around them.  “Sorry about running into you before.  I wasn’t paying any attention.”

“Really, I think it was my fault,” Belle repeated, and then couldn’t contain her curiosity a moment longer.  “I’m sorry to be rude, but I don’t think I’ve met you before, and I thought I knew just about everyone in town.”

“No, it’s not you.  I’m an author, and just visiting.  I’ve only been here a month or so,” he replied.

“Really?  We don’t get a lot of visitors here.”

August shrugged and chuckled.  “People keep telling me that.”

There was something in August’s eyes, however, that gave Belle pause.  What kind of author visited for an entire month?  And he just looked…curious to her.  Then a memory hit her, and she cocked her head at August, wondering if he was the man she’d seen talking to Emma Swan several times.  If he was, that opened up all kinds of interesting possibilities.

“Well, we have a strange little town,” she replied with an answering shrug.  “I guess we’re just surprised that someone else might like it as much as we do.”

“It seems pretty special to me,” August answered, and Belle made a mental note to ask Rumplestiltskin what he knew about this man.  Something was going on here, and she was going to find out what.

* * *

 

Regina still couldn’t believe she’d done it, even the day after she’d told her mother that she quit.  She’d let David leave the house that morning at his usual time without mentioning that she wasn’t going to work, too, seeing  Henry off to his normal meeting with Emma and trying to figure out what she was going to do with all of her suddenly free time.  After alternating between stewing and celebrating all morning, she finally decided that she’d pick lunch up at Granny’s for herself and her (supposed) husband and take it to the animal shelter.  Regina needed to talk to David, after all, and doing it at the shelter was probably smarter than doing it at home.

“Hey,” David looked up in surprise as Regina walked into the tiny cubicle he called an office, greasy bag in hand.

She gave him a crooked smile. “Mind if I deliver your lunch?”

“No, not at all.”  David hurriedly shifted a stack of papers off of a chair to give her space to sit down.  “Sorry about the mess.  You’d think we’d be more organized about adoptions, but no one _ever_ adopted pets until a few months ago, and we’re still catching up.”

_And Emma thinks she’s not doing anything,_ Regina thought to herself with a slight smile.  But Emma was much of the reason she was there, wasn’t she?  Or at least Emma’s _parents_ were, one of which was sitting right in front of Regina, watching her with undisguised curiosity.  Of course, the last time Regina could ‘remember’ having visited David here was when their so-called marriage had been going well, when they’d supposedly been young and in love.  Although Regina was fairly sure that those were memories that had never actually happened, ones that the curse had manufactured, she knew that _David_ thought they were real enough.  _Maybe I should have waited until he came home,_ she thought desperately, and then forced herself to sit back calmly.

“It’s okay,” she said as levelly as she could.  “I didn’t come to evaluate the shelter for the mayor’s office, after all.”  Regina paused, and then dropped her bombshell.  “And, speaking of which…I quit my job.”

That obviously took a moment to sink in, and then David’s jaw dropped open.  _“What?”_

“I told Mother that I wasn’t going to be her puppet any longer, and I quit,” Regina replied, letting out a breath to calm herself.  “It feels great, actually.  I’ll find another job, eventually, I suppose, but I won’t help her hurt people, anymore.  Particularly Mary Margaret.”

“Regina, you never _helped_ her—” David started, but she held up a hand to cut him off.

“I did.  More than you know,” she answered sadly.  “But that’s over now, and I have a more important question for you.  Now that Mother can’t stop us—and she won’t be able to—you need to decide if you want a divorce.  I won’t stand in your way.  I know how you feel about Mary Margaret, and how she feels about you, too.  You’re good together, far better than you and I could _ever_ be, and I don’t want to keep you away from your True Love.”

The last two words would mean very little to David, but they meant a lot to Regina, particularly given how she had lost Daniel.  Her brother-in-law still seemed stunned by the entire speech, though, and Regina gave him a lopsided smile as he stared at her open-mouthed.

“I…Regina…what about you and Henry?” he finally managed.

Poor cursed David Nolan.  He’d been designed to put them first, and although Regina couldn’t argue with the way David loved Henry and put _him_ first, she really hated the way he was obligated to think of her happiness over his own. _That isn’t love, Mother.  That’s manipulation and erasing someone’s free will,_ she thought sadly.  But Prince Charming was coming out, ever so slowly.  He was starting to learn to fight for his love, and Regina wanted to help him do that.

“We’ll be fine.  And Storybrooke is a small town.  You’d see him all the time.”  _Particularly once the curse breaks, and you find out that he’s your_ grand _son._

“I… Uh, wow.  I don’t know what to say.”  David shook his head, and Regina reached out impulsively to take his hand.  Their lunch was getting cold, but she didn’t think either of them cared at the moment.

“I just want you to be happy,” she said honestly.

“I want you to be happy, too,” he replied, and a suddenly-very ‘Charming’ smile crossed his face.  “Even if it’s with a firefighter.”

Despite herself, Regina laughed.  It was good to be friends with David again, and not have to convince him that he really wasn’t in love with her like the curse insisted he was.  “Is that what you want to do, then?”

“I’m not sure,” David answered after a moment’s thought, surprising Regina.  “I’m not a fool.  Henry has told me about this curse…and I think he must be right.  Sometimes I have dreams of what feels like another life, and it’s _so_ very real.”

Stunned, Regina could only stare at him while her sister’s husband gathered his thoughts.  She’d known that David and Mary Margaret read the Book together, but she’d never even imagined that they might _believe_ what they found inside. 

“You mother will hate it if we do this, and she still has the power to hurt people, doesn’t she?” he asked.

“Yes.  I don’t like admitting it…but she does.”

“Then we shouldn’t.  I mean, we should wait,” he said.  “We can still be friends like this, right?  I’ll see Mary Margaret, you’ll see Errol…and we keep your mother in the dark.  I don’t want her hurting anyone I care about.  Not while I can stop it.”

Perhaps time with Regina _had_ taught David something.  Charming had rarely been so sly—he’d hated politics because they were full of lies and dishonesty—but maybe these years as someone else had helped him out in some unexpected ways.  Now he met Regina’s eyes calmly, and she suddenly realized that she had a friend and an ally that she had _never_ expected to have.  Or at least not until the curse broke and everyone remembered.  Still, she had to let out a short bark of laughter.

“You _do_ realize that I’m your sister-in-law, right?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Much to her surprise, David grinned back. “Well, then I suppose I should stay in the spare bedroom, then,” he retorted, and suddenly Regina felt like she didn’t have to go at this alone.  The smile that bloomed on her face was so big that it hurt.

_Look out, Mother.  You are so screwed._

* * *

 

“I was wondering when you’d show up, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin greeted the Evil Queen with a smile, now able to sit up in bed and feeling _much_ better than he had two days earlier.  Most of the healing was complete, or at least healed as far as he dared go before he got home from the hospital (save for his leg, which would need another few days).  Whale was already starting to talk about how he needed to rest at home instead of working in the shop for a week or two while his leg ‘finished’ healing, and Rumplestiltskin figured that he could take advantage of that time to spend time with his family and figure out the ins and outs of magic in Storybrooke.  His first impression had been right.  Magic was very different here, yet Rumplestiltskin had every intention of mastering it, so time was welcome.

Cora strode in with her head held high, but he could see the fury lurking in her eyes as she turned to glare at him.  “What did you _do_?” she demanded.

“Me?”  He gave her his most innocent look, which—particularly between the two of them—wasn’t terribly innocent at all.  The morning sun was barely streaming through the window; Cora had gotten up early on a Saturday to come see him.  _Doesn’t that make me feel special?_

“Yes, you,” she snapped.  “I can feel it in the air.  You brought magic.  _How_?”

“Well, that’s my secret, now, isn’t it?” Rumplestiltskin countered, lounging back against the pillows.  The bed was in the upright position, which allowed him to do so casually while still looking Cora in the eyes, and the sudden anger and uncertainty that flashed across her face told him all he needed to know.  So, he guessed: “Having problems with your magic?”

“Of course not.”

Chuckling softly, he gestured airily with his left hand.  “Well, then why visit little old me?  Your bully boys did their work well…didn’t they?”

“Obviously not well enough,” she snarled, crossing her arms.  The next threat, however, obviously came out automatically.  “Perhaps I should have them come back.”

“Even if you couldget them out of jail, dear, that would wind up a bit counterproductive, wouldn’t it?” he countered, smiling nastily at his former lover.  “I’d hardly have to lift a finger to stop them now.”

“Oh, please.  If _my_ magic won’t work, yours certainly can’t.”

“How _do_ you think I’ve healed myself?” Rumplestiltskin snorted.  Cora was undeniably smart, but there were times when her anger overrode her intelligence.  Particularly now, when she had spent so long winning the same old game…until suddenly the rules changed.  Still, he couldn’t resist the urge to taunt her with:  “And I thought you said your magic wasn’t giving you any problems?”

Cora’s glare turned even darker, and he could see her storing up her rage, keeping it ready and simmering under the surface until she could let it loose.  But that moment wasn’t now, and Rumplestiltskin really was enjoying the way the power dynamic had shifted.  _I should have brought magic sooner,_ he thought to himself, feeling his curse snickering gleefully in his mind.  _She won’t touch me, now.  Her caveats only give her physical control, and if she tries any of her old tricks, I will rip her to shreds._ Cora knew that, too; Rumplestiltskin could see it in her eyes.  She’d been thwarted, and this was no temporary setback.  Their gazes locked, with Rumplestiltskin’s far more mild and just a little bit gloating, and several moments ticked by in absolute silence.

“Why won’t it work?” the Evil Queen finally demanded, obviously bending her pride enough to ask.

“Well, riddle me this, _Your Majesty_ : do you still have those warm and fuzzy feelings towards love as you used to?” he replied, wiggling a little bit as his curse chortled joyously.  “Still using ‘love is weakness’, and all those other lovely mottos?”

“You should know,” Cora replied, her eyes flashing.  “Answer my question, Rumple.  _Now._ ”

“Stooping to that level already?” Rumplestiltskin laughed, feeling the curse tug on him but able to dissipate its power enough to buy himself a little time.  “No need.  I’ll give you this one for free.  Magic here is love based, dearie, and you _hate_ love.  Good luck using it!”

“And how would you have done _that_?”

“My secret.  If you _please_.”  His curse would have preferred blood, but it liked the way Rumplestiltskin was taunting Cora, too, enjoyed the way he was winning this intellectual game of cat and mouse.  And he particularly enjoyed watching the dark curse’s magic wrap around her and force her to its will, watching his caveat work much more effectively than hers.  Cora had chosen her caveats well, but not nearly as well as he had, and Rumplestiltskin was very satisfied to see that.  He was also quite pleased to see that hers were weakening ever so slightly.  _Overuse will weaken any spell,_ Rumplestiltskin reflected.  _There’s a reason to be careful, but Cora has always been prone to overuse methods which gain her power._

Her eyes narrowed, and although Cora clearly wanted to ask, she didn’t try again.  “How are you getting around it, then?”

“I’m not the one who ripped my own heart out to avoid love,” he answered more sharply than he wanted to.  “You, of all people, know that.”

“I suppose I do,” Cora shrugged.  Her smile was slight, and showed no regrets.

Then again, she’d only shown remorse over having broken his heart the one time.  By then it had been too late; he’d met Belle and discovered what real love was like.   Even when Rumplestiltskin had been involved with Cora, he’d known that their relationship was toxic and so bad for him…he just hadn’t wanted to care.  Back then, he’d wanted to be loved so badly that he was willing to take it in whatever form he could find, but Rumplestiltskin was not so desperate now.  _Particularly not when she looks at me like I’m some sort of belonging, and not a human being,_ he thought.

_You’re not human,_ his curse reminded him with a demonic cackle.  _You’re the Dark One.  She fit you well.  If you’re not going to kill her, you should—_

With an effort, he tore his mind away from the incessant voice inside him, focusing on thoughts of his family to pull himself back from the edge.  Only long years of practice allowed Rumplestiltskin to throw up a wall between himself and his curse, and even then, he knew the wall would not last for long.  It never did, and in his worst moments, he _wanted_ to succumb to the darkness and embrace it.  Just like Cora had.

“Have any more questions, or are we done for the day?” he finally asked her caustically, wanting her gone.

“This isn’t over, Rumple.”

“It never is, dearie!”  He grinned at her, letting the darkness deepen his expression into something vicious and hungry.  Stuck in the hospital bed though he was, Cora still took a slight step back, which she promptly covered by turning away and striding out with her head held high.

Magic would adapt, of course.  Rumplestiltskin knew that, even if Cora didn’t.  But he’d been a student of the magical arts for centuries, and he knew that magic itself was fluid.  Sooner or later, the roots of love within the magic he had brought would fray a bit, opening a path for Cora to use.  He hoped that wouldn’t happen soon, but the fact that he could use dark magic—and he already knew he could—told Rumplestiltskin that the change was inevitable.  At the moment, an _openness_ to love was all one needed to be able to use magic.  That and knowledge, anyway, which most of the magic users in Storybrooke still lacked as they slumbered on under the curse.  Within a few weeks, however, that would change. 

_I’d best work quickly, then,_ he knew.  _Best to get ahead of her while we have the advantage._

* * *

 

_1 Year Before the Curse_

Cora must have disguised Regina as herself in order to escape here, Rumplestiltskin thought as he strode through the front gates to what once had been King Leopold’s summer palace, anger simmering in his blood and outrage making his strides fast and long.  He had known that Cora was cold-blooded, had known that she would go to great lengths to ‘better’ herself, but this was a bit much.  Even for her.   _Kill her if you don’t like it,_ his curse whispered, but it had always had mixed feelings on Cora.  It liked her far more than it liked Belle, although he often thought that was actually a point in Belle’s favor.  When he was feeling logical.

Yet even thinking of Belle did nothing to assuage Rumplestiltskin’s fury as he strode through the halls of Cora’s purloined palace.  The random soldiers who had retreated with her scrambled out of his way; none of them wanted to tempt an angry Dark One to turn their direction.  Cora had obviously been well prepared to fall back, because the castle was clean and well-stocked, full of soldiers and—if Rumplestiltskin’s tingling senses were accurate—at least one or two minor sorcerers.  But he didn’t care.  He wasn’t here to see them, and he didn’t care to announce himself, either.  Cora could undoubtedly feel him coming, could feel his rage boiling over, but that had rather been the idea.  Rumplestiltskin was angry and disgusted, and he didn’t care who knew it.

A wave of his hands tore the doors to the throne room open, almost ripping them off of their hinges.  Several of Cora’s hangers-on screamed and skittered backwards, but Rumplestiltskin did not even look their way.

_“Out!”_ he bellowed, and almost all of them scurried away, running as fast as their noble little legs would carry them.  Those who didn’t he banished with a vicious burst of dark magic, eviscerating two of them and throwing the other three out into the hallway.  Then the doors slammed shut, repairing broken hinges and locking with a _snap._ That left Rumplestiltskin and Cora alone, and the Dark One prowled towards where the Evil Queen still sat on her throne.  Cora held herself regally, appearing to be relaxed, but Rumplestiltskin could see the tension in her despite the way she waited patiently for him to speak.

When he merely stopped and stewed, glaring at her, Cora arched an eyebrow.

“Is something bothering you, Rumple?  If my defeat has upset you so much, I do commiserate with your feelings,” she purred.

“As if you _feel_ anything,” the Dark One snapped, his temper riding high.  But it was an odd fury.  Although his curse appreciated the hot rage whipping through Rumplestiltskin, his personal demon was not so fond of the reasons he was so angry.

“Ooooh.  Did I offend you?” Cora asked, smiling.  “I heard you saved my darling daughter, by the way.  Thank you.”

_She mocks you.  Kill her!_ his curse howled, not liking anyone who treated the Dark One in this manner, no matter its normal feelings regarding Cora.  _Make her suffer!_   But he didn’t care what his demon thought of Cora at the moment; Rumplestiltskin was too caught up in his own disgust. 

“And what exactly would have happened if I _hadn’t_ been there, hmm?” he demanded, leaping up the three steps to the dais and towering over his former student.  Former lover.  _Regina could have been_ our _daughter!_ Rumplestiltskin almost shouted, but managed to stop himself just in time.  _Hide behind the monster,_ he told himself firmly.  _Who you are, what you feel, are weaknesses.  Hide them._

Was that the curse, or was that Rumplestiltskin talking?

Cora shrugged nonchalantly, looking up at him as if he _wasn’t_ a snarling, threatening, demon.  “I have another daughter.”

His magic slammed into her, but hers met it, stopping the fury-borne wave of power inches from Cora’s face.  Still, the impact threw her back against the throne, and Rumplestiltskin heard the Evil Queen hiss in pain.  That tiny sound fed his curse, made it cackle gleefully inside his mind, made Rumplestiltskin wiggle dangerously, twirling a hand airily before slamming his palm into the wood of the throne a hairsbreadth away from her face.  Cora flinched, and then tried to cover her fear with a sneer, but the Dark One still drank in the sweet smell of her terror, feeling it roll through his bones and send a shiver down his spine.

“You’re a cold blooded bitch,” he snarled.

“And you’re far too sentimental,” Cora replied, sounding bored.

“I should kill you,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, his mind full of images he’d always tried so hard to forget.  Once, he’d had visions of the little girl Cora would have borne him, the girl whom Regina _would_ have been.  Rumplestiltskin had thought he’d banished those visions forever when Cora broke his heart, but now they returned full force.  He could see himself holding a dark haired little girl, one so different from Gabrielle yet no less his own.  He would have loved her, Rumplestiltskin knew.

And even without that knowledge, even without the ever-lingering thought that Regina might have been— _should_ have been—his daughter, there remained one undeniable fact.  Regina was Cora’s daughter.  _Cora_ should have kept her safe, should have protected her, not attempted to sacrifice her child to save her own skin.  Nothing got under Rumplestiltskin’s skin quite like a parent abandoning their child.   Just thinking of what she had done made his blood boil, and that had nothing to do with his curse.  This was solely Rumplestiltskin, solely the coward who had let his precious boy go in a moment of weakness he would forever regret.  How could _any_ parent think to sacrifice their child to serve themselves?  He would have died a thousand times over to save Bae, would have done _anything_ to keep him from harm.  Even sell his soul to this terrible curse all over again.

Cora snorted.  “You need me.”

“Oh?”  Like lightning, his hand flashed out, long and black-clawed fingers  wrapping around the Evil Queen’s throat.  She coughed, but continued to meet his eyes fearlessly.  “Are you so sure about that, _dearie_?”

“Otherwise, you would have tried long ago, Rumple, dearest,” she replied, reaching up and pushing his hand away from her throat.  He let her, fuming, hating the fact that she was right.

But Regina would never cast his curse. She loved too strongly.  And Zelena…Zelena’s own special brand of madness made her even more dangerous than her mother.  Even if it hadn’t, the fact that Zelena would need _his_ heart to cast the Dark Curse took her right out of the running.  He _did_ need this despicable woman.

“You disgust me,” he whispered, grief over the loss of his son rearing up again to crush what little remained of his soul.  Cora didn’t deserve either of her daughters…but he _would_ use her to get his son back.

“You’ve always known what I am,” Cora answered, rising gracefully.  Looking at the cold and unfeeling expression on her face poured cold water over his fury, but fortunately his curse surged up to fill the gap.  Cora, however, continued before he could say anything else.  “Don’t look so surprised.”

“Oh, _that’s_ not what’s surprising me,” the Dark One chortled, his voice jumping upwards several pitches.  He needed a target, needed someone on which to take out his pain.  “What’s surprising me is that you’re sitting here accepting defeat so…calmly.”

_That_ made fury leap into her eyes, and Cora bared her teeth at him in fury.  “I have not lost,” she snapped.  “Not yet.  This is merely a setback.  Victory _will_ be mine.”

“Of course it will, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin danced down from the dais, giggling and then twisting to face Cora again.  Now he waved both hands, encompassing the vast and empty throne room with the gesture.  “You’re doing so well for yourself, after all.”

“I will have my vengeance,” the Evil Queen retorted.  “Just you wait.”

“I will be,” he promised, grinning.  Oh, she was close.  One more major defeat, and Cora would play right into his hands, and _that_ was the moment in which Rumplestiltskin would find his own revenge.  Not now.  Now he would pull his anger down from a raging boil, would let it simmer quietly in the shadows.  He would not forget this, but Rumplestiltskin could wait.  His fury might burn hot, and his curse might demand blood, but he was patient.

Unlike Cora.  _She_ would make at least one more disastrous attempt to kill her stepdaughter, and then he would give her the curse.  _Not much longer, Bae.  I’m coming, son._

* * *

 

Regina was surprised to find Mary Margaret there when she got home, but she was _not_ surprised to find that Henry quickly found an excuse to head upstairs and leave them to talk.  On one hand, she was grateful for that, because any chance to talk to her sister was welcome.  On the other, however, Regina devotedly wished that Henry would have stayed, because she didn’t always know what to say to this woman who looked like her sister but wasn’t.  Every now and then, she could see Snow peeking through the timid cursed facade, but the rest of the time, this was just Mary Margaret.  It was easier to deal with the younger woman when David was around, because the two of them were so deeply in love that they _seemed_ like Snow and Charming.  But one on one, seeing her sister was hard.

So, she got a little lost for words after they’d exchanged greetings and empty pleasantries.  Regina wished she could just somehow shock her sister into waking up, but she understood enough about the Dark Curse to know that wouldn’t happen until Emma got off her ass and broke the damn thing.  _Damn you both,_ she thought at Snow, wishing her sister could hear it.  _Your daughter is as stubborn as you are!_

“David is worried about you,” Mary Margaret said so bluntly that for a moment, Regina actually thought she _might_ be awake.  But she shook herself free of that ridiculous hope to answer:

“I know.  We talked this afternoon.  We had lunch.”

A flicker of worry crossed Mary Margaret’s beautiful face, a bit of self-doubt that was definitely _not_ Snow White.  “Oh,” she said in a small voice.  “I just wanted to help.  I…”

She trailed off, and Regina fought back the urge to hug her.  That probably wouldn’t be welcome, but she wanted her sister back!

“Don’t read too much into that.  I brought him a bag of grease from Granny’s and suggested that we get divorced,” she said dryly, expecting Mary Margaret to jump on that one eagerly. 

“Isn’t that dangerous?” her (cursed) sister replied immediately, again surprising Regina.  “I mean, your mother is, uh…”

“An obsessive control freak bitch?” Regina supplied, and shockingly, Mary Margaret laughed.

“I was going to point out that she seems to want the two of you to be married.  And if this curse of Henry’s is actually real…well, we shouldn’t have to wait long before things change, should we?”

For a long moment, Regina could only stare.  This _wasn’t_ Mary Margaret talking, not really.  This was pure Snow.  The woman in front of her had Snow’s bearing, Snow’s confidence, and Snow’s belief that everything would turn out all right in the end.  This was her _sister_ , and Regina wanted to cry from relief or hug Snow and demand to know what the hell had taken her so long.  She almost did both, only stopping herself with an effort.  Snow might be shining through, but the surface memories still belonged to Mary Margaret Blanchard, and that was problematic.

“Do you really believe in the curse?” she had to ask.

Mary Margaret shrugged. “Nothing else makes sense.  And maybe…maybe I just want to believe in the possibility of a happy ending.  It’s been to long since anyone in this town has been truly happy, and I think we all deserve better.”

“You really do sound like yourself,” Regina blurted out before she thought better of it.

“Like Snow White, you mean?” Mary Margaret laughed.

Oh, right.  Emma and Henry were the only ones who knew that Regina remembered—well, and her mother and Rumple, but that didn’t count.  David did, too, come to think of it, but he obviously hadn’t told that bit to Mary Margaret.  _Interesting._   _He really_ is _growing more sly,_ she thought with amusement.  _I guess I am wearing off on him._

“Like you do in the book,” she said quickly, but fortunately, Snow’s sometimes-suspicious mind was apparently not winning out over  Mary Margaret’s trusting nature at the moment.

“Right,” her (almost) sister replied.  “Anyway, it’s weird, but…I’m really starting to think that Henry might be right about this.  Will you call me crazy if I say that I think I’m starting to understand birds?”

“Not at all,” Regina snorted.  Snow’s constant conversations with birds had been _so_ annoying when her sister was in her early teens; Snow wanted to talk to _all_ of them, _all_ the time, and Regina had just wanted to go riding without stopping at every birds’ nest!  But she’d take that, now, just to have Snow back.  “I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“Well, I’m glad one of us doesn’t!” Mary Margaret quipped, and Regina found herself laughing with her sister for the first time in a lifetime.  It felt nice, it felt _real_ , and Regina really started to believe that she could have her family back when this was all over.

_And maybe this time,_ she thought desperately, _I won’t be responsible for tearing us apart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay! Real life and all that happened. Stay tuned for Chapter 53: “Love Unconditional”, where Regina shows Emma and Henry magic (and throws a huge curveball at Emma), Emma goes to the hospital again, and we visit an old friend in New York. Back in the past, Baelfire runs into trouble.
> 
> In the meantime, don’t be afraid to drop me a line. The sneak peek will be up on tumblr soon!


	53. Love Unconditional

Knowing that his mother was a sorceress was not exactly the same thing as seeing her do magic.  Seeing it was _so_ much cooler, and Henry had had to pinch himself a couple of times to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming.  After all, he’d spent months and months reading about magic and fairytales.  Henry _knew_ that they were real, but seeing actual magic wasn’t exactly what he’d expected to be doing this morning.  Regina had made him breakfast at the normal time for a Saturday, but she’d shooed David out the door with unusual haste, saying something about how Mary Margaret was expecting him.  Under normal circumstances, that would have excited Henry—he was _so_ glad to see his grandparents getting together, curse or no curse!—but today, something seemed a little bit off.

And then Regina told him to brace himself right before her hands started glowing with a strange white light.

“Is that _magic_?” Henry asked, his eyes going wide.

His adopted mother nodded.  “Yes, it is.  And I’m going to use it to protect you from my mother.  If that’s all right with you?”

“Um, yeah, sure, but…I thought that there was no magic here?” Confusion made him frown; not lack of trust in Regina.  She’d never let him down, and Henry knew that she’d protect him against anyone and everyone.  But Henry had grown up in this world, knew everything that a ten year old could know about it, and he knew that his Book called it the Land Without Magic for a reason. 

“That changed a few days ago,” Regina admitted with a shrug.  “Don’t ask me how, because I don’t know.  But there is magic here now.”  His mother’s hands stopped glowing, and she flicked the fingers on her right hand, conjuring up a fireball that glowed and burned brightly within her palm.  Instinct made Henry jump back, but then he turned to study the fireball when his mother grinned. 

“That’s so cool!”

His mother laughed.  “Isn’t it?”

“How do you do that?” Henry asked, still watching the fireball in fascination.

“Magic is emotion,” Regina explained.  “Once you know how to summon the right emotions, you channel them to do the magic you want.”

“Is it really that simple?”

“Not quite,” she admitted, closing her hand and extinguishing the fireball.  “Maybe I’ll show you more when you’re older.”

“Mom, I’m _ten_ ,” he retorted.  “Not two.  I’m old enough to know lots of things.”

“Not this,” Regina replied, shaking her head.  “Magic is…well, it’s the kind of thing that you’ll have to wait to learn about until you’re a bit older.  But we’re getting a bit off-topic here, aren’t we?”

Henry sighed.  “I guess so,” he said.  “You said something about protective spells?  What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to make sure that if anyone attacks you with magic—anyone at all—it will teleport you to where I am.  Along with giving you some basic shields.  They won’t last long, but they _will_ hold long enough to get you to me,” she explained.  “Understand?”

“I think so,” Henry nodded.  “Pretty much, your magic will keep me safe, and then teleport me to you.  Like _Star Trek?_ ”

“Yeah, like _Star Trek_ ,” the mother whom Henry had conned into sitting through that show with him laughed.  “You ready?”

“Sure.”

Henry didn’t know what he had been expecting, but the subtle white glow between his mother’s palms was not it.  Regina ran her hands over his heart, holding them just a few inches away from his chest.  A chill ran down Henry’s spine, and he _thought_ that he felt some sort of power racing through his body.  Maybe it was his imagination, or maybe there really _was_ something to feel.  Either way, Henry could hardly contain his excitement.  This was magic, actual magic, here in Storybrooke.  And his mother was a sorceress!  Wide eyed, he watched her, felt the spells sinking in and—

“What are you _doing_?” Emma’s voice suddenly intruded, and Regina jerked back, the magic in her hands fizzling and dying.

“What the hell are _you_ doing here?” Henry’s adopted mother demanded, wheeling to face the other woman.

“Hiya, Emma,” Henry piped up, trying to break the sudden tension between his two moms.  He loved them both, albeit in very different ways, but he wasn’t blind to the way that they sometimes mixed like…well, oil and fireballs.  His birth mother gave him a strained smile.

“Hi, kid.”  Emma swung back to face Regina.  “Tell me your hands weren’t glowing.”

“Do you want me to lie to you?” Regina countered, giving her a droll look.

“No.  Of course not.”

Regina shrugged, and Henry could read the _why not?_ in her expression.  “All right, then.  It was magic.”

“Give me a break,” the sheriff retorted, rolling her eyes.  “I know you talk like you believe this fairytale stuff, but—”

“It’s _real_ , Emma,” Henry interjected before Regina could say something nasty. He could see his mom losing patience, and knew that if someone didn’t convince Emma soon, Regina might just strange her.  “You _have_ to believe now that there’s magic in Storybrooke.”

“Look, there’s no such thing as magic in this world,” was her immediate response.  “Even if the curse was real—and I’m not saying it is—this is supposed to be the Land Without Magic, right?  To me that sounds like there’s no magic here.”

“That was true right up until someone brought magic here,” Regina said.

“Who?” Henry asked, hoping that his mother would answer that question now that Emma was around.

“That’s not really important,” Regina replied, but Emma was obviously interested now, too.

“How _could_ you do that, anyway?” Emma asked.  “If there’s not supposed to be magic here, and suddenly there is…?”

Ringing interrupted their conversation before anyone could respond, and Regina yanked her phone out of her pocket.  She looked at the number calling, and then glanced up at Emma speculatively.  “I’m putting this on speaker,” she said, putting the phone down on the coffee table where they could all hear what was said.  “It’s Gold.  Don’t say a word.”

Surprised, Henry exchanged a look with Emma, but his birth mother shrugged.  Meanwhile, Regina answered rather normally, leaning over the phone to say:

“What do you want, Gold?  Aren’t you still in the hospital?”

“It took you long enough to pick up the phone, dearie,” the caustic voice said from the speakerphone.  “I was starting to think that your dear mother had managed to frighten you yet again.”

“That’s not nearly as amusing as you seem to think it is,” Regina snapped.

“No, it isn’t amusing at all,” Gold replied coolly, and Henry thought that he was sounding awfully healthy for someone who everyone had said was in horrible shape.  _Didn’t Tony and Mr. French beat him so badly that the kids at school are saying Mr. Gold will never walk again?_   “Nor is the fact that our beloved mayor was just in to see me.”

Regina snorted, and Henry had never heard his mother sounding quite so viciously satisfied.  “I take it that you’re in better shape than she hoped?”

“Entirely,” Mr. Gold said dryly.  “But that’s not the interesting bit.  What _is_ terribly interesting is that your mother admitted to me that she’s having problems accessing her magic.”

“She did?” Henry was glad that his mother was gaping, too, because he certainly was.  “She _admitted_ that?”

“In the midst of demanding I tell her how to fix it, yes.”

“Did you?” Regina demanded.

The chuckle from the other end of the phone was so cold blooded that it made Henry shiver.  “Do you take me for a fool?  Of course not.  I take it that your magic is working just fine?”

“Shouldn’t it be?”

“Magic here is based on love.  True Love, in fact.  That tends to give your beloved mother…problems,” Gold replied, sounding satisfied.  “You, however, have no such problems.”

“Nor you, from what she tells me,” Henry’s mother shot back, but she actually sounded a bit pleased.

“We are what we are, m’dear,” Gold replied, an odd pitch to his voice.  Then his tone grew hard with what was obviously a warning.  “You have a head start.  Don’t waste it.”

“I won’t,” Regina promised, but before she had a chance to say more, the call ended with a click.  Henry’s mother shot the phone a glare, but she didn’t look surprised at all.  “Damn you,” she whispered, seeming to forget her audience for a moment.

“What was that about?” Emma asked curiously, but Henry felt like she was several steps behind.  As usual.  So, he cut in before Regina could answer.

“Mr. Gold can use magic?  He _knows_?”

“Of course he does.  That’s not the point,” Regina shrugged impatiently.  “Didn’t you hear?  Both of you?  My mother’s not able to use magic right now.  That gives us an advantage.”

“Wait a minute,” Emma said forcefully, holding up a hand.  “I’m still stuck on the whole magic thing.”

Henry groaned.  “Emma…”

“Here, can you believe _this_?” his mother snapped, and suddenly there was a fireball in her right hand, which was waving rather close to Emma’s face.  Henry grinned, but Emma’s eyes went wide as she leaned away.  She stared in silence for several long moments, and then cleared her throat noisily.

“Tell me that’s some kind of magic trick.”

“Well, it’s magic, anyway,” Regina replied, rolling her eyes.  She tossed the fireball from her right hand to her left, and Emma only stared harder.  Henry frowned at his own thought.  Was that even possible?

“I’m not...I’m not sure what to say to that,” Emma finally said slowly, still gaping at the fireball.  “Are you _really_ in control of that thing?”

“I’m not going to burn down my house, if that’s what you mean.”

“I, uh, need to go.  I’ll come back later, okay?”the sheriff said after a moment, never taking her eyes off of the fireball until Regina extinguished it.  Her voice was small as she turned to Henry.  “Is that okay, kiddo?”

“Yeah, sure.”  He’d been supposed to spend the afternoon with Emma, but, well, he could get that she obviously needed a little time to figure things out.  _He_ already believed, but Emma was having a tough time embracing the curse, which must have made Regina using magic really hard to throw her for a loop. 

Emma fled, and Henry exchanged a look with his adopted mother.  Yeah, this was going to take a little while.

* * *

 

_More than 200 Years Before the Curse_

He knew that he shouldn’t have snuck out to play with his old friends, but his papa was being paranoid.  Wasn’t he?  Ever since his father had become the Dark One, Baelfire had felt increasingly trapped.  He _wanted_ to find his papa in the demon that seemed to have taken over Rumplestiltskin, but doing so got harder every day.  There were moments when his father was normal, sounding almost like himself—even without that terrible high-pitched voice he adopted sometimes—and then there were moments when he was utterly terrifying.  Bae knew that his papa would never hurt _him_ , but he’d started hurting others all the time.  And that was really starting to scare the boy who had once loved his father more than anyone in the world.

Maybe that was why he’d started disobeying his papa.  He’d never really done that before, had always done what his father asked, but now Baelfire could no longer obey without question.  Now he wanted a better life than being stuck in that hovel, luxurious though it had become.  He wanted his friends back, wanted his old life back…even if he knew that was never going to happen.

So, Bae took his ball out and went to play with the other children, most of whom had recently returned from the war.  Some of them, like Morraine, were grateful to his father for ending the horrible war with the ogres, but the others were just terrified of him.  Most of them didn’t hold that against Bae, fortunately, but some of the other boys were starting to look at him strangely.  He tried to ignore that, really, he did, even when he was pretty sure that Hugh and Ralf were talking about him when their heads bent together where they stood off to the side, pretending they were too good for the game the others were playing.

“Don’t mind them,” Morraine told him with a smile as the teens paused between games.  “They’re just jealous.”

Bae turned to stare at her incredulously.  “Of what?  _Their_ fathers didn’t suddenly go mad with power.”

“I don’t think he’s mad,” Morraine shrugged.  “And that’s not what they’re envious of, anyway.  They want the new clothes you’ve gotten, and the money you two have now.  That’s all.”

“Sure, he’s not mad all the time.  Sometimes he’s okay.”  Bae sighed, and then admitted: “That’s what makes it even worse.”

Morraine gave him a sad smile.  “I know.  But it’s going to get better, I’m sure.  Things’ll even out.”

“Over there!” Ralph’s voice carried, and when Bae turned, the butcher’s son was pointing right at them.  “That’s him.”

Four knights—real knights, with horses and everything—started walking towards Bae and Morraine after Hugh confirmed whatever it was Ralph had told them, and Bae felt himself tense.  What did _they_ want?  Didn’t the knights know that they were no match for Baelfire’s papa these days?  Rumplestiltskin had killed Hordor and a bunch of men at arms without so much as using any magic, and now that he was starting to summon more and more magic, he was even more dangerous.  Bae knew that better than anyone.  But the knights were still striding in his direction like they wanted something, and before he knew it, the first two had stopped in front of Bae and Morraine while the second pair walked around them.

Too late, Bae realized that the second pair were now behind them and now there was no way to escape.  Squaring his shoulders, he looked at the two knights who had stopped just an arm’s reach away and asked: “Can I help you?”

“You are the new Dark One’s boy,” the one on the right said.  He was the taller of the two, with dark hair and eyes, and a look that reminded Bae of someone he’d seen long ago.

“I’m not hearing a question,” he said, shifting uneasily and crossing his arms.  Bae knew that he shouldn’t mouth off to knights, but what could they do to him?  If they tried to lay a hand on him, his papa would rip them apart.

_I guess there are some good things about having him gone all crazy dangerous sorcerer,_ the teen thought, trying not to frown.  He didn’t _want_ his father to have to protect him like that, but he supposed that it was good that he could.  Wasn’t it?

“Are you?” the shorter knight demanded, his red beard screwing up into odd shapes as he scowled.

“Yeah.  So?”

“Then we’re taking you to the Duke,” the first knight replied, and Bae snorted.

“My father will—”

Morraine’s sudden cry cut him off, and then something hard hit him in the back of the skull and everything went black.

* * *

 

_New York, New York_

The Duke’s men had locked him up in a small cell and yes, eventually, his father had come.  The resulting bloodbath was enough to give him nightmares for years, even in Neverland.  Screams echoed through the castle’s hallways, and no matter how tightly Baelfire pressed his hands over his ears—

Neal Cassidy jerked awake, the screeching of his alarm merging with the screams in his dreams and making him flail helplessly.  His third swipe finally made contact with the clock, and although it took two tries to find the right switch, he finally managed to turn the alarm off.  Breathing hard, he sat up in bed, his legs tangled up in the covers and trapping him there.  He found senselessly for a moment before he managed to remember where he was.  And _who_ he was.  He wasn’t that boy any longer.  Wasn’t a helpless peasant whose father had been consumed by an evil demon.  He was Neal Cassidy now, not Baelfire of the Frontlands.  Baelfire was long dead.

And Neal Cassidy had no family.  Neal Cassidy was a loner, and had left behind anyone and everyone he had ever cared about.  Even the woman he loved.  Squeezing his eyes shut, Neal tried to shove that thought out of his mind, but it wouldn’t go away.  He’d walked away from Emma out of fear and cowardice, becoming just like the father who he had despised so much for so long.  But he was too wigged out by emotion and lack of sleep to lie to himself.  _I did exactly the same thing Papa did when he let me go, didn’t I?  August told me he knew who I was and about the curse, and I ran away from Emma just like the coward I always swore I’d never be._

He’d hated his father so much for letting him go for so long that those emotions had become part of the foundation that created Neal Cassidy.  _Baelfire_ had loved his father too much to hate him with such passion, but Neal Cassidy could hate.  And did.  He’d tried so hard to forget about the good times, to forget about the home and the father he had once loved.  He’d even managed to create a new personality for himself, a new life in which he could put the past behind himself and never, ever think of it.  And then he’d turned out to be a coward.  Just like his father.

_Did he feel this terrible for letting me go?_ Neal wondered, swallowing back pain that he hadn’t let himself feel since he’d escaped Neverland.  Back then, he’d dreamt of his papa—demon and all—coming to rescue him.  Now…now he knew better.  Neal hadn’t even thought of his father in years.  Why was he dreaming about him now?

“It’s just a damn nightmare,” he whispered, hauling himself out of bed and out of the mess of sheets and blankets.  Neal stared blankly at the destruction he’d wrought for several moments before shrugging and walking into his studio’s small kitchenette.  Opening the fridge, he pulled out the first bottle his hand landed on, realizing too late that it was a half-drunk bottle of beer.  And flat.

“Ick!”  Spitting the beer out in the sink—and then dumping the rest of it out—Neal headed back to the fridge and finally found a carton of orange juice that was miraculously unexpired.  Taking a swig from the carton to kill the stale taste in his mouth, he let himself lean tiredly against the counter.

After a few moments, he realized that he was staring blankly at the carton in his hand and remembering far too much.  He’d been wrong, he knew, when he’d thought that his father didn’t exist underneath the demon.  His papa had been under there, just very hard to find.  And maybe he hadn’t meant to let him go, either…just like Neal hadn’t really meant to let Emma go.  He’d just been afraid.

“Awake already?” a voice said as his apartment door opened, and Neal stumbled around to face Tamara’s smile.  “After how much you drank last night, I was sure you’d be out until noon.”

“Oh.  Um, hi,” he said awkwardly, looking at his girlfriend of two months and wondering why he kept thinking of Emma when he looked at the woman he was supposed to be falling in love with.  Tamara was a great girl; beautiful, smart, and she really seemed to dig him.  What was not to love? 

But she wasn’t Emma, and apparently that meant a lot this morning.

“Cat got your tongue?” Tamara teased him, stepping forward to punch him playfully in the arm.

“No, I, uh, just woke up,” Neal admitted, trying a sheepish smile on for size.  “I must have set my alarm by accident.”

Tamara laughed.  “Then how about I take you out for breakfast instead?”  She sniffed him briefly.  “After a shower.”

“Right.”  A shower was a good idea, so he stumbled in that direction.  Oddly enough, he didn’t feel very hungover.  He felt more like he used to back in Neverland, when Felix had managed to slip one of those odd hallucinogenic plants into everyone’s food.  Then he and Pan had—

_Don’t think of that now!_   Shaking his head, Neal fled from the memories and into the bathroom.  A shower would give him a chance to wipe away the memories of everything he had lost, from Emma to his father to a life that he _didn’t_ miss one bit.  He didn’t need to think of what had happened when his father had rescued him from the Duke of the Frontlands, didn’t need to think about the way things had been when they’d been good.  He didn’t need to think about Emma, either, because August had said that she was off in that cursed town, whatever it was called ( _Storybrooke,_ his memory supplied not-so-helpfully).  Neal was sure that she was off doing whatever it was that had to be done, and he was sure she’d found someone.  _Someone better than me, I’m sure._

She had to be happy by now, didn’t she?  Emma deserved happiness, even if he didn’t.  


* * *

 

_More than 200 Years Before the Curse_

The grinning knight who brought him the Duke’s summons was already dead.  Rumplestiltskin had ripped his still-beating heart out of his chest (a feat he hadn’t known he could accomplish until the curse told him so) and crushed it into dust while the fool watched.  The knight had been gloating, had gleefully told Rumplestiltskin exactly what the Duke planned, and there was no reason to let him live.  In fact, his curse rather demanded the knight’s death in exchange for its assistance, so the new Dark One fed it willingly.  He had already learned from Zoso’s last words that all magic _did_ indeed come with a price, particularly that which his curse provided instruction in.  He didn’t know magic, couldn’t properly use his power without the curse’s guidance, and Rumplestiltskin was already beginning to realize that he had to appease the curse in order to keep it cooperating.

Besides, the laughing knight had deserved death.  He’d told Rumplestiltskin that the Duke wanted to hurt Baelfire, that the Duke _would_ harm Bae unless Rumplestiltskin turned the kris dagger over to him.  The red bearded knight had even looked happy about that, which meant Rumplestiltskin had felt nothing but vicious anger when he crushed his heart, even if he hadn’t quite meant to do that.  Or at least not so soon. 

Staring at his fingers, Rumplestiltskin slowly wiggled them to let the remnants of the dust fall away.  Killing like that was easy.  _There are other ways as well,_ the curse promised him.  _Just as easy, just as fast.  Or slower ones, methods where you can make your enemies suffer.  I will show you._   Blinking, Rumplestiltskin nodded, and then realized what a fool he must look like, standing on his doorstep with a body and nodding to himself.  Neighbors were staring, but what would they do to him?  What _could_ they do? 

None of them could touch him, even the Duke.  He was more powerful than any of them, and he would make sure they knew that.  Rumplestiltskin might have only been the Dark One for less than two months, but he had already ended the war with the ogres and he had brought the children home.  He had eliminated Hordor and his bully boys, and he had done countless other things.  _No one_ could stop him, and it was easy to disintegrate the laughing knight’s body with a wave of his hand.  Who cared if they were staring?  Let them stare and shake.   Rumplestiltskin was powerless no longer.  Now _he_ had the power, and he would use it to do whatever he wanted to do.  

_Bae,_ the soft memory of the spinner reminded him, and worry made his heart clench.  The Duke had Bae. He had to go there.

But how?

_Let him keep the boy,_ his curse whispered seductively _.  The boy is a danger to you, and—_

“No!”  The objection came out verbally, and Rumplestiltskin shoved the voice inside his mind aside with all the force he could muster.  He had to rescue his son.  He had to get there quickly, and there had to be a way.  How else could Zoso have always appeared when others were talking about him?  Rumplestiltskin did not know how to ride a horse, but there had to be a magical way.

_Teleportation,_ the demon provided.  The price was left unspoken, but Rumplestiltskin could already feel his rage rising.  He couldn’t differentiate between his own anger and the constant fury of the curse, not yet, but right now that didn’t matter.  The Duke—and his men, undoubtedly—had taken Baelfire.  He would make them pay.  He would make them _suffer_.

He’d barely finished that thought when he found himself standing in the great hall of the largest castle in the Frontlands.  The Duke was no minor lord; he was the independent ruler of the largest duchy in the entire Enchanted Forest.  He had lords who owed allegiance to him, like the old and harmless knight who supposedly ran Rumplestiltskin’s own home town.  No, the Duke of the Frontlands was all but a king inside and outside his own domain, and he had made himself even more powerful by controlling Zoso.  _But not me,_ Rumplestiltskin thought with a nasty smile.  The curse sped up his physical reflexes, but he’d always been sharp mentally, which meant he recovered quickly and spun to face the fat little man sitting in a chair on the dais.  He was dressed gaudily, expensively, all in golds and greens, the colors of the Frontlands.

_We’ll make that gold and blood, dearie,_ either he or his curse thought, gleefully bloodthirsty.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” Rumplestiltskin inquired, his voice high-pitched and nasty as he prowled forward.  The duke sat up straight very suddenly, obviously not having expected the Dark One to invade his private audience chamber without warning.

“You—you cannot be in here!” some herald or another yelped.  Rumplestiltskin silenced him with a wave of one hand, not knowing what magic would jet out of his fingers but certain that it would be something helpful.

Blood spurted out of the herald’s throat as if his jugular had been cut with a knife, and Rumplestiltskin found himself giggling a little madly.  His curse loved open ended things like that.  He must remember not to give it such opportunities.  He’d not been at this long, but Rumplestiltskin was already realizing that his curse would control him if he let it.  The herald collapsed into a heap before Rumplestiltskin even had a chance to complete that thought, however, so he would have to chalk it up as a lesson learned.

“Where. Is. My. Son?” he asked, speaking very slowly and giving the fat duke a chance to recover.  It worked, too; even as Rumplestiltskin stopped in front of the high-backed chair that the duke sat in, his noble overlord seemed to get a hold of himself.

“Very safe,” the duke replied with a sneer.  “I’m glad you received my invitation, Dark One.”

“Ooooh, I received it.  I hope you weren’t counting on the return of your messenger,” he said, just to watch the duke’s reaction.

Rumplestiltskin found himself more than a little disappointed by the slight shrug the duke offered.  “Not particularly,” was the easy response, although the duke was watching him with wary eyes.  “It is time we spoke.  Would you like to sit down?”

“I would _like_ to see my son,” Rumplestiltskin snarled, waving away the terrified servant who started to approach with a chair. _Kill that one as an example,_ his curse whispered, but Rumplestiltskin managed to push that aside with an effort.  The servant was obviously a peasant, born and bred, who probably worked in the castle for a pittance.  Rumplestiltskin would not harm someone like that.  He still remembered being a peasant.

“In good time.”

His hand snaked out, almost on its own, to wrap around the fat noble’s neck.  A dull _thud_ sounded as the Duke of the Frontlands’ head slammed against the back of his decorative chair.  “Now!”

“There’s no need to get worked up,” the duke managed to say despite the way Rumplestiltskin was squeezing his neck.  His next words came out in a squeak.  “If you kill me, the boy dies.”

_Then kill him slowly,_ the curse argued persuasively.  Rumplestiltskin considered that for a moment before he came to his senses.  He could not risk Bae.  Not for anything.  With an effort, he forced his fingers to loosen, but did not step back from the duke.  Not one inch.  Nor did he let go.

“Tell your little puppets to bring my son here, _now_ , or I will show you exactly how much pain the human body can suffer,” he hissed, the threat coming courtesy of his curse, but it wasn’t exactly something Rumplestiltskin minded.  Even if he hadn’t planned to say it.

“Very well,” the duke replied.  Although his voice was calm, the frantic gesture he made to one of the guards was not, and two men at arms scurried out of the room to obey his command.  Rumplestiltskin smiled, shoving already rotting teeth in the little noble’s face and watching the duke cringe.  But he did finally let go of the duke’s throat, which made the noble continue: “Now we must speak of the terms upon which you will get your son back.”

“The only terms I’m offering you, dearie, are your life,” Rumplestiltskin retorted immediately, but the duke laughed.

“You have something that belongs to me,” he pointed out coolly, reaching down to straighten his doublet.  “You may have stolen it, but like your predecessor, you owe me allegiance as your lord.  I will have the dagger back, and then you may have your son.”

_Give him the dagger and you will be his slave,_ the curse warned him needlessly.  Rumplestiltskin already knew that, and he could feel rage whipping through his bones at the very thought.  He’d been beaten down enough as the poor spinner, as the town coward.  He would not become the slave of this rich little turd, not when he had power.  _The boy is unimportant.  Protect the dagger!_

_No!_   Rumplestiltskin could protect both.  He knew he could.  Channeling his rage against his own curse’s demands to kill the duke now and sacrifice his beloved son, he flicked the fingers of his right hand out, acting as much on his own desires as on the curse’s suggestions.  Bones in the duke’s right leg began to shatter, starting at the ankle and working upwards, making the arrogant noble scream in pain.  With an effort, Rumplestiltskin jerked the magic to a stop after it broke the first four bones; he would let it finish later.

“I don’t think I’ll play that game,” he said airily.  “Instead, you’ll play _mine_.  If my son is harmed in any way, I’ll inflict that harm upon you.  Bit by painful bit.  Do you understand me, dearie?”

Panting breathlessly, the duke nodded, his eyes wide as he suddenly seemed to realize that Rumplestiltskin was utterly uncontrollable.  _Kill him now,_ the curse whispered, and Rumplestiltskin almost obeyed its quiet power without thought.  Barely stopping himself in time—his fingers were inches from the duke’s lace and jewel-clad chest—he jumped away from the arrogant little noble with a snarl.  He needed to watch the door, anyway.  Needed to make sure that the idiot knights brought Baelfire, that Bae was safe.  He had to keep Bae safe.  That was why he’d done everything he’d done, wasn’t it?  For his son.  _For Bae._   Thinking of his son let Rumplestiltskin push a little of the rage back, let him regain a little of his senses.  _I’m here to save Bae.  Not to enjoy hurting people._

_But you do,_ the curse told him, digging hooks even deeper into his soul.  _You_ do _like hurting them.  You like this power.  They can’t control you, and that is_ exactly _what you always wanted.  Freedom.  Power.  You can do whatever you like._

“Dark One, I—” the duke started to say.

“I have a _name_ ,” Rumplestiltskin cut him off, ice suddenly stabbing into his veins.  Was that all they saw him as?  Was that all he _was_ now?

“I—I—”  Helplessly, the duke looked at his advisors, but they were too busy cowering to assist.  Suddenly, Rumplestiltskin realized that the duke had no idea what his name was, who he had been, or what his history was.  The noble little pimple just knew that Rumplestiltskin was the new Dark One, and he didn’t care about the rest. 

“Do you even know the name of the boy you’re threatening?” Rumplestiltskin asked, wheeling back to face his supposed overlord, his voice going low and dangerous.  The imp was gone, now, or at least banished to the back of his mind.  Now he was a father, plain and simple, and his fury was suddenly his own.

Still pale and gasping in pain, the duke tried what he probably thought of as reason.  “You have responsibilities.  You obviously do not understand the power you have, or what it can do.  I can guide you, can give you purpose, and—”

“You’re right,” Rumplestiltskin cut him off again, a cold shiver of realization rolling through his body.  “I don’t understand this power.  But I will.”

“Please, Dark One…”

_“My name is Rumplestiltskin!”_ he thundered, magic leaping from his hands to whip around the room in a sudden whirlwind, tearing tapestries off of the walls and making the rafters shake.  Edges of ornate carpets began to burn, and the shelves on the wall started to smolder.  The floor was beginning to vibrate, ever so slightly, shaking underneath his feet as Rumplestiltskin’s fury built and built, growing to a point where it started to feed itself.  And he didn’t care.  He didn’t care about any of them, not the noble advisors cowering in the corner, the knights over by the suddenly shattered window, and particularly not the duke himself, who was panting in pain and looking so pathetically frightened.  Because they certainly didn’t care about him, and they could burn for all he cared.  His hands were shaking from the effort of keeping the murderous power inside, and why?  Why not let it out and let them all burn?

A small voice came from the doorway, dousing some of his rage.  “Papa?”

“Bae!”  Rumplestiltskin whirled to face his son, and then suddenly his magic _pulled_ and he was there, right by Bae’s side. 

He hadn’t meant to teleport, but it was a good thing that he had.  The knight to Baelfire’s left had drawn a dagger, and it was barely an inch away from the boy’s throat when Rumplestiltskin appeared in a cloud of black smoke.  _Kill him!_ the curse demanded joyfully, and Rumplestiltskin did not pause to think; his right hand shot into the knight’s chest, going straight through chain mail and yanking his heart out as the taller man screamed.  He crushed the heart before his hand was even fully free, wheeling to look at the other knight, who also had a weapon in hand and sought to threaten his son.

Later, Rumplestiltskin realized that the second knight was already backing away, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away from the infuriated Dark One.  At the time, he did not care.  Either the demon within him or his own rage demanded blood; the two were impossible to tell apart and _he did not care._   His left hand came up, his palm full of fire, and Rumplestiltskin flung the small fireball straight into the face of the dark haired knight.  Guided by his own sense of irony—because he remembered this man, remembered him from several beatings the poor spinner had received at the hands of his so-called betters—the fireball shot straight down the knight’s throat, burning his tongue away and then igniting inside him.  The room filled with the knight’s screams, until Rumplestiltskin snapped his left fist shut, silencing the man’s now-garbled attempts to scream without a tongue.

“Papa, stop!” Baelfire shouted, tugging on his right arm.  Instinct brought magic back to Rumplestiltskin’s left hand; there were several ways to silence the boy, not all of them temporary, and wouldn’t that be nice?  Or he could just kill him— _No!_   Turning to look into terrified brown eyes helped Rumplestiltskin throttle his rage back a little.  “Let’s go home,” Bae pleaded.

“Home,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, his head suddenly whirling like he was caught in the middle of a tornado.  Why was he dizzy?

_Kill them all.  Kill them all and you will feel better,_ his curse whispered, and without thinking, he sneered at the duke again, who was weeping over his shattered right leg.

_I could leave him a cripple,_ he thought, and that idea was all Rumplestiltskin.   It would serve the arrogant nobleman right—but no, he’d just find some healer to fix his problems, unlike a poor spinner who the generals had refused to even let the medics set his leg.  _That isn’t enough._   Was that last bit him, or the curse?  He could not tell.

“Papa?” Bae whispered again, pulling gently on his arm, anchoring him to reality.  Needing his boy, loving him so much that the curse made it hurt, Rumplestiltskin wrapped a protective arm around his son, pulling him close.

But there was something else he had to do first.

“Close your eyes, son.  You don’t want to see this,” Rumplestiltskin told Bae, and the brown eyes that had been watching him worriedly turned angry.

“You don’t have to hurt anyone else!  Haven’t you done enough?”

“No,” he whispered, his voice a hard hiss.  “They would have killed you.  _This_ arrogant little duke would have killed you, _all to control me_.”  The sing-song-y high pitch came back with the last phrase, and the duke squeaked in fear.  Rumplestiltskin giggled.

“But they can’t.  Can they?”  Now Bae looked worried.  Bless his heart.

“Oh, no.  No, they can’t, and they never will.”  His left hand came up again, and the duke screamed as his other leg began to shatter.  A snap of Rumplestiltskin’s fingers bound him down to the throne, and when two of the other knights finally started forward, a flick of his wrists sent them crashing back into the wall, one with a broken neck and one completely decapitated.  It was easy. Killing was so easy.  He had so much power.

“Papa, no—”

“Hush, Bae,” he cut his boy off, pulling Bae close so that he didn’t have to watch as the Dark One’s magic continued breaking every bone in the duke’s body.  After a few moments, he silenced him, too, but kept watching the noble jerk and twitch on his ornate throne.  Bae didn’t need to see that, but Rumplestiltskin wanted to.  And he wanted the shivering group of well-born advisors to see it, too, so that they could tell the others where the real power was.

_None of them can stop me,_ he thought, drunk on the power and unable to care.  Of course, when they went home, his son wanted to know why he’d killed so many, but Bae really was too young to understand that, wasn’t he?  Rumplestiltskin just wanted the power to protect him.  He had to protect his son.  Without Baelfire, he was nothing, and even his curse could not erase that.  It tried many times over the years to erase his love for his son, but never quite managed. 

Of course, it was the shock of losing Baelfire that finally taught him to control the rage and power tearing through him; by then, it was too late, but he learned to control his curse to a limited degree, learned to make it serve him instead of the other way around.  No longer did Rumplestiltskin kill without meaning to, and he learned that he really didn’t enjoy making people suffer—much though his curse _did_.  But as centuries passed, his grip became stronger, the power more his than the demon’s, and Rumplestiltskin slowly returned to a man almost like the one his son had once loved.

* * *

 

Something strange stirred in Chloe Zephyr as she watched Lacey French step into Mr. Gold’s hospital room again, something deep and angry.  The shelf to her right rattled ever so slightly, the boxes on it shifting left and right, but when she turned to look at it, no one had touched it.  _She_ certainly hadn’t, which made no sense at all.  Things didn’t move without someone touching them.  Or did they?  An odd part of Nurse Zephyr thought that if she could just harness her powers correctly, she _could_ make things move with only the power of her mind, but that was an utterly insane thought.  Telekinesis was a lie made up by people who wanted to look better than everyone around them, a product of science fiction and nothing more.

Yet there _was_ something there.  Something just out of her grasp and so close she could taste it.

* * *

 

Emma was only a little surprised to see that Lacey was visiting Gold again.  She never had quite figured out what was between those two, but as she watched them through the half-open door, she could see that there was _something_. Moe French had tried to send Emma after Gold before he’d attacked him, complete with tales of how Gold had to be abusing his daughter, but Lacey sure as hell didn’t look like the abused one, now.  In fact, she looked rather like the woman who had come to Emma and Mary Margaret saying that she’d convinced the fearsome Mr. Gold to buy out Mary Margaret’s debt.  The confidence in her face was the same from what Emma remembered that day, but there was something else, there, too.

And the smile Gold was wearing while Lacey held his hand was downright disturbing.  Not because he was frightening or in any way creepy, but because it was a _real_ smile, a genuine one that reached his eyes and everything.  It wasn’t something that Emma had ever seen on him, or expected to see, and it kind of weirded her out.  It made her think, yet again, about Renee’s mysterious parentage, and wonder exactly how long those two had been together, right underneath everyone’s noses.

“Renee will be happy to see you,” Lacey said, brushing hair out of Gold’s bruised face.  “And I’ll be glad to have you home.  It’s too quiet without you.”

“Oh, it’s too quiet without _me?_ ” Gold replied, laughing softly.  “And here I was thinking that my final night here will be the last peace and quiet I’ll have for a while.”

Lacey giggled.  “You know you love it.”

“I know I—” Abruptly, Gold’s expression changed, closing off as his eyes zeroed in on Emma where she stood by the half-open door.  “Sheriff Swan.  What can I do for you?”

The coldness in his eyes presented a remarkable contrast to the open warmth that had been there mere moments earlier, but Emma squared her shoulders and strode in.  “Hey,” she said as openly as she could, trying to pretend she hadn’t been watching the pair.  “Can I talk to you for a sec, Gold?”

“I appear to be a captive audience, dearie, so have at it,” he replied, back to his smooth and dangerous ways without missing a beat. 

“Actually, I was wondering if we might talk alone,” Emma replied, glancing at Lacey and trying not to be subtle.  The other woman met her eyes levelly, however, and after a moment, she rose with a nod. 

“I’ll go grab some lunch from Granny’s,” Lacey said to Gold, and Emma thought that he saw a slight softening in his eyes.  “And then I’ll sneak it past Whale, too.  Particularly since that clingy nurse Zephyr seems to have gone home for the day.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Gold said emotionlessly, and Lacey gave him a smile before leaving the sheriff alone with her…well, whatever he was.

Emma closed the door after Lacey stepped out, watching through the window until Lacey disappeared around a corner.  Then she turned back to face Gold and leaned against the wall.  He was looking awfully good for a man who had been beaten half to death a few days earlier.  In fact, he was looking _amazing_ for a patient who Whale had been so worried about, particularly in comparison to the last time Emma had talked to him.  Then, he’d been loopy and drugged up, and probably more honest than he wanted to be.  Now, he looked collected and controlled, not to mention a hell of a lot more coherent.  _Gold looks way better than he should, actually,_ Emma realized, frowning at the pawnbroker. 

“You’re looking mighty good for a guy who Whale thought might die five days ago,” she pointed out, thinking of the phone conversation that Regina had put on speaker the day before.  _Magic isn’t real,_ Emma told herself for the hundredth time.  _Whatever Regina did with that fireball was just some trick.  Wasn’t it?_

But there was Gold, looking worlds better than he had, and way healthier than he had any right to look, and if there wasn’t a logical explanation, maybe…?

“I’m fortunate enough to be a quick healer,” Gold replied flippantly, meeting her eyes without demonstrating any evidence that he might be lying.  “And it appears that my injuries were less severe than originally reported.”

“I bet they were,” Emma said slowly, pushing those thoughts from her mind.  “Anyway.  I’m here to talk to you about Moe French and Tony Rose.  You gave me enough of a statement to arrest them, but I need to make sure that you’re ready to testify.  The D.A. is preparing his case, but if you’re not willing to press charges…”

Immediately, Gold’s eyes flicked to the door Lacey had just walked out of, and wasn’t _that_ more considerate than she’d ever given him credit for being?  “I’m going to have to get back to you on that one, sheriff.  I...may simply opt for a civil suit instead.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Emma frowned.

“I have my reasons,” he snapped, and at least _that_ was vintage Gold.  Brown eyes met hers, narrowing coldly.  “I’ll answer your question when I’m good and ready.”

“Okay, then,” she retorted, pissed off by the sudden about face and goaded into saying more.  “Then tell me how the hell you’re so suddenly healed, huh?  Could it have something to do with _magic?_ ”

Emma hadn’t meant to bring that up, and she’d expected Gold to react with surprise.  Instead, he arched one eyebrow and glanced at her speculatively.  “Are we beginning to believe, Miss Swan?”

“Believe what exactly?”

“Well, that depends on what Regina told you, doesn’t it?” he drawled. 

That made Emma bristle, and she wished that she hadn’t brought the subject of magic up at all.  She didn’t believe, after all.  Did she?  Could she?  Regina wasn’t crazy, and Gold was a jerk, but not crazy, either.  If they believed…

It was madness.

“She put your last call on speaker,” Emma replied after a moment, not sure what to believe but certain that there had to be a punch line somewhere.  She’d been in this town for four months, now, and nothing except Henry’s explanation—backed up Regina—made sense.  Even August was singing this song, but he was an outsider, so maybe he didn’t count.  Still, it had been fairly easy to push that aside, though, until the least imaginative man in town turned out to be in on the joke.

“Did she now?” Anger flickered across his face, but Gold kept his outward calm rather admirably. 

“Yeah.  So, I got to listen to the two of you talking about magic,” she pointed out, not bothering to mention that Henry had, too.  There was no reason to bring the kid into this.  Not with Gold.

“Well, then the secret is out.  Shall I toss a fireball at you, or did Regina already demonstrate that particular talent?” he asked, his lips quirking into a cold smile.

“Got the fireball already, thanks.”  Snorting, Emma gestured at his bruised face and immobilized leg.  “What, magic can’t fix the rest of you up?  Or are you just not that good?”

Gold chuckled.  “Cora’s curse only fogs the mind so much, dear.  If I heal _too_ fast, Whale and the others will begin asking very inconvenient questions.”

“Great, so you believe in this curse, too?” she asked before she could stop herself.  _Way to not actually answer my questions, jackass._   She needed to ask Regina how powerful Gold was.  Or, no, actually she _didn’t_.  She didn’t believe in magic.  This wasn’t some fairytale!

Speaking of fairytales, who the hell was Gold supposed to be, anyway?  Henry thought he was the beast, but Emma was starting to think it wasn’t that simple.

“I did ask you for belief once.”

“You gonna cash in on that now?”

“Oh, no.  We’ve a ways yet before that’s necessary,” Gold replied.  “Now, if you don’t need anything else, Sheriff, I do believe that my favorite doctor is about to pay me a visit.  It wouldn’t do to arouse his suspicions, even if time is moving now.”

“I thought that the more people know, the weaker the curse gets,” Emma replied, genuinely curious about what this all-too-smart man would say in response to that.  It was one thing listening to Henry talk about a curse, and another to listen to Regina.  But Gold?  Gold talking about it nearly broke her brain.

“Ah, would that be Regina’s philosophy, or your boy’s?” he smiled again.  “I’m afraid that your dear step-aunt is a fan of the direct approach.  She believes in hammering away until something gives.  Not much subtlety in Regina.”

“Whereas you’re nothing but.”  She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation.

“The Dark Curse is a complicated creature, Miss Swan.  You’ve seen its affects, and although the curse _is_ weakening, it is also still plenty strong.  And as long as the curse remains intact, Cora holds all the power.  You cannot allow yourself to forget that, even if more people are acting against her as the curse deteriorates.”

“Even if I believe you—and I’m not saying I do—how the hell does it get broken, then?  What frees everyone from the curse?” Emma demanded.  She might be skeptical, and she was, but hell, there was no harm in asking, was there?

“Now that’s the question we’re all hoping you’ll answer for us, dear.”

Emma couldn’t help herself; a full-fledged snarl tore out of her.  “Oh, that’s freakin’ helpful.  Thanks a lot, Gold.”

He shrugged, but there was something in the way those brown eyes were watching her that set her teeth on edge.  And reminded her of someone, but now was _not_ the time to examine that insane thought.  Emma glared.

“Whose side are you on here, anyway?” she asked.

Gold smiled gain.  “My own, of course.”

“Again with the helpful.”  Emma felt like shaking him, and if she’d been a little more angry, she might have, just to watch him squirm.  Instead, she asked a question she was sure to annoy him.  “So, where does Lacey fall while you’re on your own side, then?”

“Lacey,” Gold growled, and _there_ was the anger she’d expected, “is in no danger from me.  Nor will she ever be.”

“Sure.  I’m really believing you on that one,” she shot back, but before Emma could say more, Whale walked in, looking between the two of them uneasily.

“Everything all right in here?” the doctor asked warily.

“Of course it is, Doctor,” Gold replied, his voice cool again and his eyes guarded.  The next sentence was directed straight at Emma.  “The Sheriff was just leaving, weren’t you?”

Part of her wanted to stay just to piss him off, but Emma had better things to do than talk to the town jackass.  “You bet I was,” she replied, and stalked out before Gold could annoy her further.

She didn’t believe in magic.  She _didn’t_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, do you think Emma’s finally coming around? Also, what do you think of Rumplestiltskin towards the beginning of his curse? I hope the contrast between him then and him now is fairly startling.
> 
> Next: Chapter 54: “Choosing Sides”, in which Belle and Rumplestiltskin discuss Moe and Tony’s fate, Cora makes a threat, and Belle visits her father in jail. Back in the past, Belle returns home to visit her father with surprising results.


	54. Choosing Sides

Belle came back in a few minutes after Emma and then Whale left, and her smile was enough to bring back his good humor.  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t angry, not exactly, after his conversation with Emma.  Frustration was a more proper word for how he felt; he’d said far more than he meant to, and the Savior _still_ didn’t believe.  He was beginning to understand Regina’s continual exasperation.  Her niece remained annoyingly skeptical, but Rumplestiltskin’s job was not to convince her of the truth.  Emma had Regina and Henry to do that for her, and if he knew his wife, Belle would probably want to throw her hat in that ring as well.  He’d try to stop her, of course.  Although Cora knew _he_ remembered, she knew nothing about Belle, and the longer Rumplestiltskin could keep the mayor in the dark where his family was concerned, the better.  He was also not about to come out and openly support Emma, particularly not where Cora might hear him do so.  Her caveats still had enough control over him to make him dangerous, and though Rumplestiltskin was fairly certain Cora would be wary of him now that there was magic, well, he wasn’t going to place any bets on that at the moment.  After all, learning he remembered hadn’t stopped her at all.

“You’ve got your plotting face on,” Belle chided him gently, taking his hand as she sat down on the bed next to him.

“Hm,” Rumplestiltskin snorted, and then gestured vaguely at the door.  “Our Savior remains the stubborn type.  Regina showed her magic, and still she doubts.”

“Well, you never did think this would be easy,” she reminded him, smiling slightly. 

“No, but I didn’t think it would be this _hard_ , either,” he complained, allowing himself to show something other than the perfectly controlled exterior he displayed for the world.  Even after so long married to Belle, Rumplestiltskin often had to remind himself to let her in, but she’d more than earned that over the years.

_Not to mention the way that she brought magic here to save my life,_ he thought to himself, squeezing her hand. 

“Poor Rumple,” Belle teased him with a smirk.  “Do you think you might have to do a little work to get what you want?  That’s so horrible!”

“Oh, shut up,” he groused, but he couldn’t help the smile that tugged on his lips.   Belle certainly knew how to charm him out of a temper.  “I love you,” he said instead of grouching further.

Her grin lit up the room.  “I know.”

Belle leaned in to kiss him, and for a moment, Rumplestiltskin wanted to take the coward’s way out and not discuss the matter Emma had brought up.  In fact, doing so would probably be smarter, and besides, it wasn’t like they had a lot of choices.  He didn’t need to bother Belle with this, after all.  She had enough to worry about already, particularly since both men in question still thought she was Lacey, and she was already stuck right in the middle of this mess.  The curse would probably be broken before any trials could actually be held, and—

A finger touched his nose lightly.  “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing important,” Rumplestiltskin answered too quickly, and now Belle frowned.  Frowning slightly, she cocked her head at him, giving him what Rumplestiltskin had always termed ‘the Look’ inside his own mind.

“Rumple.”

Sighing, he caved before she could get more upset.  Him being here in the hospital had been hard enough on her, and Rumplestiltskin _knew_ that the way his curse was whispering for him to keep his secrets secret meant that keeping his mouth shut was the wrong decision.  So, he admitted: “Miss Swan asked if I intended to press charges against your father and your former fiancé.”

“And?” Belle looked tense, and he knew why.  But that knowledge, or his love for her, still didn’t keep his voice from growing a little sharp.

“Well, I can’t very well not, sweetheart,” Rumplestiltskin snapped more peevishly than he intended to, hating the situation and the helplessness he had felt that he would never, _ever_ forget.  “And even if I could, I’m not feeling particularly charitable in their direction at the moment.  For obvious reasons.”

“I’m not saying they were right—” his wife started to object, but he cut her off viciously.

“I’d hope not,” he snarled.

“Rumple,” she repeated, blue eyes looking more worried than frustrated, but he couldn’t stop himself from pulling away when she reached for his hand, memories rolling nonstop through his mind.  Ever since he’d become the Dark One, no one had dared touch him like that, had dared lay a hand on him in such a brutal fashion.  Cora’s entirely-too-personal assaults were horrible enough to frighten him, but this last beating just _infuriated_ him, reminding him of the village coward he’d once been and how it felt to be absolutely helpless.  He _hated_ that feeling, had promised himself that he would never feel like that again once he had power.  Even without magic, even under the curse in Storybrooke, Mr. Gold had been far too powerful for anyone to touch him like that, until Moe French and Tony Rose had dared.

Raging inside, Rumplestiltskin ignored Belle’s attempts to reach out, staring stonily at the far wall and listening to his curse’s furious whispers.  _Kill them. They’ve invalidated your deal.  You promised safety from the ogres, not from your own justified vengeance._ Rumplestiltskin hadn’t burned with such personal and immediate rage like this for years.  Even what he felt towards Cora was a strategist’s fury; he knew he needed her, and could afford to leave her be for now.  She would pay later, and dearly at that.  But Moe and Tony were insignificant.  He didn’t need them, and with magic, he could kill them with the flick of a finger.  There wouldn’t even be any incriminating evidence to hide, and so what if Cora knew he had to be responsible?  She wouldn’t be able to prove it, and in this neat little world, proof meant everything.  _Just go ahead,_ his curse whispered, bringing up memories of older beatings, of Hordor and the others.  _Women don’t like being married to cowards,_ the soldier had said more than once.  _You know you want to_ , his curse added.

“Rumplestiltskin.”  This time, Belle managed to grab his right hand in her left, and her right hand gently touched his cheek until he turned to face her.

“You should press charges,” she said softly.  “I love my father, but he has no excuse for what he did.  Neither does Gaston.”  Leaning in, Belle kissed him very gently, and Rumplestiltskin felt the soft echo of power in his mind, True Love calling to him and calming his rage.  It was nothing like the explosion of magic when she’d almost broken his curse, not here in this world, but it still helped him center himself, helped separate man from Dark One.  “I love you.  I’m on your side.  Don’t lock me out.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered raggedly, struggling to push the horrible memory of helplessness aside.    _I made a promise_ , he thought desperately, swallowing back rage and terror.  Dark humor rose up to replace them, because it was the refuge he’d always sought when he couldn’t cope.  “I should have left him as a rose.”

His grumble made Belle giggle.  “Probably.”

_See?_ Rumplestiltskin told his curse a bit peevishly.  _She_ is _on my side._ Belle kissed him again, her hands carefully avoiding the still-healing incisions from his all too recent surgery, and this time the kiss was an unspoken promise they both understood.  He’d be able to go home tomorrow and finish healing himself, at least physically, and Rumplestiltskin knew that Belle would help him put the rest of the pieces of himself together, too.  Perhaps he was weak, perhaps he would always be the coward he’d been, but at least he knew that he had her.  He needed her so desperately, particularly in moments like this when his sanity wanted to shred, and Rumplestiltskin was more than ready to leave this place.  _Tomorrow_ , he thought, holding onto the word like it was a lifeline.  _Tomorrow._

* * *

 

_1 Year Before the Curse_

Six months after the Cyan Fairy had tried to kidnap their daughter, Belle still sometimes struggled with her guilt over that affair.  Intellectually, she knew that she’d done the right thing when she’d agreed that the fairy needed to die to protect Gabrielle, but there were still days that she had a hard time forgiving herself for that.  She didn’t like killing, and although she knew that her husband was hardly free of culpability in that respect, Belle tried to encourage him to be better, to fight back the horrible curse inside him.  Usually, he at least managed to try for her, but every now and then she wondered if she had any right to ask him to when she had agreed that killing a fairy was the right thing to do.

Fortunately, she was mostly past those worries, although her own guilt on that front had led her to approach her father once more.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t been particularly pleased with her sudden desire to visit her old home, and he’d tried to talk her out of it, but Belle had refused to budge.  Instead, she’d asked him to take her there, via magic, so that he could fetch her away in a hurry if anything went wrong. Belle had made Rumple promise not to make himself invisible and eavesdrop, either.  She trusted her husband to keep his promise, and under other circumstances, she would have wanted him there, but she already knew how well _his_ last conversation with her father had gone two and a half years earlier.  So, now she squared her shoulders and walked into her father’s war room/study on her own, having been dropped off in a quiet corner where no one could notice her husband squeezing her hand.

Sir Maurice was alone when Belle walked in, and didn’t even seem to notice her presence until she cleared her throat.  Then his head jerked up and his eyes went almost comically wide, staring at her as if he had never expected to see her again.

_Then again, given what Rumple told me about their conversation last time, I suppose he didn’t,_ Belle thought to herself, fighting the urge to bite her lip like the little girl she’d once been.  This was her childhood home.  She didn’t need to be nervous.

“Hello, Father,” she said quietly, not sure if she felt like she could call him ‘papa’ anymore.  Once, they’d been so close, but the way he’d ignored years’ worth of letters and then told her husband that he’d written her off as dead did tend to change things.  _This wouldn’t happen if Mother was alive,_ she knew, but Belle forced that knowledge aside.  She had to live in the present.

“…Belle?” Sir Maurice gasped, getting up out of his chair too quickly and then stumbling.  He rushed to her without a further word, and Belle found herself swept up into a hug.

“It’s me,” she managed to say, returning his hug tightly.  Oh, she’d _missed_ her papa, missed him and home terribly.  Belle hadn’t given up hope that Maurice would reconcile himself to her marriage, would meet Gabi, and that they’d be able to be a family again.  His reaction to her presence gave her further hope.  _Maybe Rumple just rubbed him wrong.  Sometimes he’s too good at that_ , she thought, drawing back with a smile when Maurice released her, his hands still on her shoulders.

“Oh, darling, it’s so good to see you,” Maurice replied immediately, smiling hugely.  “You managed to escape!  You must tell me how.”

“What?” the question made Belle blink in confusion, staring up at her father.

“Sweetheart, you’ve been the Dark One’s prisoner for four years.  I never believed those letters were the truth.  I know he must have hurt you terribly, but we’ll get you all the help you need,” her father promised, his eyes shining with tears.  Maurice touched Belle’s face, and although she was grateful for the compassion he showed, she continued to stare at him with a puzzled look on her face.  “Your bravery has inspired us all.  I cannot begin to imagine what you’ve gone through because of that beast.”

“He’s never hurt me,” Belle objected after she managed to wrap her mind around the picture her father was painting.  “And every letter I wrote you, every letter you _didn’t_ read, was from me and me alone.”

“Of course you have to say that.  I—”

“No, I don’t have to say that!” she cut him off, pulling back a little so that she could look him directly in the eyes.  “Father, please, listen to me.  I know that I went with Rumplestiltskin because of that deal, but it’s become so much more than that.  I love him, and he loves me.  We’re married.”

“That’s not possible.”

“It is.  Papa…” Belle trailed off, trying the old name for her father on for size and finding that it felt awkward when he was staring at her with such disbelief.  “I know Rumple told you that when he came.”

“Rumple?” her father echoed, sounding dubious and perhaps a little disgusted.

Shrugging, Belle felt a slight smile creep onto her face despite Maurice’s expression.  “Rumplestiltskin,” she corrected herself, stepping forward to take her father’s hands.  “He’s my husband, and I love him.  It might not have started out conventionally, but we’re happy together, and I want you to know that.  I want…I want to be a part of your life again.”

Belle did bite her lip nervously after saying that last sentence, not liking the look her father was still wearing.  She’d known this wouldn’t be easy, that he’d have a hard time accepting this, particularly since he still continued to burn her letters, but Belle still hoped that he would come around.   _I should have done this sooner,_ she thought to herself.  _I should have made time to come home and talk to him._   Perhaps if she had, Maurice would have taken the news better.  But Belle was determined not to mention Gabrielle until her father at least understood that she was in no danger and had married Rumplestiltskin by choice.

“You can’t have married that beast, Belle,” Maurice finally said, his voice shaking with rage.  Looking at the revulsion on his face made Belle square her shoulders and bring her chin up.

“I sent Gaston to you with word of our wedding,” she reminded her father.  “And with an invitation that you never saw fit to even _respond_ to.”

“Because I knew you were being forced!”

“No one forced me to marry him,” Belle replied as calmly as she could.   “Just like no one made me go with him to save our people.  I made my own choices.”

The reminder seemed to fly wide of the mark.  “Sweetheart, we all see you as a hero for saving our people, but you deserve so much better than a monster defiling you.  He—”

“Is my _husband_.  And I _love_ him.”

He wasn’t listening.  He wasn’t listening at all, and Belle didn’t know what else to tell her father other than the truth.  Should she mention the fact that he was a grandfather and hope that might get through to him?  Perhaps knowing that Gabrielle existed might make Maurice think twice about being so pigheaded, particularly once he saw her and realized that his granddaughter was fully human.  Yet the look on her father’s face was only growing increasingly horrified and twice as stubborn, and Belle knew him well enough to know that she had to _somehow_ break through to him.  Sometimes surprises did that.  She and Rumplestiltskin had discussed telling him about Gabrielle later, but should Belle take a chance and do it earlier than they had planned?

“I’m sure he’s enchanted you to believe that, sweetheart,” Maurice said next, and Belle actually snorted.

“You can’t use magic to make someone fall in love,” she replied, trying not to roll her eyes at her father.  Belle had known that about magic for years from her reading.  How could her father not understand that?

“Then he’s done something to you.  I don’t know what, but he’s done _something_ ,” her father said desperately, and part of Belle’s heart broke for him.  He looked so worried.  How could she reassure him?

“He hasn’t—” she started, only to be interrupted by Maurice’s continued babbling.

“The clerics can cure it.   Whatever it is.  Bishop Chesson can help you.  I know that the clerics can cleanse you of this enchantment and then you’ll be all right.  They cannot remove the way he has tainted you, but they can scrub the darkness from your soul.  Everything will be fine once we cure you.”

“ _What?_ ”

“We’ll take you to the clerics,” Maurice decided, reaching out to take Belle by the arm.  “They’ll help you, sweetheart.”

“No!” Belle jerked away, or tried to, but her father managed to hold onto her right arm.  Tears gathered in her eyes, but she fought them back, struggling to be rational.  “I don’t need _curing._   I’m married to a man I love.  Can’t you put aside your prejudices for one moment and be happy for me?”

“That’s the enchantment talking.”  Her father reached out to take her by the other arm, too, but Belle finally managed to twist away. 

“I’m not enchanted!”

“Belle, it’s not your fault, but this must be done. Now, I’m your father, and you will obey me,” he said next, and now she felt the tears start to trickle down her cheeks.    “I will send for the clerics and everything will be all right.”

“No, you won’t.”  Belle took another step away from him, her heart tied up in a knot.  Swallowing hard, she whispered: _“Rumplestiltskin.”_

There was a difference between saying his name and _calling_ for him, and Belle knew that better than most.  Oh, Rumplestiltskin could hear someone saying his name, and sometimes enjoyed showing up just to scare the wits out of people who dared say it too often, but he always knew when someone actually _wanted_ him to come.  Besides, he was already listening for her call, since they’d talked about what might happen if things went wrong.  Or right.

He was by her side almost before she’d finished speaking the last syllable, gentle hands on each elbow and an arm wrapped loosely around her waist.  Feeling his light touch made some of the tension eek out of her, although none of the pain at having her father say such things to her vanished.  “You called, sweetheart?”

“Yes.”  Belle nodded, blinking the tears away to clear her vision.  “I think it’s time we went home.  I’m obviously not wanted here.”

“Belle, I want you here,” Maurice objected hurriedly, staring at Rumplestiltskin with wide eyes. 

“You just want me on your terms,” she told him sadly.  “No one decides my fate but me, Father.  This is my life, and I’m not going to let you hand me over to clerics just because you don’t like my choices.”

The moment those words were out of her mouth, Belle knew that she shouldn’t have mentioned the clerics.  Her husband had never told her why he hated the Holy Order so much, but Belle that knew he did, and there was nothing as certain to get his temper up as the thought of clerics coming for a member of his family.

“You’re going to _what_?” Rumplestiltskin hissed immediately.

“You stay out of this, demon!”

Belle felt Rumplestiltskin start forward before he even began to respond, and she turned quickly to grab his arm.  “Let’s go home, Rumple.”

She could see him hesitate, could see the rage dancing in her husband’s eyes, but Belle squeezed his arm with both hands.

“Please,” she whispered.  “I don’t want to be here anymore.  And my father clearly doesn’t want me, either.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded tightly, and his magic twisted around her and swept them away.  They landed in the great hall of the dark castle, and Rumplestiltskin’s arms wrapped around her immediately.  Belle just leaned into his embrace, needing desperately to be held after what her father had said.  _Tainted.  Defiled.  Enchanted._ He didn’t believe her.  He didn’t trust her.  And she was afraid that she’d lost her father forever.

* * *

 

Twenty-nine years later, Belle approached her father once more, but this time without any hopes or expectations that the meeting would go well.  She’d come to the Sheriff’s Station out of a sense of obligation, but that was it.  Moe French had made his feelings about Lacey plain enough, just has her father had to Belle before the curse.  Neither of them trusted her to make her own choices; it was sad how Cora’s curse had preserved that much about her father.  He still wanted to see her as some innocent victim of a terrible beast, and not the woman who saw through the beast to something better.  But she refused to be heartbroken about that.  She just wanted to check up on him.

And maybe get a few answers.

“If you need anythin’, darling, anything at all, you just let me know,” Keith leered, and Belle so wished that Emma had been present, or even the other deputy, Gary.  But at least Keith was keeping his distance after she’d kneed him a few days earlier.  He wasn’t quite drooling on her, after all, and that was quite the improvement.

“I’ll be sure to do that,” she replied, rolling her eyes and stepping towards the two cells. Her father was in one and Tony was in the other, but both perked up when she walked in.

“Lacey,” her father greeted her, standing up from where he sat on the cot with a stupidly welcoming smile on his face.  “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I’m not,” Belle said honestly, stopping where she could see in both cells. Tony had risen, too, and both men stepped forward, looking at her eagerly as if they expected praise for what they had done.  She didn’t really want to listen to their excuses, either, but she had to know.  _Maybe there’s something else going on.  Maybe there’s something I don’t know._   She made a mental note to ask Rumple if Cora could have straight up forced them both to attack her husband, but Belle knew in her heart what the answer to that question was.  The curse wasn’t that powerful, so she squared her shoulders and continued:  “What did you think you were _doing_?”

“We were trying to help you,” her father replied earnestly.  “You obviously couldn’t get away from Gold, so we—”

“So you almost _killed_ him?” she cut in, unable to listen to that line of reasoning despite her resolve to be calm. 

“Sweetheart, the sheriff says he’ll be fine in the long run,” Moe said, and was that a flicker of disappointment in his eyes?  Tony definitely didn’t look happy to hear that.

“Fine.  So, that makes everything better, does it?” Belle growled.  “You attacked a crippled man and intentionally targeted his already damaged leg.  That’s so _brave_ of you.”

She shouldn’t sneer at them like this, but Belle had had it with these two men—one of whom had no claim on her whatsoever!—trying to run her life.  She had made her choice, and had saved both of them from the ogres.  Her father should be glad that she found happiness in that, not try to crush her family instead.

“Lacey…” Tony started to say, and then trailed off.

She turned to look at the man she’d once been promised to, in this world and in the last.  “What?”

“You should be grateful,” he grumbled.  “You can leave him now.  You already should have.”

“I don’t want to leave him, Tony,” Belle explained as patiently as she could, and then turned to look her father in the eyes.  “I told you both before: I am _happy_.  I’m not leaving Gold.  I love him, and don’t you dare try to interfere in our lives again.”

“Sweetheart, he’s a monster!” her father objected.

“Right now, Papa, you’re the one acting like a monster,” she spat back.  “And until you can treat me like an adult who makes my own choices, I don’t want to see either of you again.  Even if you do get out of here.  Just leave me alone.”

They both objected, and both called her name, but Belle turned on her heel and walked out, refusing to listen.  She loved her father, and she even thought fondly of Tony (more so than Gaston, truth be told), but she couldn’t do this anymore.  She had to make a choice, and they had made it for her by hurting her husband like that.

_He might have died without magic,_ Belle didn’t tell them as she saw herself out of the Sheriff’s Station.  _So much for this world being a better one._

* * *

 

“You haven’t been very useful, have you, dear?”  Cora asked sweetly, and watched the puppet spin to face her.  Of course, his wooden leg didn’t quite support that motion very well, making his sway precariously, but that only made her suppress a slight smile.  There was magic here, which  meant that Pinocchio’s body _should_ work well enough, but the half-human, half-puppet form he was currently in would hamper him significantly.  She was also willing to bet that it was _very_ uncomfortable.

August’s eyes were huge as he stared at her, and Cora had to wonder if he had even heard her coming.  Perhaps he’d been too engrossed in his dejected walk around the park.  Snow was crunching underfoot, and the wind was whipping nastily.  It wasn’t weather that any sane person would be out in, but Cora hardly cared.  And obviously, the wooden puppet had walked out here to be alone.  Not that she cared what he wanted.

“I’m trying to do what you want,” the puppet objected weakly, staring at her.  “Emma is…difficult.”

“Do I look like someone who cares about your problems?” Cora asked him, genuinely curious to see what he would say.  After all, Pinocchio had been a boy in the Enchanted Forest in the years leading up to the Dark Curse.  He must have heard of her reputation, and did he really think that Cora cared about him? He was a tool, and she was the Evil Queen. 

If her magic had been working properly—which was still not the case—Cora would have added August’s heart to her collection.  After all, she hated trusting blackmail and intimidation when she could simply hold someone’s heart.  But her magic still refused to work in this annoying love-based magic world that Rumple had turned Storybrooke into, so she was stuck with her previous methods. 

“No,” August said quietly, shifting uncomfortably.  Cora smiled.

“Well, now that we have those pleasantries out of the way, I thought we should chat,” she purred, gesturing the puppet into step beside her.  He obeyed reluctantly, watching her warily and appearing to wonder when she was going to turn him into something nasty.

He swallowed audibly.  “Of course.”

“Well then, let’s talk about your lack of progress with our dear sheriff,” she smiled.  “You’ve hardly found out anything about her plans.”

“That’s because she doesn’t _have_ plans,” August retorted bitterly.  “She doesn’t believe in any of it.  She just wants to be the sheriff, not break the curse.”

Now _that_ was good news.  Still, Cora did not permit herself to smile too much; she allowed the barest twitch of glee to touch her lips and cocked her head at the limping puppet.

“Is that so?” she pressed, wondering if Pinocchio was trying to protect Eva’s odious granddaughter, the girl that he had been supposed to protect when they were both small.   But the way August flinched told Cora all she needed to know.

“Look, she’s still focused on the florist and his friend beating Gold,” August groaned, reaching down to rub his leg as they walked past the frozen pond.  “Between that and wanting to know about the Basement, she doesn’t seem to care about much else.”

“Good.  But you _will_ keep an eye on her, you understand?”

August grimaced.  “Can’t you get someone else to do your dirty work?”

“Are you backing out of our deal, Pinocchio, dear?” Cora asked softly.  She didn’t have to inject a threat in her voice.  It was obvious.

“I’m not stupid.”

_Aren’t you?_   “I would hate to think you were,” she replied with a shrug.  “Particularly because, with magic here, I can cure you of your little…affliction.”

That brought him up short, and August stumbled to a stop, swinging to face Cora with hope filling his blue eyes.  His words were a whisper, breathless and hesitant: “There’s _magic_ here?”

“Oh, yes.”

“How?” August demanded, and Cora wanted to giggle like a little girl.  Oh, the hope in his expression was delicious, and his despair would taste even better when she strung him along the way she intended.  _You should have paid more attention to the stories your papa told you, Pinocchio.  The Evil Queen is not to be trusted,_ she thought gleefully.

“Rumplestiltskin, of course.”  Let him chew on that one, thinking that Rumple was Cora’s ally, or even in her service.  “He’s always been clever.”

“The Dark One”—August’s voice cracked, and oh, watching him swallow was quite wonderful—“is awake?”

“Certainly.  But we’re not here to talk about him,” Cora replied, snatching that little bit of information away when she saw something sparking in his eyes.  “What we _are_ here to talk about is how you’re going to continue to track the Savior and report back to me.  Because if you earn it, I will help you.”

“What’s to keep me from going to the Dark One and making a deal instead?” the writer demanded, and Cora had to admit she was surprised by his quick thinking. Perhaps she should not have told him that Rumplestiltskin remembered who he was.  Still, she knew how to counter that argument, and besides, she had not told him _who_ Rumple was.

“Because if you do, your beloved papa will suffer the consequences,” she said simply.

That made August flinch, and Cora smile.  He said nothing, but she could see him thinking, could see him trying to figure out a way around this.  He’d learn, of course.  August would try to get around her restrictions, but Cora already had a demonstration lined up, just to prove to him that he could not.  He was hers now, as surely as if she had his heart in her hand.  And maybe she would cut the magical strings that bound him.  _If_ he earned it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, August is trying to resist Cora—but do you think he’ll manage, or will he buckle under the pressure? And do you think Belle is right to distance herself from her father now?
> 
> Next: Chapter 55: “Trust and Belief”, where Henry and Emma get serious about the curse, Cora takes her gloves off, Regina realizes she’s falling in love, and Rumplestiltskin returns home. Back in the past, Snow and Regina must face the consequences of Cora’s ‘execution’.


	55. Trust and Belief

Henry stopped by the Sheriff’s Station after school, having listened to his mother’s advice about not cornering Emma about magic too soon—but the day after she’d seen Regina do magic was waiting long enough, wasn’t it?  He was _trying_ to be patient with Emma like his mom said he should, but that was so hard.  Henry knew that August was talking to Emma about the curse, too, and his mom was still working to get her to believe, also.  But now Emma had seen magic, _real_ magic.  That had to make her believe, didn’t it?  Henry was still trying to wrap his mind around the sheer awesome that was his mother doing magic to protect him, and he knew that this was what would finally get through to Emma.  It had to.  She had to break the curse and bring back the happy endings.

“Hey, Emma!” he said, rushing through the door and paying little attention to the pair of disgruntled men still in the holding cells.  Henry wanted to feel a little sorry for Mr. French and Tony Rose, but he knew enough about what they’d done to find that hard.  None of the lawyers in Storybrooke wanted to take their case, either; from what Henry knew, none of them wanted to go against Gold when he was both victim and possibly also the opposing lawyer. 

“Hey, kid,” Emma replied, looking up from the computer she’d been typing away on.  The thing was ancient, and Henry wasn’t sure how it kept going—unless, of course, the curse helped with that. 

“So…you got a moment?” he asked, trying not to smile.  Or wiggle.  But he failed at both, holding his Book against his chest and shifting back and forth excitedly.  Today was the day.  Emma was going to believe.  Henry knew it.

“For you? Sure.”  His birth mother sat back with a smile, but she looked really tired.

“Great!”  Henry plunked the Book on the desk, shoving the keyboard aside to do that.  He flipped it open without even looking at the page, easily finding the page that showed Snow White and Prince Charming at the announcement of Emma’s upcoming birth, the event that the Evil Queen interrupted to tell them she was going to take away their happiness.  “So, are you ready to break the curse?”

Immediately, Emma’s face closed off.  “Henry…”

“Come _on_.  You’ve seen real magic.  You can’t say that it isn’t real.  Mom _showed_ you,” he argued, hating the exasperated look on her face.  How could Emma deny this now?  She wasn’t stupid; she was just stubborn.  She _had_ to see. 

“I know.  I just…it’s a lot to take in, okay?” she replied, and Henry sighed perhaps a little too noisily.

“Everyone’s depending on you,” he reminded her earnestly, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong and how he was supposed to get Emma to believe.  “They _need_ you!”

“Henry, that’s enough, all right?  I just need some time to swallow everything.  Between your mom and Gold both talking about this—”

But Henry zeroed in on the last thing Emma said and didn’t let her finish because he was too excited to stop himself.  “Gold?  You talked to Mr. Gold about this?”

“Yeah, he said some stuff about the curse when I went to see him at the hospital.  It was kind of weird.  Who the hell is he, anyway?” the sheriff asked, and Henry found himself blinking.  _She believes enough to ask that.  That’s a start, right?_   “There’s no way that the Beast from _Beauty and the Beast_ knows everything he knows.”

“He’s got to be the Beast,” Henry shrugged.  “The stories in the book aren’t always the same as the ones in the movies.  I think that the Beast had some sort of magic.  There’s something in the book about Belle not breaking his curse so that he could keep his power.”

“And you think that’s Lacey,” Emma said slowly.

“It pretty much has to be, yeah.”

The sheriff jerked her head towards the two men in the cells, separated from her and Henry by safety glass.  “So, what’s their excuse for attacking Gold, then?”

“I don’t think Belle’s father liked her and the Beast together,” he said with another shrug.  “She was supposed to marry Gaston before she went with the Beast as part of their deal.”

“Right…” Looking conflicted, Emma bit her lip and then glanced down at the Book.  “Can I…borrow this, Henry?” she asked quietly.  “I think I need to read it again.”

That wasn’t the answer Henry had been looking for.  It wasn’t true and solid belief, but it was a start, so he grinned at her.  “Of course you can!”

Maybe Emma was so stubborn that it would take forever, but she was going to get there.  Henry _knew_ it.

* * *

 

It had taken him days to track down the location of Sidney Glass’ lockbox, but Killian finally managed.  He was absolutely _not_ going to let that damn reporter ruin his growing relationship with Emma Swan, particularly given how pushy Cora had been on that front lately.  Still, Killian breathed a huge sigh of relief when he realized that Glass had left instructions for someone at the bank to give his belongings to Emma only if there was foul play involved in his death.  That was a remarkably stupid decision to make, particularly in a town where Cora still controlled so much (like the lack of witnesses or evidence that might turn the supposed suicide into a murder investigation), but Killian supposed that was the curse doing Cora’s dirty work yet again.  She hadn’t been able to force Sidney to _actually_ kill himself—Killian had had to do that—but Cora had set the situation up perfectly other than that.

So, now the evidence was in his hands, and Killian decided to listen to the recordings Glass had gathered before burning the lot.  Cora wasn’t interested in them, but maybe—just maybe—Glass had managed to record something about the mayor that Killian could use.  After all, he was sick of being her tool, and damn tired of doing murders on her whim.  Cora had the tapes that showed him getting rid of Sidney.  Now it was time for him to get some leverage of his own.

* * *

 

Emma had never been so glad to get a 9-1-1 call as she was after she’d hesitantly asked Henry if she could borrow the Book.  She hadn’t known what else to say, hadn’t known how else to end that surprisingly awkward conversation.  Just thinking about the curse made Emma’s head whirl.  She didn’t _want_ to believe in it, but she was running out of logical ways to explain what was going on in Storybrooke if it wasn’t some horrible curse.  But…if she believed in the curse, then she had to believe that Mary Margaret and David were her parents, and also that _she_ —an orphan who had lost the only home she’d thought she’d ever have when Neal had skated out and let her go to jail—was fated to break this curse.  Henry didn’t seem to understand why she couldn’t believe something like this was real, but how _could_ she?  If Emma started to believe in the curse, she would have to accept the rest, too.  And she just wasn’t ready to do that yet.

So, the frantic call from Marco about his shop having been broken into came as a huge relief.   The old man sounded winded, maybe even hurt, so Emma hurried over to Standard Clocks after sending Henry home to Regina.  Doing her job was a lot easier than trying to figure out if she wanted to believe in this curse.

Marco was sitting on the floor in the middle of the store when Emma arrived, bleeding from the back of his head and looking woozy.  Moving over to kneel by the old man’s side, Emma pulled out her cell phone to call an ambulance.  In her experience, even minor head wounds bled like crazy, so even though this one didn’t look too bad, she didn’t want to take chances.  Particularly since the sheriff could now see additional bruises forming on Marco’s face.  Someone had worked the handyman over pretty well, in addition to tearing his shop to shreds.

“Don’t get up,” Emma told Marco as he turned dizzily to face her.  “Help’s on the way.”

“I…that’s probably a good idea,” he stuttered, pressing a shaking hand to his forehead as his cell phone dropped uselessly out of his fingers.  It clattered to the floor as Emma glanced around.

The place was a disaster.  Clocks were shattered, shelves had been toppled, and even the front counter itself was broken, with a huge crack running from the front left corner across the countertop and over the back.  Shards of wood littered the floor like kindling, along with springs and other mechanisms Emma couldn’t identify.  Over half the store’s stock had been destroyed, but not wantonly.  The devastation was clearly deliberate, plainly full of malice and fury.  Even the stool Marco usually sat on was missing a leg, and the cash register gaped open and empty.  Poor Marco was in the middle of the mess, looking like he’d been thrown there.  He was hunched over, appearing small and lost, so Emma squeezed his shoulder gently.

“Do you know who did this, Marco?” Detailed questions could wait until after the medics were through with him, but if she could get a head start on catching whatever bastard had done this, that would count for a lot.  Violent robberies like this were practically unheard of in Storybrooke, and Emma wanted the robber off of the streets fast.

“I don’t know—that is, I didn’t see.  I heard the back door open, and then something hit me in the back of the head.  I _swear_ I locked the door, but…I think, I think there was only one person.  Maybe two.  I remember an angry voice swearing at me, and then everything went black.”

“A male or female voice?”

“A man.”  Marco straightened painful out of his hunch, wincing.  “Maybe with an accent?  I’m sorry.  I didn’t hear enough before I passed out.”

“You did fine,” Emma reassured him as an ambulance screeched to a stop outside.  Two paramedics jumped out, rushing inside.  Rising to make room for the medics, Emma squeezed Marco’s shoulder one more time and stepped aside.  “Well catch him.  I promise,” she vowed.

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

Giving him a final nod, Emma pulled out her phone and started snapping pictures of the mess.  Keith arrived after a few minutes to help, reeking of alcohol.  _At least he can walk straight today, and doesn’t seem too confused by the camera,_ she thought wryly, heading for the back door to see how the robber had broken in.  Strangely enough, the lock didn’t seem to have been forced, and there weren’t even the faint scratches that usually indicated someone had picked it.  Maybe Marco was wrong, and he hadn’t locked the door?  He probably did have a concussion, and Marco was a trusting man.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that Emma almost didn’t notice August approaching Standard Clocks from the back alley, eyeing the destruction with a sick look of horror on his face.

* * *

 

Back in his spacious apartment, Francis Scadlock stared at his hands uncomprehendingly.  He’d washed the blood off by route, not really thinking about what he was doing until the task was done…and how he had a sink full of _bloodstains_.  What the hell had happened?

“This is bloody brilliant,” he muttered to himself.  “Now I can’t remember what I’ve done to me self.”

Except he _could_ remember.  He just couldn’t remember _why_ he’d done anything.  Francis vividly recalled storming into Standard Clocks, breaking everything in sight—including poor Marco’s head.  Now, why had he done that?  He couldn’t remember, only that he’d felt that there was nothing more important to do at the time.  He hadn’t even had to break in, had he?  He’d had some weird sort of black key, the same key that was sitting on the countertop next to him.  Squinting at it, Francis racked his mind to remember where the damn thing had come from, but he couldn’t remember ever having seen it in his life.

“This is just weird,” he grumbled, finally grabbing a towel to dry his hands.  His knuckles were sore as hell, but aside from a few scratches, most of the blood didn’t seem to be his.  Still, he should get rid of the clothes he was wearing, too. Just in case. 

Still, all the logical thinking in the world couldn’t help him forget that he’d beaten a man and _robbed_ him.  Why the hell had he done that?  Marco had never done anything to Francis—he’d even fixed an antique clock for him a few years back, the ugly one that Francis’ mother had left him and Vicky had liked so much.  It had broken with the little birdie sticking out, and it would cuckoo at the weirdest moments.  But Marco had sewed up that problem in about five minutes, then stuck around to help Francis figure out how to put up a few shelves free of charge.

_None of it_ made sense.  Nothing did.  Not beating Marco.  Not taking Ana to that damn Basement—

Francis swallowed, turning away before he could look at himself in the mirror.   _Her name is_ Vicky _and we’ve been married for forever, but none of it’s been that great._  But that didn’t make sense, either.  How could he mix up her name after this long?  Even the world’s worst husbands—which Francis knew he was one of—didn’t forget their wives’ names, or at least not when they were sober.  And he was sure as hell regretfully sober.  Sober enough to destroy a shop, rob it, and beat a man.  He’d dropped the money in some box by the docks, too, and didn’t that just sound like some awful crime novel?  Stupid, too.  As stupid as thinking his wife was named Ana.  Or of regretting taking Ana— _Vicky_ —to Madam Merryweather’s little shop of horrors.  He’d done what he had to do then, hadn’t he?  He didn’t miss her constant nagging and utter craziness.

But he missed some woman named Ana, who looked like his wife but who was nothing—and everything—like Vicky.  She existed in the wisps of his memory, or maybe just in his imagination, but Francis remembered having _always_ dreamed about her.  And then Vicky had started claiming to be this Ana after she got out of the asylum, which only started making _him_ wonder if he was bonkers, too.  Maybe the wrong Scadlock had been locked up under the hospital.  Maybe he should just get his own head checked out. 

Maybe Doctor Hopper could tell him why he’d stormed in and hurt a man he kind of liked, too.  Not that Francis would go.  The jail was full enough already.

* * *

 

The gloves were coming off.  The break in at Standard Clocks made that obvious.  After that, Regina knew exactly who “August” was, a fact that obviously her mother had already been in possession of.  Geppetto—technically Marco—being beaten was just another example of how Cora kept people frightened and in line.  Regina knew how this worked.  Now that there was magic here, Cora had even more control over her creatures; using hearts without magic was harder, but now there was nothing in the way.  Of course, Cora _still_ didn’t seem able to use her own magic, but that wouldn’t keep the hearts from working properly.  Regina wasn’t the rip-hearts-out sort herself (or at least not usually), but her mother had made sure she knew how.

Sooner or later, Cora would figure out how to do magic in this world, and when she did, Regina needed to be ready.  Back home, her mother had defeated her more than once in straight up magical battles.  Here, however, magic _was_ different, and that gave Regina an edge.  Rumplestiltskin had told her that the magic in Storybrooke was based upon love, and although the cagey bastard had refused to share anything more about _how_ he’d brought magic to the land without, the fact remained that this gave Regina an advantage.  That was why she’d finally decided to defy her mother.  Yet she knew that Cora would not let her go so easily. Not in the long run, anyway.  So, Regina needed to be prepared for that…and to warn the man she had so foolishly fallen in love with.

_If Emma would just break the damn curse, none of this would be a problem,_ she thought irritably, sitting on a bench in the park—in the _cold_ —and stewing.  _Or, at least I wouldn’t have to come up with a plausible explanation for Mother’s blood lust!_

“You look troubled,” a voice said from behind her, and Regina whirled to face Errol Forrester.  He was wearing a goofy grin that immediately warmed her heart, looking hesitant and excited all at the same time.

Regina felt an answering smile grow on her face.  “Not when you’re here,” she answered honestly, half hating herself for having such strong feelings for this man.  She couldn’t afford to risk it.  She already had too many people to protect: Henry, Snow, David, and even Emma.  Why should she add this man to the list?

_Because I’m falling in love, that’s why._

“I’m glad to hear that.  Though there _was_ a clue in the fact that you agreed to have a picnic with me on January 30th,” he replied lightly, plopping down on the bench next to her.  A picnic basket landed on his other side, complete with blanket and a pair of warm thermoses. 

“I have to be mad to go along with this,” Regina grumbled, but she let Errol grab her by the hand and drag her over to a nice flat spot that overlooked the water.  There was a little snow on the ground, but he’d brought a thick blanket, and soon enough they were sitting on it together, laughing and joking. 

Forgetting what she had come to this picnic for was almost too easy, and Regina let herself enjoy the moment for two hours as they sat together, bundled up against the cold and wet, talking about everything and nothing.  She hadn’t felt this comfortable with another person since Daniel, and while Regina certainly didn’t want to compare the two men—Errol was bold where Daniel was quiet, and Daniel had been gentle where Errol could be insistently passionate—she had to treasure the feeling inside her heart.  She would never forget her first love, would never forget the precious months they had stolen from the world, and she would never, _ever_ , let go of him in her heart, but it was time to move on.  Daniel, she decided, would be happy for her.

So, Regina cleared her throat and framed her words cautiously, looking down to study the blanket they sat on.  “I need to warn you about something,” she said quietly.

“Let me guess.  You think your mother won’t like the two of us together,” Errol replied immediately, and Regina twisted to face him.

“How…what makes you think that?” she asked, blinking with confusion.

Errol gave her a crooked smile.  “Regina, there aren’t many people in this town that haven’t figured out that your mother is both possessive and a bit certifiable.  Knowing what I do about how she set up your marriage to David, I can only imagine that the _last_ thing she wants is for you to find happiness for yourself.”

“Well,” she swallowed.  “That’s true enough.”

“Look at it on the bright side,” he reassured her.  “I’m still Public Hero Number One.  It’d be awfully hard for her to fire me, and even if the rumors are true about her having set Moe French and Tony Rose on Gold, well, I’d like to see two drunk idiots try to hurt me.  I’m not an old man with a cane.”

_Neither is he, now,_ Regina thought to herself, privately treasuring the idea that Rumplestiltskin might go after her mother once he was healed and fully armed with magic.  She supposed that made her a horrible daughter, but Cora had tried to hurt—or succeeded in killing!—those Regina loved one too many times.  If she had to choose between her teacher and her mother, Rumple was going to win every time.  He’d never even bothered to cash in on the favor she owed him for saving Snow after that terrible miscarriage, and Regina doubted he ever would.  Despite what the sarcastic imp might say, she knew he was capable of caring about people, and Regina cared about him as well.  _Like he’s some crazy uncle, anyway,_ she told herself firmly, and then returned her attention to Errol.

“Mother has a lot more tools than morons like those two,” she warned him.  “I know you can take care of yourself, but please be careful.  For me?”

He’d been about to protest, but Regina could see the last two words winning him over.  “I’ll be careful,” Errol promised, and Regina leaned in to kiss him lightly.

She shouldn’t do this.  She shouldn’t lose her heart to a man who was still under the curse, particularly when he would wake up before too long.  Every bit of common sense told Regina that she should get out now, that she shouldn’t risk loving again when it might hurt so much…but she couldn’t care. 

So, she kissed him again and lost herself in the embrace of a man she knew she loved.

* * *

 

_1 Year Before the Curse_

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Snow whispered once most of the crowd had departed, her hands tight on Regina’s arm.

Regina sighed, glancing at the ground.  “I…I couldn’t.  Mother would have killed Daniel if I’d tried, and she put a spell on me to keep me from telling you, anyway.  It’s a good thing Rumplestiltskin showed up, or—”

“Nothing good comes of the Dark One’s presence, _Princess_ ,” an holier-than-thou voice spat, making both Regina and Snow turn.  “Nor yours.”

“Blue!” Snow gaped, but Regina only rolled her eyes.

“Yes, because _you’ve_ helped Snow and Charming _ever_ so much,” she retorted.  “You just mouth useless platitudes about good always winning.   At least Rumple’s helped.”

_More than I have,_ she thought guilty, and if she was snapping at the fairy for her own failings, well, that was too bad.  She was sure Blue deserved it.

“For a price,” Blue sneered.

“Everything has one,” Regina shrugged, even as Snow spoke up:

“Let’s not argue, please,” she interjected.  “Charming and I are just happy to have Regina back and safe with us.  She _is_ my sister, Blue.”

“Step-sister, your highness.”

“ _Sister_ ,” Snow insisted, and Regina felt her worn-out heart warm a little.  She’d been forced to betray Snow so many times.  How could Snow still stand by her?  She felt like she didn’t deserve it when Snow pulled her into a half-hug, but Regina hugged her back, anyway.  Aside from Daniel, Snow was the one person that Regina had always loved completely and unconditionally, and she _missed_ her little sister so much when she was stuck by Cora’s side, watching her mother scheme and plan her revenge.

_Not this time, Mother,_ Regina thought with more than a little satisfaction.  _You don’t get to win this time._

She didn’t know if her mother would have let her die or not; Cora had implied that she would not, that she would have shown up to save Regina—or had Soulis step in—but Regina was not sure.  Her mother was always hard to read, and Regina just wasn’t certain.  Cora was growing more and more desperate to get her revenge upon Snow, and Regina sometimes wondered if her mother _wanted_ Snow to be responsible for Regina’s death.  _That would have destroyed Snow,_ she thought, hugging her sister back tightly and knowing she would never, _ever_ , share that epiphany with Snow.  Snow had enough to deal with.  Regina would not make her life worse.

“You may call her your sister, but that does not change the fact that she is the Evil Queen’s daughter, the Dark Princess.  She cursed you with a Nightmare Curse, child.  You should never forget that.”

“Nor will I ever forget her reasons for offering me that apple,” Snow retorted, straightening her shoulders regally.  “I _chose_ to bite that apple, Blue.  And I choose to remember that Regina is my sister before she is Cora’s daughter.  If you cannot accept that, you should leave.”

The little blue bug’s face went white with shock.  “I have always been your family’s patron fairy.  I am, and have always been, one of your strongest supporters.  I simply want to caution you about—”

“Your caution is noted.  _Princess_ Regina is my sister, and will be treated as such,” Snow decreed, and Regina was not such a fool as to think that everyone else in the kingdom would be receiving that very same message soon enough.

The ‘Dark Princess’ moniker stuck, however.  The title was unfortunate, and only partially earned, but somehow it later wound up in Henry’s storybook, and Regina never did fully shake it.

* * *

 

The day of Regina’s picnic, Mr. Gold was finally released from the hospital.  Nurse Zephyr was mysteriously absent, despite the way she’d hovered over Rumplestiltskin from the moment he’d been brought in (and didn’t _that_ bring back unpleasant memories), but Rumplestiltskin didn’t allow himself to dwell on that.  Instead, he impassively allowed some other nurse to wheel him out of the hospital, since Whale had absolutely insisted that he couldn’t try to walk more than a few steps on his own, even with the huge and uncomfortable brace on his leg.  Dove was waiting with the car, however, and quickly assumed control of the situation, snatching the wheelchair away from the surprised nurse without a word and helping his employer into the car.

Whale, however, managed to stop the larger man before he got around to the driver’s side to the car, leaving Rumplestiltskin wishing Belle was there.  But they both knew why Lacey couldn’t show up to pick him up; the amount of time she’d spent at the hospital must have undoubtedly made Cora suspicious already.  They couldn’t afford to make things worse.   Cora might not have had magic _now_ , but Rumplestiltskin knew it was only a matter of time.  His former student was clever, and Cora would eventually find a way.  For now, while the curse was intact, his ‘please’ that prevented her from harming his family would hold.  But the moment the curse broke, Cora would be free to act.  And while Rumplestiltskin didn’t intend to let Cora live long beyond that moment, he knew that he had to prepare for that eventuality.  Cora had gotten the upper hand against him before.  He would not let her do so this time and endanger his family.

“Make sure he stays at home for at least two weeks,” Frankenstein said, and Rumplestiltskin barely managed to keep a straight face as he listened to the mad doctor give Dove what Whale thought was good advice.  “He’ll need to use crutches at first instead of his cane, and he won’t like that.  He’s very lucky to be in as good of shape as he is, but he can go downhill fast if you don’t keep an eye on him.”

“I will tell him,” Dove promised solemnly.

Rumplestiltskin managed not to snort.  Dove didn’t know that he magic was rolling through his body even now, because Dove wouldn’t understand that.  Not yet.  It felt _wonderful_ , finally being able to heal the remaining breaks and damage that necessity had required Rumplestiltskin leave untouched.  Fooling medical equipment was difficult at best, and he wasn’t sure that he had enough of a grip on this world’s different magic to do so more than he had.  Yet, anyway.  But now he could finish heal himself, and mitigate the most of the pain while he did so.  Some things, like his leg, were already works in progress and would finish over the next few days with very little more input from Rumplestiltskin, but for now he could compensate with magic and walk without a limp for the first time in twenty-eight years.

But he would take the excuse to stay home and manipulate things from behind the scenes.  Particularly since that home held his wife and daughter.  He had left them alone for too long, all because Cora had felt the need to prove her power.

_Do it while you can, dearie,_ he thought to himself with a thin smile, not watching the road as Dove drove him home in silence.  _Your reign is about to come to an end._

The trip to the pink house was mercifully quick, and Dove had even brought his cane along.  Rumplestiltskin accepted it from his longtime employee, along with a helping hand to get out of the car.  He was still stiff and sore, still paying the price for the sweeping magic he’d used to put his broken body back together, and still wore the infernal white plastic brace over his pants on his right leg.  Rumplestiltskin _could_ have gotten along without the help, but Dove didn’t realize that.  Though he was grateful that Dove didn’t try to suggest he use the crutches lying surreptitiously across the back seat.

“Need anything else, boss?”

“No.  Thank you,” Rumplestiltskin replied quietly, testing out his leg’s ability to bear his weight.  It managed well enough with a magical brace, well enough that he could get rid of the one Whale had given him the moment Dove was out of sight.  Walking would be a little uncomfortable now, but, ironically, doing so would be less awkward than it had been before Moe French and Tony Rose had shattered his leg.  _As  long as those two never expect a thank you, I might manage not to kill them.  For Belle’s sake._   Immediately, the voice of his curse reared up in protest, but Rumplestiltskin shoved it down.  _For now._

Yet Moe and Tony really didn’t matter at the moment.  What mattered was that he was home after too long away.  So, Rumplestiltskin negotiated front walk carefully, giving Dove a nod of thanks as the big man headed for his own jeep.  Dove drove away as Rumplestiltskin climbed his front stairs and let himself in the front door, ignoring the way his leg twinged.  The pain wasn’t too bad at all, better than it had usually been back when he’d been the poor spinner with no options.  Had there been no magic in Storybrooke, he would have been able to manage this with painkillers alone, but magic made everything so much easier.  That was why, once he re-locked the door behind himself (which was certainly _not_ a sign of paranoia) Rumplestiltskin straightened, leaned the cane against the wall, and let his magic unwrap the physical brace on his leg, disintegrating the medical device and banishing its dust to a trashcan in the basement.

Being able to move without a cane or a brace, without the limp that had plagued him for so long, was its own kind of freedom, and Rumplestiltskin felt giddy.  He closed his eyes to relish the feeling, to bask in the magic around him and the safe feeling of home.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said, and his eyes flew open.  A smile creased his face before Rumplestiltskin even knew he was reacting, and for once, his curse skittered away from his consciousness, seeking safety from the True Love that Rumplestiltskin could feel rolling through his soul.

“Hello yourself,” he replied quietly, but there was nothing quiet in the way he lunged forward or in the way Belle raced into his arms.  They met halfway across the front hallway, kissing like they had not seen one another in _years_ , holding on tightly and just _being_ together.  He loved this woman _so_ much, so completely; Belle was the other half of his soul, the person who kept him back from the edge when he would lose himself.  Holding her was like coming home, and kissing Belle was like—

Magic  _was_ indeed different in Storybrooke, but he had to be careful.  Rumplestiltskin was a touch too relaxed, far too ready to love and be loved.  If he wasn’t careful, his curse  _would_ break here, and take with it the power he so very much needed in order to keep his family safe.  At first, he’d thought that the difference in magic in this world would preserve his curse and allow him to kiss Belle all he wanted, but that was not quite the case.  He would have to be careful, would have to hold a tiny bit back.  Should he tell her?   _There’s no reason to worry her,_ Rumplestiltskin told himself, and the excuse was a reflex.  Belle would want to know.  But how could he tell her?   _I can’t let you break my curse yet, sweetheart, even though I know you want to free me from this darkness.  But I_ need  _the darkness, I  need—_

Yeah, that wouldn’t go over well.  But he still had to ease back from their kiss before it could grow too deep to come back from.  To cover up his withdrawal, Rumplestiltskin reached a hand up to touch Belle’s face, tracing her left cheekbone with his fingers.  Their foreheads were still touching, and they were still wrapped tightly up in one another, because _this_ was home.  Rumplestiltskin would never be good at volunteering information, but he prayed that Belle would never doubt his love for her.

“You look so much better,” she whispered, and he felt her smile under his fingers.

“I feel better,” he admitted.

“Also because there’s magic?” his wife asked perceptively. 

“Because I’m home,” Rumplestiltskin told her, and it wasn’t even a lie.  Yes, the magic helped immeasurably.  It meant he’d never be helpless, that he’d be able to protect his family and find his son.  He _couldn’t_ face Cora down without magic, not now that there _was_ magic in Storybrooke.  He needed it to protect those he loved, and that meant keeping the curse that always ate at his soul.

_It’s worth the price,_ Rumplestiltskin told himself.  _To protect them, I_ will _do anything._ If his soul was the price to be paid for keeping his family safe, he would gladly sacrifice it.

“Well, we’re both _very_ glad to see you.  Even if Renee is napping right now,” Belle replied, leaning in to kiss him again, this time lightly.  “I do have something for you before she wakes.”

That made him blink, and feel a little guilty about keeping the intricacies of magic and his curse a secret.  “You do?”

“Of course I do, you silly man.”  Smiling, Belle stepped away, grabbing him by the hand to pull him further into the house.  Soon enough, Rumplestiltskin found himself in the kitchen, which was surprisingly neat (and un-burned down) given how long he’d been gone.  Then again, Marie had probably done the cooking in the eight days he’d been stuck in the hospital.  Belle had told him that Dove and Marie had stayed with her and Renee while he was gone, and he was just glad to know that Belle hadn’t had to deal with everything alone. 

While he was deep in thought, however, Belle had reached into her purse, which was lying on the counter near the breadbox.   When her hand came out holding the dagger, however, Rumplestiltskin’s heart almost stopped.  Unable to help himself, he froze, his breath going short and frightened, his eyes wide and his posture stiff.  He loved her, and he _trusted_ her, but with magic here in Storybrooke, Rumplestiltskin knew that the dagger’s hold on him would be complete.  Only once had anyone other than Rumplestiltskin held that dagger while he was the Dark One—so very briefly—and he’d sworn to himself that it would never happen again.  But now here he was, standing with the dagger in the hands of another, bound to obey every whim and every command—

“This belongs to you,” Belle said gently, reaching out and taking his right hand in her left.  She must have seen his fear—Rumplestiltskin was in no mental condition to hide it—so she pressed the dagger into his unresisting fingers. 

“Oh, Belle…” Words would not come, and she laid both of her hands over his to squeeze his fingers reassuringly.

“I would not have you be anyone’s slave,” Belle replied, reaching up to touch his cheek.  Rumplestiltskin melted into her touch, feeling safe with the dagger in his hand and his wife by his side.  “You gave me your trust when you showed me where you hid the dagger and then trusted me to keep it safe.  I will not let you down.”

“I love you,” he whispered, and when he kissed her this time, Rumplestiltskin again almost lost himself so deeply that he let go of his curse.  But he couldn’t.  Without the curse, without the power, he could not protect this woman who had risked so much to protect _him._   “I love you so much.”

“And I love you,” Belle replied, her hand still on his cheek.  “Now, you’d best put that dagger away before Renee finds it and tries to build it into one of her block castles.”

A startled laugh snorted out of Rumplestiltskin, and he wrapped an arm around his wife to pull her close.  This was home.  This was what he’d wanted for so many long years.  He was home now, and with his magic intact, there was no one who could harm his family ever again.  Not even in this world.

* * *

 

Nurse Zephyr had called the moment “Mr. Gold” left the hospital, again voicing her suspicions about how the pawnbroker had managed to heal so quickly.  She was a smart girl, Zelena, and the fact that even her cursed self had decided to be so loyal to Cora was certainly points in her favor.  In fact, that faithfulness helped turn Cora’s horrible mood a little less sour.  It even reminded her that she had options.  Yes, Rumplestiltskin had magic.  Yes, the Dark One was on the loose and able to heal himself, able to disregard the lesson she had sought to teach him.  He was undoubtedly reuniting with his boring little librarian even now, and that thought made Cora absolutely _sick_.

So did the fact that her caveats would now prevent her from hurting him again.  Oh, she could try, but even once her magic began to function beyond the few puffs of smoke she had managed, Cora knew that trying to do that to the Dark One was akin to playing with molten lava.  She would have to be careful in her dealings with Rumplestiltskin until she could get the dagger.  _Then_ Cora would be able to do whatever she pleased, and _no one_ would be able to stand against her.

For now, however, she needed to gather her allies.  The curse would remain strong so long as Cora could remain ahead of the opposition.  This was merely a setback, after all.  She still owned plenty of hearts and had plenty of villains willing to work for her.  Besides, the attack upon Rumplestiltskin _had_ forced his hand, even if had not been in the way she’d planned.  Her minions had hurt him terribly, and it was not a lesson he would ever forget.  So, she had not lost.  Not at all.  She simply needed to focus.  So, Cora sat down behind her ornately carved desk, pulled a specific piece of paper out of a false drawer underneath the desktop, and began updating her notes.

_Emma Swan,_ she wrote first.  _Will not leave town.  Drastic measures required.  Nightmare curse?_

_Regina.  Remains defiant.  Kill the prince to cow her, or dispose of Henry?  It may be too late to use the later to drive Emma from town, and magic makes Regina bold._

Cora would not write his true name, not with magic here.  That could backfire on her.   _His anger will drive him to help Regina.  Discredit him._

_August.  Use him against the Savior?_

_Hook.  Turn him loose against Gold.  Let him try to have his revenge now—it will keep Gold busy._

On and on she went, listing names of those whose hearts she owned and those whose allegiance she could command.  Finally, however, she reached the bottom of the list, and she smiled.  It was time to replace her disloyal daughter.

_Zelena,_ the paper read.  _An alternative._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what villains do you think Cora is counting on as allies? As we now know, there are a few interesting people wandering around Storybrooke. 
> 
> Next up: Chapter Fifty-Six—“Bait and Switch,” in which Cora wakes Zelena up, August resumes trying to make Emma believe (with bad results), Belle tries to help Ruby, Regina attempts to corner Rumplestiltskin, and David runs into someone unexpected. Back in the past, Pinocchio eavesdrops and Zelena returns to her mother, meeting a certain pirate. While you’re waiting, please do let me know what you think!


	56. Bait and Switch

_5 Months Before the Curse_

She had listened to Rumplestiltskin’s advice, in the end, and struck out on her own.  Even if she had not done so in the manner he had suggested, Zelena _had_ decided to show her mother that she was a powerful sorceress in her own right.  So, she had returned to Oz, to the home her mother had sent her to, determined to show Queen Cora that Zelena could and would make herself _the_ most powerful individual in any realm.  Oh, she’d been sidetracked a little by Glinda’s two-faced attempt to befriend and then defeat her, but in the end, Zelena had won.  She’d beaten all three witches, dethroned the wizard, and made herself the sole power in Oz.  She’d enjoyed that, too.  She could see why her mother was such a powerful queen; it had to run in their blood to rule.

But the problem with being in Oz was that her mother couldn’t _see_ her successes.  So, Zelena finally decided to return to the Enchanted Forest, having heard through one of her many spies that Queen Cora had been unjustly ousted from her throne.  Surely her mother needed her help now.  There wasn’t a power in the Enchanted Forest that could stand up to the two of them together, even Rumplestiltskin.  Zelena just _knew_ that this was her chance; her mother would see her worth right away, and they would be able to regain everything Cora had lost, and then more.

She did not, however, expect to run into a pirate when she was waiting to be seen by her mother.  The castle was awfully busy for a supposed Queen-in-exile, and although that gave Zelena heart—of _course_ her mother would not ever admit defeat!—she really did wish there was a little less red tape.  It was demeaning, having to wait like this, and some of these idiots were giving her odd looks because of her green skin.

Had they not been her mother’s servants, Zelena would have cursed them already.  But she had to be on her best behavior for her mother’s sake.

“Lost, love?” the pirate asked, playing with the hook he wore instead of his left hand.  _Really?_ Zelena thought with a sneer.  _Who replaces their_ hand _with a hook?_

“No, I’m not,” she snapped imperiously.  “I’m here to see my mother.”

“I hate to tell you, but I’ve not seen anyone else with your particular skin tone in Queen Cora’s court,” he replied with a smirk that made Zelena want to turn him into a toad.  Or maybe a crow.  He definitely didn’t deserve to be one of her precious winged monkeys.  He was too annoying.  The pirate was even _laughing_ at her.  “But if I see anyone, I’ll be sure to let them know that you’re here.”

With an effort, she held on to her temper. Barely.  But she had to turn away from him, lest Zelena do something her mother might not like.  “That _won’t_ be necessary.”

“Of course it won’t,” the pirate said, and his entire demeanor set her on edge.  “What’s your name, darling?”

“Zelena,” she snapped, turning back to face the all-too-pretty pirate.  “I’m the Wicked Witch of the West!”

Her hand came up, and with a loud _crack_ the pirate turned into a shiny, black crow.  With a hook in place of one webbed foot.  _Serves him right!_   The crow squawked at her in confusion, hopping around on that one foot and the hook while looking distressed.  Snickering, she watched the bird flap its wings uselessly, almost falling over when it tried to get in the air.  She felt no pity for the idiot, after all.  He’d brought it on himself.  Didn’t pirates know not to antagonize witches?

“Zelena, dear, what have you done?”

Whirling to face her mother, Zelena felt a grin split her face.  “He was annoying,” she explained with a dismissive gesture.  Surely her mother would understand!

“Annoying he may be, but Captain Hook has his uses,” Queen Cora replied, sweeping into the room like she had never been defeated in her life.  “Turn him back, darling.  It does not do to abuse your followers, particularly when they are loyal.”

“Yes, Mother.”  A flick of her hand, and the crow became a pirate—apparently _named_ Hook (how unoriginal!)—once more. 

He glared, blue eyes narrowed and focused on Cora, but the queen gazed at him levelly.  Then Hook turned to give Zelena a dour look.  “You might have mentioned who your mother was,” he grumbled.

“Where would the fun have been in that?” she retorted with a sweet smile, glad to see that her mother was on _her_ side. 

“Do leave us, Captain. My daughter and I have important matters to discuss,” Cora got in before the pirate could reply, and Zelena caught the faintest of scowls crossing his face.  But he still gave the queen a sweeping bow.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Resisting the urge to giggle in delight was hard as the pirate left, waved off by one regal gesture from Cora.  Then her mother actually beckoned Zelena to follow her into her inner sanctum, and Zelena followed her eagerly.  She had been worried at first that her mother would dislike the green skin she had not ever been able to shake, but at least it proved how powerful she was.  Cora had to see that, didn’t she?  At least she hadn’t mentioned it.

Together, they walked into a plushy furnished room, paneled with beautiful tapestries and expensive frescos.  It was unlike anything Zelena had ever experienced in Oz, even in the luxurious palace that she had taken off of the so-called ‘Wizard’.  Cora motioned her into a chair and took one herself; meanwhile, Zelena tried very hard not to stare.  Rumplestiltskin’s castle had been nothing like this.  This place _oozed_ power and prestige.  It was a room fit for a queen.  A queen like her mother.

“What brings you here, Zelena?  I was under the impression that you were doing quite well for yourself in Oz,” Cora said, studying her.

Despite the intensity of that gaze, Zelena’s heart leapt.  Her mother knew what she’d been doing!  That was more than she’d dared to hope for.  That meant that Cora cared, and she _had_ sent Zelena away for her own good, so that she could grow more powerful than her sister, more powerful than _anyone’s_ wildest dreams. 

“I heard what happened.  I want to help,” she replied eagerly.  “There’s no one that can stand up to the two of us—I’ve only grown _more_ powerful in Oz.  I can help you, Mother.  Just tell me what I need to do.”

“You dear girl.  I would have kept you,” Cora said slowly, looking regretful.  “I wanted to.  All those years ago.  But a spiteful princess—later a queen—got in the way.  And now her daughter has exiled me.”

“Snow White,” Zelena spat the name like a curse.

“Indeed.  Her mother, the late and unlamented Queen Eva, was much the same.  Shallow, self-important, and concerned for no one’s happiness but her own.  If she had not intervened, you would have grown up as a princess.”

“Like Regina,” she couldn’t stop herself from saying, feeling envy rear up.  But she didn’t quash it.  Despite what Glinda had told her, her emotions gave her power, dark as they were.  And she _hated_ her sister.

“Oh, no.”  Cora straightened, and now Zelena could see anger in her mother’s eyes.  “Regina has always been ungrateful and rebellious, which I imagine _you_ would never have been.”

“Of course not!”

“I so regret that circumstances have only now brought us together,” her mother said sadly, and Zelena wanted to reach out and take her hand.  But she sensed that such an emotional gesture might not be welcome, so she remained still.  “If only things had been different.”

“All we can do is move forward from here,” she replied, very much looking forward to the future.  “Tell me how I may help, and I’ll do whatever you  need.”

“I believe you, darling,” Cora said, a genuine smile warming her face.  “And I do have a task for you—a very difficult one.  But only if you’re willing.”

“I am,” she reassured her mother.

“I’m going to cast a curse,” the Evil Queen explained.  “One which will take away everyone’s happy endings save for the few that _I_ know are worthy of happiness.  But we have many enemies, and I _cannot_ expose you to them.  So, I’ll need you to remain hidden some of those enemies reveal themselves.  Can you do that for me, Zelena?”

Zelena’s heart hammered against her ribcage.  Her mother _needed_ her. She was going to be able to help Cora, to be the daughter that she’d always wanted to be.  Regina wasn’t important.  Even Cora was angry with Regina!  Zelena was going to become her mother’s favorite daughter, so she didn’t hesitate for a moment.  “I’ll do it,” she gushed. “And I’ll be ready when our enemies try to act against you.”

* * *

 

Chloe Zephyr had walked into Cora’s office ten minutes earlier.  Now Zelena sat, composed but excited, in the chair across from her mother.  Cora tried not to be too critical when she studied her eldest daughter; Zelena was not Regina, but she would do nicely.  She was certainly more loyal, always eager for approval and infallibly ready to do whatever Cora wanted her to.  Of course, Cora _would_ have preferred that Regina, the daughter she had raised, finally fulfill her obligations to her family, but that was not to be.  Instead she now had Zelena, who was more than willing to do _whatever_ her mother required.  _She really is a sad little thing,_ Cora thought dispassionately.  _Give her a few words of approval, and she will do anything for me.  Still, I suppose I will be able to shape her into a worthy successor.  It will serve Regina right to have to bend knee to her elder sister after what she has done._

“You’ll start your new job in the morning, darling,” she said now.

“Of course, Mother.  I’m happy to be of assistance,” her elder daughter replied, far more collected here than she had been in the Enchanted Forest.  Cora was glad to see that the addition of magic had not brought back Zelena’s terrible green complexion; really, Rumple should have made sure she hadn’t gone down that road.  Then again, given how he used to look, had he even cared?

“And I am terribly glad to have you back,” Cora told her, reminding herself to lay the gratitude on thickly.  Zelena was easy to manipulate when she felt wanted.

A glowing smile split the younger woman’s face.  “I see Regina is causing problems again.”

“She’s chosen her side.  I’ll not protect her from the consequences of her choices,” she shrugged. 

“Good,” Zelena said with perhaps a bit too much relish.  Still, Cora let it slide.  She _wasn’t_ going to protect Regina.  She’d wait for her younger daughter to come crawling back to her before she did anything for her.

“Do be careful with your magic, darling.  It is very different here.  Whatever Rumple did, he’s been very cagey about it.”

“He’s awake, then?”

“Oh, yes.  He has been—well, I admit that he’s been awake even longer than I knew.  Be wary of him.  Rumple is ever on his own side.”

“He won’t be once you get his dagger,” Zelena predicted, and Cora felt a real smile crossing her face.  Zelena _was_ very intelligent, and she’d already figured out that part of her mother’s plan.

“Indeed he will not,” she agreed.  “Watch him, darling.  Do not let him know that you’re awake.  I need you to be my secret weapon.”

“Of course, Mother,” her daughter—and now the mayor’s new principle assistant—promised. 

Cora just smiled.  Regina and Rumple might think they had all the cards on their side, but they had _no_ idea just what kind of power she could bring to bear against them.  Zelena was only the beginning.

* * *

 

The sheriff really was a hard woman to pin down, but August had finally  managed to sit down across from her at lunch three days after his father had been attacked, beating that damn marina owner by a few seconds.  O’Malley—who August had figured out _had_ to be one of Cora’s flunkies from the old world; he just hadn’t figured out which one—was downright possessive over Emma, and that drove August insane.  _She needs to break the curse, you idiot!_ he wanted to scream.  _Then you can romance her all you want!_

Not that August wanted Emma to wind up with some minion of the Evil Queen’s.  It was bad enough that her son— _Neal’s son; I really screwed_ that _one up, didn’t I?_ —had been adopted by the Dark Princess.  Emma deserved so much better.

“So, how’s it going?” he asked her as lightly as he could, trying not to think about his own papa, who’d just recently been released from the hospital after being attacked and robbed in his own shop.  August _had_ to get the curse broken soon so that someone could stop the Evil Queen.  Otherwise, he was pretty sure that his father was going to wind up dead.  Or worse, now that there was magic here.

“Lunch was going pretty well until you interrupted,” she shot back dryly, and August tried not to take it personally.

“Look,” he leaned forward to say in an undertone, “I know you don’t want to believe in the curse, but you’ve _got_ to.  The Evil Queen did something and brought magic here, which means it’s getting dangerous for everyone.  I know you don’t want to hear it, but you’re the only one who can save these people, and they need your help.”

Emma groaned.  “Do you have any idea how many times a day I hear that from Henry and Regina?  Now even Gold’s chiming in,” she grumbled.  “Oh, and by the way, apparently he’s the one who brought magic here.  Not Cora.”

“Huh?” August blinked.

“That’s what Regina says, and I figure she’d know.”

“You can’t trust her,” he told the Savior for the thousandth time, cursing himself for arriving late and letting Regina get in first.  Back in their world, Queen Snow had been convinced that her stepsister wasn’t evil, that every bad thing Regina did was the Evil Queen’s fault.  But August knew better.  August _remembered_ , and he wasn’t going to let the Dark Princess ruin everything!  She was undoubtedly doing her mother’s bidding still, leading Emma astray and trying to keep her from breaking the curse.  And Gold—whoever he was—was undoubtedly on their side as well.  Cora used to have a half-dozen minor sorcerers as allies, and he was probably one of them.  Particularly if he was working with the Dark Princess.

The persistent ache in August’s leg, however, brought him back to the present and reminded him that he didn’t have much time.  Now that magic was here, he expected to turn to wood even faster.  He had to hurry things along.

“Look, do you want to take a ride with me?  There’s something I’d like to show you.”

Emma had been looking down at her phone, but that made her tilt her head up at him and scowl.  “Are you serious?  I’m the sheriff, and I’m in the middle of _two_ investigations.  One about why two normally upstanding citizens suddenly decided to beat the hell out of a guy over a girl, and the other about a certain place that _you’re_ supposed to be helping me with.”

Oh. Right.  August had forgotten all about trying to get into the Basement between his worry for his papa and his rush to get the curse broken.  “I keep trying,” he lied quickly.  “But aside from going on one date, I haven’t gotten an invitation back.”

The last part wasn’t untrue, although he really hadn’t done a thing to try to learn anything about the Basement since Cora had told him not to.  Emma, however, seemed to catch onto the lie, and August flinched when she turned a narrow-eyed glare on him.  _Stay short,_ he told his nose desperately.  _I’m not wood yet.  Don’t grow._

“Is that so?” she asked testily.

“Emma, I—”

“No, it’s fine,” the sheriff cut him off.  “If you don’t want to help, that’s just fine. You’re not on the payroll; I can’t make you do anything.  I just figured you were so into _helping_ people with all this curse breaking stuff that you might give a damn about girls who are being forced into prostitution and worse.”

“It’s not that I don’t care.  It’s just that…”  He’d almost told her that Cora had threatened his father.  What was _wrong_ with him?  Swallowing hard, August snapped his mouth shut and fiercely told himself  to stop talking before he hurt himself.

“Just that what?” Emma pressed.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for this undercover stuff,” August said, the words coming out in a rush.  And _they_ weren’t a lie, at least.  Trying to sneak around behind Emma’s back was going to give him gray hairs long before he turned back into a puppet.

Another hard look.  “All right.  Like I said, you don’t work for me.  Just stop trying to get me to do favors for you if you don’t want to do any for me.”

“Curse breaking isn’t a _favor_!”

Emma just shrugged and stood up.  “I’ve got to get back to the station.”

“What about your lunch?” he asked stupidly, struggling to find a way to get her to stick around.

“I’ll get it to go.”

And just like that, Emma Swan strode out of Granny’s, leaving August with the distinct impression that she was intentionally walking away from _him_ and his attempts to help her.  She didn’t want to hear him talk about the curse anymore.  That much was obvious.  But what was he going to do if she never started believing?

How had things gone so _wrong_?

* * *

 

_5 Months Before the Curse_

“I don’t know what I can do for you,” Pinocchio heard the voices distantly, so he crept closer to the war room to listen.  A princess from the sea had come to beg Queen Snow for help, he knew; his papa had told him all about how a mermaid princess had fallen in love with a prince, and had been granted legs to walk in their world so that she could be with him. 

But then everything had gone wrong.

“I can’t even go near him,” the red-haired mermaid—Pinocchio liked her already; her hair was like his—said sadly as he peeked his head around the corner.  “If I do, I’ll _kill_ him.  There has to be a way to break the curse.”

Queen Snow squeezed the mermaid’s hand.  “I’ve spoken to Regina,” she said softly, kindly.  Queen Snow was always so nice.  “She says that there is no way to break the Lovers’ Curse except True Love’s kiss, and if Eric doesn’t already love you—”

“ _She_ did this to me!” the redhead cut in, her voice rising unhappily.  “This is _her_ fault.  Why are you even talking to her?”

“Because it was Cora’s doing, not Regina’s.  The Evil Queen forced her, Ariel.  Whatever you have heard about Regina, it’s wrong.”

Ariel glared.  “I’ve heard she _likes_ keeping people away from their True Loves because she can’t have hers.”

“That’s not true,” Queen Snow replied, but even Pinocchio knew that she always saw the best in everyone. 

“They call her the Dark Princess,” Ariel continued angrily.  “I think it fits.”

Pinocchio didn’t bother to listen to the rest of the conversation.  He didn’t need to.  Queen Snow was so nice that of course she believed the Dark Princess when she said that it wasn’t her fault, but everyoneknew that Princess Regina really was working with her mother.  _Everyone_ knew that.  Pinocchio’s papa had told him that part of their job was to protect Queen Snow from her own kindness; she wanted to believe the best of everyone, particularly her stepsister, and that sometimes meant that she forgot the Dark Princess really was evil.  After all, she’d saved her life when she _should_ have been executed seven months earlier (even if they had been trying to kill the Evil Queen).  But his papa said that the Queen should have just let Regina die.  And then they should have found the Evil Queen and killed her, too.

Five months later, he went through the wardrobe too early to see Regina battling her mother to give David a chance to get his daughter through to safety.

* * *

 

The problem with bringing magic, Belle reflected, was that it brought as many problems as it did solutions.  The cursed magic users were enough of a risk—though most of them seemed not to have lost control of their emotions (and therefore their magic) so far.  Unfortunately, there were other complications, too.  One of which was _really_ complicated when it came to her friend Ruby.

Ruby and Lacey had become friends while under the curse, and Belle had maintained that friendship after she woke up.  She hadn’t known the other  young woman back in their world, but she _liked_ her, and she wanted to stay friends with her once the curse broke.  She hadn’t, however, expected her husband to bring up the waitress and tell Belle that she was actually a werewolf in the Enchanted  Forest…and that February 2nd, the very day that Rumplestiltskin had returned home, was the full moon.  _The timing,_ Belle decided, slipping into a chair at the bar, _could have been a lot better_.

She wanted nothing more than to spend the night with her husband, and judging from the way he’d kissed her when she left, Rumplestiltskin fully agreed.  Belle had no idea if he was up to anything more than cuddling—she knew he still had a little healing left to do—but she wanted to bewith him, if nothing else.  Not here at Granny’s slipping a drug into the water bottle that Ruby always kept behind the counter.  Lacey had known her friend too well; when Ruby was working, she always had a bottle of water.  Rumple had assured her that the sleeping drug would be tasteless and not too quick acting, yet it would keep Ruby unconscious through her transformation tonight.  After all, explaining wasn’t an option.  There was no way that Ruby would believe she’d be a wolf by the time it got dark.

“Hey!” a cheerful voice interrupted just as Belle tried to sneak the water bottle back into its hidey-hole.  “What are you doing with my water bottle, Lacey?”

Caught, Belle felt her eyes go wide before her brain could catch up with her guilty look.  “Checking to make sure it isn’t vodka?” she asked, dredging up Lacey’s memories of getting drunk with Ruby during community college they hadn’t ever actually attended.

“Very funny.  Granny would kill me dead if I was drunk on the job,” her friend replied, snatching the bottle playfully away from her.  Then Ruby’s voice dropped into a stage whisper:  “Besides, I’d have shared it with you already if it was.”

Grinning, Belle tried to push back her guilt as Ruby took a swig of the water.  “Well, it’s good to know that some things don’t change.” 

“Not at all.”  Ruby put the bottle away and leaned on the counter, asking lightly: “Gold’s not even back for an entire day and he’s already driving you to drink?”

“No,” Belle laughed, and this time it felt more honest.  “I just suck at cooking, and he’s not up to it, so I came to pick something up.”

“Where’s the munchkin?” 

“Torturing Gold through the third re-watching of _Beauty and the Beast,_ ” she replied, remembering how purely cursed Gold had been _so_ very sick of the song ‘Be Our Guest’.   Lacey  had found his grumbling about the song amusing, but now Belle thought she knew why Rumplestiltskin’s buried subconscious had hated it.  _It was his castle, doing crazy things he couldn’t control.  He’d have destroyed the plates if they’d ever started dancing back home!_ she thought behind a smile.

“Glad to have him back?” Ruby asked next, and Belle could have hugged the friend she’d just drugged.

“Yeah, I am,” she said quietly, thinking of the contrast between the friend she’d gained while under the curse and the father who hated her husband in both worlds.  “The house was too quiet without him.”

“Well, then, let me take your order so you can head home,” was the easy response, and Belle handed over the sheet of paper where she’d written down what her family wanted for dinner.  Ruby just took it with a smile.  She’d never asked Lacey what was between her and Gold, but Ruby had always known Lacey well enough to know that there was something going on.  Lacey had been grateful for it then and Belle was grateful for it now; loving someone when everyone told you it was wrong was just _hard_.  She wasn’t going to give up on her husband, of course, but listening to everyone say what bad decisions she made was exhausting.

Just like lying to a friend was draining.  Ruby was halfway through the water bottle and already yawning by the time Belle left, and Belle just hoped it would be enough.  She’d apologize to Ruby once the curse broke, but for now, they had to keep both Ruby and the town safe.  Having a werewolf rampaging around Storybrooke before the curse broke would be an utter disaster, and Belle knew enough about Cora to know that the mayor certainly wouldn’t take care of the problem.  Rumplestiltskin had only done it out of self-interest, or maybe because Ruby was her friend, she knew (her husband wasn’t altruistic, even on his best days), but Belle was glad he was forward thinking enough to have seen the problem.

* * *

 

Officially, David had taken Henry to the park Saturday the fourth of February so that he could be a typical ten year old and play tag with some of his classmates.  Unofficially, of course, David was there so that he could talk to Mary Margaret.  The fact that his adopted dad (actual grandfather) thought that _Henry_ didn’t know what the real reason he was there was kind of funny; Henry had been _telling_ David that Mary Margaret was his True Love for months.  But, being an adult—and being under the curse—David was a little slow to believe that.  Henry supposed he shouldn’t blame him; he was cursed.  And the curse really did make people do funny things.

Like today.  There was an older woman staring at David from the benches near the swings, and Henry couldn’t remember ever having seen her before.  That wasn’t unbelievable—Storybrooke was _much_ bigger than most of its residents thought—but he still couldn’t figure out why the old woman was staring at his grandfather like that.  Or not until he pulled his book out, anyway.  He had to really look to find her, because there was only one picture, but once Henry found the right story, everything all started to make sense.

After that, arranging for the two of them to meet was child’s play.  He ‘tripped’ near the bench where the older woman was sitting, dropping his backpack and letting all of his books (but not The Book; Henry didn’t want to damage that one) spill out.  Like any mother, the old woman immediately came over to see if he was all right—and Henry could see David and Mary Margaret hurrying over, too.

“Are you hurt?” the old woman asked kindly, and Henry gave her a smile.  She was family, too, after all, even if she didn’t know it. 

“I don’t think so,” he said as winningly as he could, feeling a little guilty about tricking everyone.  But it was for a good cause.

“Henry, are you okay?” his adopted father asked, jogging up.

“Yep, just fine.”  Henry tried pretty hard not to call his grandfather ‘Dad’, anymore; it would just make things awkward when the curse broke.  He always added a ‘Gramps’ onto the end in his mind, though, and he decided that he liked that.  “I just tripped on some rocks, I think.”

Mary Margaret gave him a quizzical look, and Henry supposed that he should have checked to make sure that there actually _were_ rocks there before claiming to have tripped on them.  But she didn’t call him on it.

“Here, let me help you pick these up,” the old woman said, bending to do just that.

“I can get it,” Henry piped up just a moment too late, noticing the way David immediately went over to help, too.  Both his adopted dad and the old woman reached for his math book at the same time, and then their eyes met.

“Do I know you?” the old woman asked, her face softening.

“I don’t think so,” David said slowly, blinking in the way cursed people did when they _should_ know someone that they didn’t.  “I’m David Nolan.”

“Dimitra Selby,” she introduced herself, but Henry knew that her real name was Ruth.

He and David left a few minutes later; Mary Margaret had to head back to work at the diner, and Henry claimed to be sick of playing tag.  He’d only wanted to go there so that David could hang out with his True Love, anyway.  And now he wanted to head home so that he could talk to Gramps about this new development.

“So did you recognize her?” he asked as they walked.

“Who?”

“Ms. Selby,” Henry replied, trying not to roll his eyes.  He knew that his real grandpa, Prince Charming, wasn’t nearly this dense.  It was the curse’s fault, not David’s.

“I don’t think so,” David said, but he sounded like he doubted himself.  “Why would I?”

“Probably because she’s your mom,” Henry told him matter-of-factly, and watched his adopted father stop cold.

* * *

 

Her conversation with Zelena the previous day had been productive, but there were other pieces in play.  One of them in particular required a bit of _prodding._ While Cora was certain that she had August well in hand—particularly since he was terrified of fully returning to his wooden form—Hook was not so easy to cow.  August was selfish, and she had his father to use as leverage.  Hook fancied himself her ally as much as her servant, and although Cora would be the first to admit that the clever pirate had his uses, she also couldn’t afford to ignore the way he was chaffing under her rule.   She’d already decided that she should turn him loose against Rumplestiltskin, but in the meantime, she needed other ways to keep him in line.

“I need you to do something for me, Captain,” she said, walking into his office after blowing right past the idiot girl who served as his secretary—and probably as a bedmate from time to time.  Killian really was rather predictable in that respect, even if he did fancy himself a gallant lover rather than a seducer of young women.

To give him credit, the pirate never seemed to visit a bed where he was not wanted.  And he _did_ indeed have a pretty enough face to turn many a woman’s eye, even pretty enough to turn many women into fools over him.  She’d never been that type, of course, but Cora was not surprised to see it happen time and again.  In fact, she was rather counting on it working one more time.

“And what’s that?” Hook asked, looking up warily.

“Seducing someone, of course,” Cora replied with a smile, settling into the comfortable chair by the window.  “Par for the course with you.”

“As much as I appreciate being your residential Casanova, love, it does grate on the nerves a little,” the pirate replied immediately.  Yet Cora allowed herself a small smile when he relented immediately.  “Still, I am always happy to help the cause.  Who can I bring to your camp this time?”

“Lacey French,” she answered immediately, thinking of the way the annoying little librarian continuously visited Rumplestiltskin in the hospital.  She wanted Lacey _away_ from Rumple, not warmly in his house and in his bed.  Cora knew better than anyone how violently Rumple would react if his chosen lover left him for another man—particularly _this_ man.  Knowing that she was dealing with Rumplestiltskin and not Gold only made her more eager to possess him, but the first thing she had to do was pry Lacey away.

And after all, helping Lacey find a new and better love (particularly one that tarnished her forever in Rumple’s eyes) was not _harming_ her.  Cora was quite certain that Hook would make sure the girl even enjoyed herself.  He did pride himself on his skills, after all.

But now her pet pirate was wincing.  “Ah, that won’t be so easy, I’m afraid.”

“Why not?” she demanded sharply.

“I’ve already tried to pry her away from the crocodile.  She seems remarkably…determined to stay with him,” Hook scowled.  “And remarkably uninterested in _me._ ”

Oh, that stung his pride.  Under other circumstances, Cora would have enjoyed seeing that, but not when it was Rumple’s little doxy refusing to leave.  _He’s been awake for some time,_ she reminded herself.  _And Rumple has always been able to be kind.  He’s playing hero for her, isn’t he?  Rescuing her from homelessness after the fire, playing with her little girl…_ The mental image that brought up made her want to snarl out loud, but queens did not pace and rage where their servants could see them.  Instead, Cora restricted herself to a mild frown.

“Pity.  It would be far safer for her in the long run, but I suppose the poor girl is not to know that.”

“I don’t know what she sees in him,” Hook grumbled.  “Milah always said he was rather worthless all round, without the power.”

Cora barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes and tell the pirate that ‘his’ Milah seemed like a terribly short-sighted woman, and that the thought of Rumple having killed his first wife had _always_ added a certain spice of danger and darkness to her own relationship with him.  Had Cora been in Milah’s shoes, consorting with a  pirate when her husband turned up as the Dark One, _she_ would have been the one asking Rumplestiltskin to rip Hook’s heart out and returning to the Dark One at all costs.  What was a pirate compared to the darkest and most powerful sorcerer known to their entire world?  Milah had been an idiot, in her opinion.  But that hardly mattered.

Neither did her plan to break Rumplestiltskin’s heart again, via Lacey French, apparently.  Again, Cora had to fight back a scowl.  _I’ll deal with her if the curse breaks,_ she decided.  Once his ‘pleases’ stopped working, she could always take the girl’s heart and turn her against Rumple that way.  Or just kill her.  The possibilities were endless, but for now, Cora needed the curse intact.

“Then concentrate your efforts on Miss Swan,” she replied after a moment, her mind working on the problem.  Perhaps she could lead Hook in the right direction indirectly; the _please_ not to hurt Lacey or her daughter meant Cora could not send the pirate after them, but if he got the idea on his own, and didn’t mention it to her… “Seduce her. _Distract_ her.  I want her not thinking of the curse, and instead thinking of herself.”

“I can do that,” he said immediately, and Cora pretended not to see the flicker of doubt in his eyes.  She didn’t really care what Hook _felt_ ; he could pine after Milah or that silly fairy in the Basement for eternity for all she cared.  So long as he did his job.  Then his next question was music to her ears.  “And…Gold?”

She shrugged. “Do what you like.  But if you _do_ acquire the dagger, my dear Captain, bring it to me.  Do not try to kill him with it.  You’ll only find yourself under his curse, and I trust that you prefer to remain as you are.”

Telling Hook that had always been a calculated risk, but she knew he liked his pretty face too much to mar it with that much darkness.  Now, having known that for some time, he just scowled.  “And what will _you_ do with it?  I have a hard time believing you’ll make him suffer adequately.”

“Oh, I _will_ ,” she smiled.  “And I will certainly let you have your vengeance in return.”

“Good enough,” the pirate agreed.  “Is there anything else,  Your Majesty?”

“No, that should be enough for now.”  She’d planted the seed of revenge without being able to kill Rumplestiltskin in his head, and coupled with the knowledge that Lacey wanted nothing to do with him…well, Cora could count on Hook starting to think that he should take away Rumplestiltskin’s love the way Rumplestiltskin had done to him.

_Then Rumple will remember who he is, and drop this foolishness.  And together, we’ll be unstoppable._

* * *

 

The crafty old bastard was obviously taking advantage of the situation to sit at home on his arse and do nothing, Regina reflected, glaring at the fancy double doors in front of her.  For a moment, she was tempted to blast them in with a fireball—heavens knew, Rumple could fix them with a twitch of one finger—but instead she contained herself.  Lacey and Renee were inside, and although Regina would have no problems frightening Rumple’s little concubine (or whatever she was), she did draw the line at terrifying a three year old.  Being a mother had taught her to be better than that.  _Good think Henry is at the park with David, otherwise he would have wanted to tag along now that he knows Gold is awake, and how would I explain my temper to him?_

So, she knocked like a normal person, burning to just teleport herself inside like the sorceress she was.  But that wasn’t a good idea, either, and not just because she might traumatize a little girl.  No, the more Regina used magic in this world, the more she realized how different it truly was.  Her mother had mentioned something about it being love based before Regina had quit her job and shoved Cora out of her life, but that still didn’t mean Regina felt the need to go poofing herself around before she was certain she wouldn’t leave bits and pieces of her body behind.  _That_ would be even harder to explain to Henry than blasting Rumplestiltskin’s front porch into next week, so Regina just tapped her foot impatiently and waited.

Of course, Lacey French opened the door, her expression wary when she saw Regina.  “Hello.  What can I do for you?”

“You can’t do anything for me, dear,” Regina snapped, her patience already warn thin.  Rumplestiltskin had been home since the 31st, and it was now February 4th. He hadn’t done _anything_ since then, and she was ready to strangle him.  “I assume Gold is home, so why don’t you step aside and let me see him?”

Interestingly, the doormat of a librarian’s eyes narrowed.  “You could ask nicely, you know.”

“I could, but I’m not always a nice person.”

Lacey crossed her arms, and Regina couldn’t _believe_ that she was having this conversation with the woman.  Really, what kind of ideas _did_ Rumple let the librarian get?  But then again, she remembered that somewhat nauseating exchange that she’d spied on in the hospital.  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t _actually_ be in love with the woman, no matter what he said—because that was downright impossible—but apparently he wanted Lacey to think he was.  _Which probably leads to this._ Regina barely managed to fight back the urge to roll her eyes.  Playing nice, however, took a much larger effort.

“Is Ru— _Gold_ home?” she asked, trying for politeness.  “I really do need to talk to him.”

“He is.”  Lacey obviously hadn’t fallen for the semi-nice act, but hopefully she hadn’t noticed Regina’s near-slip, either.  “Won’t you come in?”

“Thank you.”  The words came out from behind gritted teeth, and Regina followed the former librarian into the living room, where Rumplestiltskin was sitting on the floor with Lacey’s little girl, playing with _blocks_ , of all things.  The pretty little domestic scene almost melted Regina’s entire mind, and she had to blink twice to be sure she was really seeing it.

Fortunately, her old teacher looked up as she was led in, absolving Regina of the need to figure out what to say.

“Impatient, are we?” he said by way of greeting, and Regina scowled.

“It’s been _four days_ ,” she retorted, crossing her arms.

Rumplestiltskin, however, ignored her, instead turning to the three year old by his side.  “I’m afraid we’re going to have to finish this later, sweetie,” he said softly, with none of the awkwardness Regina remembered from the few emotional moments they had shared.  “Will you let your Mamma help you for now?”

Renee French gave him a dirty look.  “Do I have to?”

“I’m afraid you do,” Rumplestiltskin chuckled, leaning in to kiss the little girl on the forehead.  “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Oh-kay.”

Rising, he exchanged a look with Lacey that Regina couldn’t read, but she was mostly preoccupied with the fact that Gold’s cane was nowhere in sight.  _Well, I guess I shouldn’t have expected him to limp when there’s magic around, should I have?_ she thought wryly, and then followed him when he gestured her into his study.  Once there, Regina closed the door rather firmly behind herself, and then cast a silencing spell on it, just for good measure.

“That really isn’t necessary, dear,” he said easily, lounging back against his desk.  Looking at him like this made Regina do a double take; she’d been too distracted by the fact that Rumplestiltskin was sitting on the floor with a kid to notice the fact that he wasn’t wearing a jacket, vest, or tie.  In fact, the top two buttons of his dark purple shirt were unbuttoned, something she had _never_ even wanted to see.

“I don’t want your little woman eavesdropping,” she retorted, her voice sharp to hide how uneasy she was with this change.

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “She’s no threat to you.”

“ _You_ didn’t have to deal with her when you were in the hospital.  She’s playing you, Rumple.”

“This again?” He did an admirable job of looking unconcerned, rolling his eyes and sighing.  But Regina would not be deterred. 

“Look, I know you better than most people, and I know that you’re capable of caring.  I _also_ know that you’re not really good at interpersonal relationships,” Regina reminded him.  He looked ready to say something dismissive, so she snapped: “And I’m worried about you, Rumple, so don’t you dare brush me off.”

“I’m not trying to brush you off.”

Arguing with him was like yelling at a rock wall, just less productive.  Regina snorted.  “Then why don’t you tell me what the hell you _are_ trying to do, because from  here, it feels like a brush off,” she said shortly.  “And while you’re at it, tell me why in the world you trust her so much.”

Brown eyes narrowed.  “Are you referring to some specific incident?”

“Well, I know you weren’t in any shape to go brew up whatever you did to bring magic here, and since you trust _me_ to do it, I can only assume you used her.”

That hurt more than she wanted to admit.  If Rumple needed help, Regina would have hoped that he’d call her.  _She_ was a sorceress.  _She_ knew who she was.  Lacey French was a bookworm who the curse had given a relationship with Mr. Gold.  Yet here Lacey was, wearing designer clothes and swanning around in Rumple’s house like she owned the place.  What the hell was Rumple playing at, letting this girl get so close to him now that he was awake?  It was one thing for him to do it while he was Gold, but now he was _Rumplestiltskin_ , the Dark One.  He was certainly the most powerful sorcerer anyone knew of in the Enchanted Forest, and he was widely believed to be the cleverest one as well.  So, what the hell did think he was doing?

“You mother has too many ways to control you,” her old teacher replied bluntly.  “I couldn’t risk her using one of them—such as your son—to stop you.  Don’t take it personally, Regina.”

He spoke sense, but that didn’t help soothe Regina’s ire.  She just crossed her arms and glared at him.  “Whose side are you on here?”

“My own, of course.  Nothing has changed on that front.”

He was an immortal trickster, a master strategist, and perhaps a demon underneath his human exterior.  Why had she _ever_ trusted him?  And yet here she was, yet again, ready to lean on his shoulder when she had no one else to turn to.  Not for the first time, Regina wondered how sane doing so was…but she was in too deep.  She had trusted Rumplestiltskin too many times, and heavens help her, he’d never let her down.  _That doesn’t mean I trust Lacey French, though_ , Regina thought firmly, frowning at her old teacher.  His expression was unreadable, as always, but there was something _lighter_ in his eyes than she had seen in a long time.  Was it just because there was magic here in Storybrooke now, or was there something more?

“I don’t know why I trust you,” she grumbled after a moment.

Rumplestiltskin’s smile was thin.  “Probably because our interests lie in accord.”

“Why should I believe that you even want the curse broken at this point?” Regina pressed, narrowing her eyes.  “Why shouldn’t I think that, now that magic is here, you’re not just going to be happy to play house with your little whatever-she-is?”

“I’m hardly content with this little cursed life, dear,” he retorted dryly. 

“Well, I can’t imagine that you’d prefer Lacey to wake up and realize that she’s been living with the Dark One.”

That made him snort.  “Do you think that I would trust someone to bring magic who _didn’t_ know who I was back home?” he asked, and _that_ jerked Regina up short.  “I know very well who Lacey French is, m’dear, and I am able to trust in that.”

“Then who the hell was she?” Regina demanded before she could stop himself.

“I acquired her as a maid some years ago,” Rumplestiltskin replied easily, with the little wiggle that told Regina he was amused and enjoying himself.

“You let your _maid_ have a child?” she asked incredulously. 

“I’ve always liked children.  Don’t forget that I played with _you_ as a child.  I brought you some of your favorite toys.”

Flabbergasted, all Regina could do was stare.  “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” she finally  managed to ask.

Rumplestiltskin only laughed, and for the first time in twenty-eight years, Regina heard an echo of the imp’s giggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, dear. Zelena’s awake, and she’s going to prove a wildcard. What do you think she and her mother will get up to first? (Also, don't be too frustrated with Emma. She's mad at August, and suspects he's lying, so she's playing at believing less than she does).
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Fifty-Seven—“Leaking Through,” where Hook tries to ask Emma out again, August receives ominous instructions from Blue, Regina spies on Rumplestiltskin and Belle via mirror, Emma meets ‘Chloe Zephyr’, and Henry discovers something interesting. Back in the past, Hook meets Tinker Bell and Cora threatens to destroy the Charmings’ happiness forever.


	57. Leaking Through

_Don’t think of Mirabella_ , Killian told himself firmly, knocking on the door of the loft that Swan shared with the schoolteacher-turned-waitress.  He knew for a fact that Mary Margaret was working at Granny’s right now, so this was the time to act.  He really _did_ like Emma, after all, and it wasn’t like he’d ever really had a relationship with the woman who was still locked in the Basement.  The fact that Emma reminded him of Mirabella didn’t factor into his desire for the sheriff _at all_ , and besides, seducing Emma would get Cora off his back.  He needed that, particularly because Killian Jones was no fool.  The curse _would_ break before too long, and he needed to be in either Emma’s or Cora’s good graces when it did.  Preferably both, if he could pull that off.  Fortunately, seducing Emma now gave him _choices_ when the curse ended, and that was exactly what he wanted.

The door opened, and the Savior looked at him in surprise.

“Killian,” she said slowly, blinking.  “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I might tempt you out for a dinner date that isn’t interrupted by murder,” he replied, giving her his most charming smile.  “I would have brought flowers, but, as you know…the flower shop is a bit out of commission.”

That made her snort; he always had admired Swan’s sometimes morbid sense of humor.  “Yeah, I can’t imagine why.”

“Will chocolates do instead?” he asked, offering her up the best collection of chocolates that he’d been able to find at the store.  Valentine’s Day was approaching, which meant that the romantic gesture had been easy to make.  Not for the first time, Killian was grateful for this world’s little traditions; they made seducing a woman _so_ much easier.  He’d only had chocolate a time or two back home, despite having lived over three centuries.  It had been prohibitively expensive and halfway to impossible to find, but here it was plentiful.  And delicious.

“Thank you,” Emma said with a smile, and he knew he had her.  Oh, the seduction would be slow, but he had her now.

“So…about that dinner?”

“I’m sorry.”  Something flickered across her face.  “I promised Henry that I’d take him out tonight so that Regina…well, it doesn’t matter.  But I already have a date with Henry.”

Well, he couldn’t expect to take her child’s place in her heart, and trying to get a date on short notice was always rather foolish.  So, Killian smiled.  “I’d never try to get between a mother and child,” he reassured her, half wishing that he could earn himself an invitation to that dinner—because that would have meant that Emma was  _definitely_ leaning his direction—but rather glad he had not. “May I request a rain check, then?”

“Um.  Probably?”  Emma shrugged a little.  “I’m just so busy right now, between Moe and Tony being in jail, poor Marco getting beaten up, Sidney’s murder going unsolved, and this entire mess with the Basement that seems to be getting nowhere.  Both my deputies seem more interested in drinking than they do helping, and the mayor barks at me every chance she gets.  I just don’t think I’m going to have much chance for a social life anytime soon.”

“Perhaps a breath of fresh air is just what you need.”

“Maybe.  But I’m not sure when I’m going to get one,” she admitted.  “It’s not that I’m not grateful for the offer, because I am, but I’ve got to be the sheriff first, y’know?”

“Of course,” Killian said, even if he wanted to throttle Cora for making so much happen at once.  Three of the four issues Emma mentioned were directly the mayor’s doing, and blaming the Basement’s existence on her was easy, too.  Unfortunately, the mayor’s antics were now getting in the way of the relationship that _Cora_ wanted him to build, but Killian wasn’t dumb enough to tell her majesty that one.  Not if he wanted to keep himself one piece, and keep the extra hand she’d given him.

_There’s magic here now, mate,_ he reminded himself.  _Cora can just take it back, perhaps give it back to whatever bloke she took it from in the first place._ He’d never asked, but twenty-eight years with two hands had let him remember how good it was not to wear a damn hook all over the place.  Of all the things Cora could do to him, losing the second hand could possibly be the worst.

“I’ll just be going, then,” he replied, resolutely _not_ asking her why he’d seen her with Graham just the day before.  It had to be police work, right?  Cora had assured him that the former sheriff was out of the picture.  “Enjoy the chocolates.”

“I will, and thank you,” Emma said, and she sounded sincere.

Still, the thought of her with Graham—he’d never tolerated competition well—made Killian want to go find someone else and bury himself in a woman’s sweet embrace.  At first, he thought of going to Granny’s and asking the leggy wolf girl to accompany him to the Rabbit Hole, and then he contemplated finding Cora’s newly awakened daughter and seeing if her red hair was natural after all.  But _that_ was sheer stupidity; Killian knew what Cora had done to Regina’s inappropriate love, which meant that even having Zelena fall head over heels for him would provide no measure of safety.  She was an attractive woman, if one managed to forget the ugly green skin back in their world, but no.  The idea of seducing her was beyond foolish.

Still, he did not mean for his feet to take him to the Basement, or for his traitorous lips to ask Madam Merryweather if Mirabella was available for the evening.

* * *

 

_5 Months Before the Curse_

Perhaps wandering around the Evil Queen’s castle whilst she was in exile was not the best of ideas, even if the halls were crowded with mercenaries in dire need of lessons in personal hygiene.  He was a pirate, not a soldier, and too long on dry land left him restless, despite the handsome retainer Cora had paid him for his services.  Still, he _should_ have known that opening closed doors was dangerous.  Yet, had he not done so, Killian never would have discovered a petite green fairy stuck inside a glass jar.

“What _are_ you doing in there?” he asked curiously, bending to inspect the fairy, who was sitting on top of what looked like a spool of thread and pouting.  She didn’t respond immediately, so he tapped his hook against the glass impatiently.

“I _heard_ you,” she snapped, jumping to her feet and glaring up at him.  “I just didn’t care about answering you.”

“What, do you have so many companions in there that you can’t spare a moment to converse with a lonely pirate?” Killian countered, enjoying himself immensely.  He’d never met a fairy before, and hadn’t realized they were so _small._

“Very funny.”

Crouching down to her level, he couldn’t resist asking: “Do fairies usually live in glass jars?”

“Of course not!  Are pirates usually idiots?” the little green woman—who had great legs, even if they were a bit, well, _tiny_ for his tastes—retorted.  Killian felt a grin growing on his face.

“Most of them are, love, but that’s why I always beat them.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Oh, _you_ don’t have an ego at all.  What’s your name, anyway, pirate?”

“Captain Killian Jones, at your service,” he replied, offering her as much of a bow as he could from his crouch.  “You may have heard of me as Captain Hook.”

“Not really, no.  But I didn’t get out much,” she admitted, and then sat back down with a sigh.  “I’m Tinker Bell.”

“Don’t fairies usually go by their colors?” he wondered.  Killian had heard that somewhere, maybe from Smee?  He couldn’t recall, but he knew that the most powerful fairy was the Blue Fairy, which meant that the others probably did that, too.

“I’m not a common fairy,” Tinker Bell snapped, but there was something defeated and defensive in the way she spoke the words.

“I don’t expect you are,” he said as gallantly as he could, admiring the tiny woman’s sass and spunk if nothing else.  “But how did you wind up in a glass jar in Queen Cora’s castle?”

Her face fell.  “I tried to help Regina free her True Love.”

“Cora’s daughter?”

“Yes.”  The small fairy brought her knees up towards her chest, wrapping her arms around them.  “It didn’t work out so well, and I’ve been here ever since.”

“In a glass jar?”  That was rough, even for Cora.

“You could help me escape, you know,” Tinker Bell told him bluntly.  “I _am_ a fairy, and I can help you if you are brave enough to help me.  No one in our order knows where I am, but if you let me out of this jar—and help me find my wand—I’ll be able to help you.  You could even be a hero, instead of a pirate.”

Listening to her say that made Killian laugh, even if the thought of doing something he could be _proud_ of was actually a little bit tempting.  _But just a little bit.  You’ve got too much canvas up for that, mate, and you’re running before one hell of a storm.  Don’t look back or the tempest will find and sink you._   “I’m no hero, love,” he replied as lightly as he could.  “I chose my side in this war, and it’s with Queen Cora.”

“She’s only using you,” the fairy pointed out.  “She uses _everyone_.  I’ve been in this jar for nine months, watching her manipulate and use people.  No one matters to her, not even her daughters.”

“Ah, but I’m using her as much as she’s using me,” Killian replied, wishing he could be as certain of that as he sounded.  “We both have things the other wants.  We have an accord.”

“Don’t count on it sticking.  She’ll get rid of you the moment you aren’t useful.”

“And I’ll leave here the moment allying with her doesn’t serve my purposes,”  he said as casually as he could, ignoring the gnawing feeling of doubt.  “Cora and I both know what the other is.  There’s no love between us.”

“Have it your way,” Tinker Bell replied with a shrug, but Killian could see the way her hopes had been dashed and actually felt a little guilty.

“Don’t take it personally,” he said as gently as he could.  “I just can’t endanger my business relationship with Her Majesty by freeing you.  I’m sorry.”

“Of course you are,” she said glumly, turning away from him.  Killian didn’t try to prolong the conversation; it had been entertaining, but he was no hero to rescue a fairy in distress.  He was a _pirate_ , and a villain, and he was tired of having the heroes win.  No, he was here to turn the tables on them, not become one of them.

Years later, he’d realize that although he’d never recognized Mirabella when she was human-sized, her favorite color had always been green.

* * *

 

August really was starting to hate the convent.  Of course, he knew that Blue meant well, but he was beginning to feel like the puppet he had once been, and not because he was turning to wood.  Cora was still pulling his strings ruthlessly, demanding he find out this and that, and subtly threatening his father should he not comply.  _Or not so subtly, as the case may be,_ August thought grouchily.  Worse yet, Blue was now getting into the game, reminding him constantly that he had to protect Emma and keep her away from the Dark Princess.

“ _You_ try keeping the two of them apart!” he finally snapped, gesturing angrily with both hands.  “They share a _kid_ , and Henry keeps bringing them together.  And now even Snow White is spending time with Regina!”

“Dear Snow has always had a blind spot for her stepsister,” the chief of the fairies replied sadly, and August didn’t bother to bite back his groan.

“You never managed to keep them apart,” he grumbled.  “Don’t expect me to succeed where you failed, particularly when Regina has magic.”

Blue’s eyes narrowed, but at least she finally stopped pressing.  August was even relieved until she turned to her next topic.  “You have a good point.  Clearly, more drastic measures are required.”

“Like what?” he asked warily, every instinct on guard.

“You’ve learned Baelfire’s story, yes?” Blue questioned him, and August’s heart sank.  Blue had told him that sad tale more than once, and it made him feel even more guilty for playing on Neal’s fears the way he had.  _I think he really did love her_ , August reflected, remembering the way Neal had been determined to go back to Emma, despite his own past, right up until August told him that he’d already called the police and gotten her arrested.  Only then had Neal’s fears won out…and because of August, Neal’s son had grown up without _either_ of his natural parents.

_I know how that is,_ he thought sadly.  _My papa was the center of my world until he had to send me away.  Henry’s a good kid, and he deserves better than what I did to his parents._

“I have,” he replied cautiously.

“Good.  It so happens that…Mr. Gold is rather desperate to find his long lost son,” she said serenely, folding her hands on the desk in front of her.  “And I know that what I ask of you is hard, but I need you to impersonate Baelfire long enough to get the dagger from him.”

“Wait.”  August blinked hard.  “You mean Gold is _Rumplestiltskin_?”

He had known that Rumplestiltskin was awake, courtesy of Cora, but the idea that the recently-beaten pawnbroker could be the Dark One was staggering.

Blue grimaced.  “Unfortunately.”

“And you want me to lie to _the Dark One_ ,” he said, staring at his longtime benefactor, at the fairy who had made him into a real boy.  He’d never be able to repay that, which was why he hadn’t begged her to stop his irrevocable slide into becoming wood again.  Long ago, Blue had told Pinocchio what he needed to do in order to stay human, and he’d strayed from that.  He had no right to ask her for a second chance; he had to earn it.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, Pinocchio,” she said quietly.

“My name is August.”

“August, then.  Can you do this?” Blue pressed, her voice gentle but serious.

Gulping, August could only stare at her.  Did she have any idea how dangerous trying to pull one over Rumplestiltskin would be?  Of course she did.  But it wasn’t Blue’s neck on the line; it would be his.  Yet August owed her too much.  He couldn’t say no.  _And when I have the dagger, I can make him turn me human again,_ he thought, desperation lending hope to his decisions.  _Then I can help Emma break the curse, and I’ll finally live up to being ‘selfless, brave, and true.’_

This world was an ugly place, August decided, nodding.  Sometimes even heroes had to do ugly things.

* * *

 

Watching Rumplestiltskin move without pain was a feeling Belle thought she would relish for the rest of her life.  She would never forget how small and broken he’d looked lying in the hospital bed, how close she’d come to losing him forever.  Every day with him after that was a treasure, and if bringing magic to Storybrooke had been the price to pay for his life, Belle was prepared to pay it.  She’d hoped so very much that keeping magic away from Storybrooke would at least somewhat free Rumplestiltskin of the darkness that lived inside of him, but she preferred her husband alive, curse and all, to the alternative.  The very idea of living without him was painful.  She had no idea how Lacey had done it, loving Gold but not living with him, knowing that she would do anything for him and yet never quite sure that he would do the same.  That insecurity had been the Dark Curse talking, of course; Belle herself knew better.  Her husband was difficult and sometimes had a hard time opening up, but she knew he loved her.  And she knew that he would try to be better for her sake, even if he didn’t always manage.

When she got down to it, that was the best she could ask from the Dark One.  Someday, however, Belle hoped that they could find Baelfire and then Rumplestiltskin could put the power down.  She knew that would be hard for him—particularly after what Cora had done—but she hoped that someday he would be able to manage.  _And if he doesn’t, I’ll love him the same,_ Belle thought to herself, crossing their bedroom to crouch next to him.  Rumplestiltskin was kneeling in front of the chest that they had brought over from the Enchanted Forest, the one that had contained their True Love potion and other precious items.  Now, however, he was holding a ring that she only somewhat recognized, threading it through a slender strand of gold.

“Is that your gold?” she asked, wondering when he’d spun it.

Rumplestiltskin smiled slightly.  “Of course.  It’s far easier to enchant gold I’ve made than some random necklace from a store.  Particularly since I have no desire to patronize a store owned by Tony Rose.”

She could see the way the wry humor in his expression masked his still-simmering rage, so Belle just squeezed his arm and chose to smile back.  “The choices of jewelry stores _are_ rather limited here,” she replied lightly.  “Everyone has to buy from your shop or Tony.”

“That they are.”

“I recognize the ring, but I don’t remember what it is,” she admitted when her husband failed to volunteer any information. 

“I got it in a deal,” he said, and although Belle noticed that he was careful not to mention whom that deal had been with, she let it pass.  “It’s the ring of Sir Perceval of Galles.  It’s over a thousand years old, and capable of protecting someone against any magic and any danger.”

“Like the ring you made for me,” Belle smiled, feeling warm as she touched her wedding ring.  It was still on her right hand, where Lacey had always (unknowingly) worn it, but at least she knew what it was, now.

“More powerful,” her husband answered, and magic sparked out of his fingers, creating a clasp at the ends of the golden thread.  “Renee can’t wear it as a ring, but I think she can manage a necklace.  Do you?”

Belle bit her lip before she could stop herself.  “I thought your pleases would keep Cora from harming us.”

“They should, but I’m not planning on taking chances, sweetheart.”

Given the power that Cora still had over them all, Belle could only agree with Rumplestiltskin.  So, she just shifted close to him and wrapped an arm around his neck, nestling her head against his left shoulder.  Immediately, she felt his arm wrap around her in return, and Belle snuggled against her husband, savoring the strength in him now that he was healed.

“I love you, Rumple,” she whispered, her voice muffled a little by his shoulder. 

“And I love you,” he replied, and Belle felt lips touch the top of her head.  They stayed together in silence for several long moments before she felt him shifting uncomfortably

“Is your leg still bothering you?” She asked, pulling back and helping Rumplestiltskin to his feet.  The way he winced answered her question, and Belle couldn’t help cringing.  “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he said, hobbling for a moment before the magical brace took hold.  “For the most part, the leg is better.  It just cramps up more often than it should.”

“Will that wear off in time?”

“Probably.  Even if it doesn’t, it’s better than it’s been since, well, forever.”  Was it her imagination, or did her husband look a little torn between shame and embarrassment?  Cocking her head at him, Belle reached out to take Rumplestiltskin’s hands.

“I’m glad I brought magic,” she told him, remembering their arguments about it back home.   “And not just because it saved you.  I’m glad you can walk without pain, too.”

Belle had been horrified to realize that being in the Land Without Magic had returned that limp to Rumplestiltskin.  She had never learned as much about his past as she wanted to, because he hated sharing it so much, but she knew enough to know that Rumplestiltskin still despised that part of himself.  Someday, he would tell her why he hated what he’d called the _best version of himself_ , but until then, Belle would have to live with the fact that there were things about her husband she did not understand.  Love was a mystery, after all, and where would the fun be if she already knew everything?

“You are?” he asked, sounding so uncertain.

“Of course I am, silly.”  Belle leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, and then shifted to wrap her arms around his waist.  “You look so much more alive, now.”

“Do I?”

“Magic is a part of you, Rumple.  I know that.   I just wish that it didn’t come with the darkness that eats at your soul.”

A moment of silence passed, and Belle felt him tighten his hold on her.  “Me, too, sweetheart.  Me, too.”

* * *

 

“What the _hell_?” Regina muttered, watching the pair in the mirror.  She’d wanted to spy on Lacey French to figure out what the hell was going on, but here she’d just watched Lacey call Gold ‘Rumple’, and talk about magic, referencing his curse.  What _had_ the idiot told the girl?

They were in such big trouble. This was _not_ the time for Rumplestiltskin to go all love struck and stupid!  And for a girl that had been his maid, no less!  What the hell did he think was going to happen when Lacey woke up, that she’d stick with this relationship because he’d been kind to her here in Storybrooke?  There was no way that the girl was going to forget what he’d been back home, or what he’d looked like there.  Regina had no problems with Rumplestiltskin in all of his Dark One glory, but she’d known him for most of her life.  Lacey, or whoever Lacey really was, would not be so understanding.

A heartbroken Rumplestiltskin was _not_ someone Regina was prepared to deal with.  It was not her job to pick up the pieces if he fell apart, but how the hell was she supposed to stop this?  She wasn’t sure he could properly love, but she knew he’d had feelings for her mother, once.  _And Mother dropped him like a rock to marry Daddy for power,_ she remembered, waving a hand and wiping the nauseatingly cute image out of the mirror’s glass.  _The last thing I want to deal with is him getting rejected again._   Regina had no idea what had happened after her mother broke off their relationship, but she could imagine that it had not been pretty.

But there was no one else to deal with this mess, so somehow this had just become her problem.

“Damn you,” she whispered, flicking a finger at the mirror again to bring up the annoying pair.  Hopefully she could spy on Lacey alone soon, and figure out what the girl’s game was.  There was no way Cora had cursed Lacey to be in love with Gold, which meant _something_ had to be happening.  “How are you so _stupid_ that you can’t see what’s happening?”

“Who are you talking to, Mom?” a voice interrupted her, and Regina jumped.  When she turned, however, it was only her son.

“Watching an old friend make _very_ bad choices,” she grumbled before she could stop herself.

Now, Rumple was even _kissing_ his damn maid, kissing her with the kind of familiarity that Regina could only wish she could share with Errol.  Watching them made Regina burn with both envy and annoyance.  Rumple was around _ten times_ her age.  Surely he knew better than this!  _And even if he doesn’t, why does he get to be happy with someone when I lose my True Love?  Then when I find someone new, I’m too terrified to tell him how I feel because I’m afraid Mother will kill_ him _, too,_ she thought brokenly, hating herself just a little for being angry at her old friend.  Rumple hadn’t forced her mother’s hand, after all.  Cora had never needed a reason to hurt Daniel.

“How’s that a bad choice?” Henry asked curiously.  “I mean, Mr. Gold is the Beast and Lacey is Belle.  They’re supposed to be together.”

“Henry…” Regina trailed off, trying to figure out how to say this without telling her beloved son that her best friend was the Dark One.  _He’s enamored of heroes.  He won’t take that well at all._  “Mr. Gold isn’t the Beast.  Trust me.  I know him too well to think that.”

“Just because no one _called_ him that back in your world doesn’t mean he isn’t,” her ten year old pointed out far too logically.

Except people had, hadn’t they?  Surprise made Regina stop in her tracks and look at the pair again, just in time to see them walk hand in hand out of what she assumed was Gold’s bedroom and away from the view of the mirror.  She didn’t bother to find another mirror to track them; Rumple would catch on if she tried this trick too often, and she’d seen enough.  People _had_ called Rumplestiltskin a beast, and plenty of other things besides.  _Could_ he also be the Beast?  Could he genuinely have fallen in love with his _maid_ , as he’d admitted she was, and she with him?

“What exactly happens between Beauty and the Beast in your book, sweetie?” she asked curiously, and sat down to listen as Henry told her a story of True Love found and curses almost broken.

* * *

 

“…’Night, Papa,” the three year old muttered as Rumplestiltskin closed the book that night.  She was wearing the necklace he’d made for her and snuggled up in her blankets; just looking at her made Rumplestiltskin smile.  Too busy kissing his little girl on the forehead, he didn’t notice what she’d called him—because it was what _Gabrielle_ was _supposed_ to call him—until Belle spoke once they were outside Renee’s room.

“I think Gabrielle is starting to break through,” his wife said softly, holding his hand in her own.

“What?” Rumplestiltskin blinked like a fool, turning to stare at the door he had just (mostly) shut.

“The curse is weaker than ever, right?” Belle asked, and Rumplestiltskin wanted to smack himself for not thinking of it sooner.

“And she’s a child of True Love,” he finished the thought Belle had started.  “Inherently magical, particularly with the life she’s led.  Yes, it’s possible.  I just didn’t expect…”

“She loves you in both worlds, Rumple.”  The reassuring words made him turn his head.  How _could_ Belle almost read his mind like this?  “She’s not going to be confused when she wakes up.  Not about you, anyway.”

“How _do_ you know me so well?” he asked before he could stop himself, stepping forward—without the use of a cane!—to wrap his arms around the wonderful woman who had somehow agreed to become his wife.  Burying his nose in her hair, Rumplestiltskin almost didn’t care what she said in response; Belle was there, he was home, and the pain was almost gone.  More importantly, he had magic with which to protect his family, and he would make sure that Cora never hurt _any_ of them again.

“Years of experience,” she replied with a small giggle.  “Though you weren’t easy at first, I assure you.”

“Well, good,” he retorted.  “I never meant to be _easy_ , m’dear.”

Belle just snorted, and he held her tightly.  They’d have to watch Renee, of course, and make sure that Gabrielle didn’t emerge at an inopportune moment and uncover truths best left away from Storybrooke’s more curious ears,  but they could do that.  What mattered most was that they could be a family again, and that maybe, just maybe, Rumplestiltskin could remember what it was like not to be afraid.  He didn’t think Cora was foolish enough to try to hurt him when he had magic, after all.  Even once her own returned, _he_ was the Dark One, and Cora was just a sorceress.  She was powerful, yes, but in a stand-up fight, Cora would always lose.  They both knew that.

Yet that night he still shook and cried his way through nightmares in his wife’s arms, trying to bury himself in Belle, in _feeling_ until the horrors vanished under a haze of pleasure.  He’d been able to heal the physical wounds Cora had left behind, but the emotional scars remained, threatening to drag him into a deep abyss where he tried desperately to shield his soul and let no one in.  It was a good thing, Rumplestiltskin reflected while staring at the ceiling after another nightmare, that he had already been married to Belle before Cora had started treating him like that.  Otherwise, he might never have let her know what was happening, or how damaged he was.  He knew himself, after all, and knew how hard he found opening up to be.

Fortunately, Lacey had known, so _Belle_ had already known, and she wasn’t going to accept any excuses from him.  And somehow, he managed to find a little healing in her arms, a little peace he never would have found otherwise.

* * *

 

The redhead who sauntered into the sheriff’s office the next morning was vaguely familiar, but for the life of her, Emma couldn’t remember why.  But she sure walked like she owned the place.

“Can I help you?” Emma asked warily, glancing up from the antiquated computer on her desk.  She hadn’t been expecting anyone to drop by today, but any distraction from Moe French and Tony Rose’s complaining had to be worthwhile, didn’t it?

“My name is Chloe Zephyr,” the newcomer cooed, coifed in a dressy dark blue suit that probably cost as much as Emma’s monthly paycheck.  “I’m Storybrooke’s new chief administrative officer.”

“You’ve got Regina’s job.” Emma hadn’t meant for that to come out quite so hostilely, but she _was_ a bit surprised to see Zephyr show up.  Recognition was still tugging at the edge of her memory, but Emma couldn’t figure out why, so she pushed the thought aside. 

“Regina Nolan proved herself unworthy.  I won’t,” Zephyr replied, and suddenly Emma found herself blinking.

“Weren’t you a _nurse_ last week?” she asked.

The redhead huffed.  “Of course not.”

“I could have sworn that you worked at the hospital,” the sheriff replied slowly, remembering the too-sweet nurse that had hung around Gold’s room like a bad smell.

“Your memory must be deficient,” Zephyr snapped, looking around the station with a critical eye.  Emma really didn’t like the other woman’s officious manner, either, and she found herself coming to her feet slowly.

“Not usually, no.”  And her internal lie detector was telling her that Zephyr wasn’t telling the truth, too, which only put Emma more on edge.

“Well, then perhaps Storybrooke needs a more contentious sheriff,” was the snide reply.  “I’ll be sure to speak to the mayor about that.”

Unable to help herself, Emma laughed.  “You do that.  Look, she’s been trying to fire me since I was elected, and you’re gonna have no better chance of doing that than she has.  So, unless there’s something I can help you with, why don’t you leave me to my work and go tell someone else how important you are?”

Later, Emma would learn that snapping at “Chloe Zephyr” like that was a bad idea, but right then and there, it felt pretty nice.

* * *

 

Henry had decided that he was _the_ best chaperone that he could give his grandparents.  After all, no one looked twice if David went somewhere with his son, and Henry had started asking Mary Margaret for help with his homework while she was working at Granny’s.  He didn’t really need the help, but it gave her an excuse to come to the house, which was always a good thing.  He wasn’t going to let his adopted Grandmother keep Snow White and Prince Charming apart if he could help it, and so far, his plans had been working out great.

He’d even managed to convince the two of them to take a walk after borrowing Pongo from Archie.  Archie had been remarkably kind about it, winking at Henry when he tried to innocently say that he just wanted to walk around town with his Dad and his favorite (former) teacher.  But Henry knew that Archie wouldn’t spread rumors, and even if he did, Henry was _certain_ that the curse was going to be broken soon.  He just knew it.  Emma was starting to really believe in magic, and all that was left was to figure out _how_ they were going to get the curse broken.  In the beginning, Henry had though that sheer belief would do it, but now he wasn’t so sure.  But Emma would think of something.  He knew it.  She was smart and resourceful, and she was going to bring back everyone’s happy endings.

“What’s that?” he asked before he could stop himself, breaking his internal promise not to interrupt David and Mary Margaret’s conversation.  But when Pongo had decided to sniff the mailbox in front of the big green house, Henry had gotten bored waiting for him and started to look around.

“What’s what, Henry?” David asked immediately.  Even if he was actually his grandfather, David was a great dad.  Henry knew that the Evil Queen had meant to punish both Charming and Regina by marrying them to each other, but he was still glad that they were his parents.

“That house,” he said, pointing.  “It’s new.”

“What do you mean, new?” his grandfather asked just as his grandmother said:

“It’s rude to point, Henry.  Someone might be home.”

“If they are, I want to know who they are,”  he told her earnestly, and was disappointed to see that Mary Margaret was winning at the moment.  If _Snow_ had been there, she would have been curious too, Henry was sure.  “Because that house wasn’t there last week.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked down this street, so saying that it hadn’t been there last week was safer.  Henry _was_ certain that the house was new, though, even if his estimation of a week was off.  So, he studied it carefully, looking at the pale green mansion.  It had a brown door and brown shutters, with a wishing well in the front yard and a bunch of flowers closer to the house.  Were those poppies?  If so, he knew _exactly_ who had to live there.

“Of course it was.  Chloe Zephyr lives there,” David replied immediately.  “She’s always lived there.”

That made him frown.  “Who’s Chloe Zephyr?”

“Your grandmother’s new assistant, of course.  She’s been away from Storybrooke for some time, but she’s always owned the house,” his adopted father told him, and Henry scowled.

“No, she _hasn’t_.  This used to be an empty lot.  That’s just the curse telling you that it was always here!”

David sighed.  “Henry, I know you believe we’re all cursed, and I can’t argue with you about some parts of that, but magic can’t make houses appear.”

“Yes, it _can_ ,” he replied.  “It just did!”

“Why don’t we go check the city records?  If you’re right, surely something will be there.”   Mary Margaret said soothingly. 

“Not with the curse doing its work,” he grumbled, stuffing his free hand into his pocket.  “C’mon, Pongo.  They’re not gonna believe us, so we might as well keep walking.”

Sometimes, he thought the Dalmatian was the only one who believed him wholeheartedly.  Besides Regina, anyway.  Pongo, at least, probably remembered _everything_ and always had.  Why would Cora have wiped out a dog’s memories, anyway?  Moments like this really made him wish that Pongo could talk.

“Curses can’t do that, Henry,” David tried again.

“This one can.”  But arguing with someone cursed would get him nowhere, so Henry made himself shrug.  “Don’t worry about it.  I’ll talk to Mom about it.  And Emma.”

At least they weren’t cursed.  Something was wrong, and Henry was smart enough to know where poppies lived in the stories.  Poppies were from Oz, and ‘zephyr’ had something to do with the west.  _That_ meant the Wicked Witch of the West was somewhere in town, and even if she wasn’t in his book, flying monkeys were.  And that meant they were in trouble.

* * *

 

_5 Months Before the Curse_

George had insisted on caution this time, waiting until Snow was four months along and showing before announcing she was pregnant.  He’d even gone so far as to make a deal with Rumplestiltskin for their family’s protection, and although Snow had no idea what George had offered, she knew that Regina had helped.  Snow had desperately wanted to keep her sister with her after the failed execution—Cora had been willing to let Regina _die_ , after all!—but Regina had chosen to return to the castle Cora kept while in exile, saying that she could protect both Daniel and Snow better that way.

In the end, that decision saved the life of Snow’s unborn daughter…but when Cora burst in on the celebration, everything seemed lost.

A wave of fire preceded the Evil Queen, sending courtiers and nobles screaming from the room.  Or trying to flee, anyway; the doors slammed shut as people dove out of Cora’s path, scrambling to be anywhere but in her way.  But what made Snow’s heart sink, even as she refused to let Charming shove her behind him—pregnant or not, she was no wilting flower of a princess—was seeing Regina there with Cora.  _I know she has no choice, but it kills me to see Cora use her like this,_ Snow thought, grabbing a sword from a nearby guard who didn’t seem to know what to do with it.  Charming had his in hand already, and George had also stepped forward.

“You’re not welcome here, Cora,” the king snapped, and Snow could hear no fear in his voice.

“What, I am not permitted to congratulate my stepdaughter on this happy day?” the Evil Queen purred, stopping with her hands held away from her body.  Regina halted a few steps behind her, but she looked as miserable as she did deadly.

“The last time you came offering congratulations, you tried to kill Snow,” Charming spoke up, and Cora laughed.

“Well, you can’t blame me for trying now, can you?”

“You killed our son!” Snow snarled before she could stop herself, stepping forward.  She was almost shaking in rage, thinking of little Leo and the life he would have had if Cora had not stolen it away with her magic and her poisons.

“Of course I did, dear,” her stepmother smiled.  “And I’ll destroy this child of yours, too.”

Her hands came up before anyone could stop her—and those who tried ran afoul of Regina’s magic, which forced them away, and even forced Charming and George aside, both of whom tried to shield her.  But Snow had known this was coming, had been warned by her sister, so she stood her ground with her head held high.  Cora’s spell, blood-red and deadly, zoomed in on her, howling mercilessly and making the room freezing cold.  It moved like small waves made of shattered glass, twisting and rending and ready to tear her and her unborn child to pieces.

And then it stopped.  Just inches away from Snow’s face, it stopped.  After a moment, it collapsed, disappearing as if sucked into an invisible vortex.  Once it did, there was nothing left of the deadly spell, only still air and a very surprised Evil Queen.  Meanwhile, Snow tried not to show her relief.  She had known it would stop, but it was still nice to see the protections work.

“What _is_ this?” Cora snarled, her voice low and deadly.

“You can’t harm me, Cora,” Snow replied, squaring her shoulders and taking a step forward.  “It’s over.  Go back to your exile, and leave us in peace.”

Rage contorted her stepmother’s pretty face, and she tried again.  This spell was as black as Cora’s missing heart, full of fangs and sharp edges, roaring at Snow like it would tear her apart.  But it, too, dissipated into nothing only inches away from its intended victim.  Tellingly, Cora was too smart to try a third time.

“You may have won today, but this is _not_ over,” the Evil Queen promised, her fury retreating beneath cold calculation.  “I will give you this happy day, but do not expect it to last.  I _will_ destroy your happiness.  _Forever._ ”

She and Regina vanished in a sweeping swirl of purple smoke, and Snow finally let out the breath she was holding, placing a hand on her belly to feel her child inside.  Charming immediately moved to embrace her, and she let her head rest on  his broad chest, just for a moment.  Today they were safe.

But what about tomorrow?

* * *

 

“We’ve got a problem,” Henry announced, walking into the sheriff’s station about an hour after Zephyr left.  Which was about ten minutes after Emma had finished her spat with Moe and Tony’s new lawyer, Conrad Rivulet, who seemed to think that Gold’s testimony should be thrown out because of the matter of Lacey French.  Emma had threatened to call Judge Cole on him, which had made the oily lawyer leave, but Emma was sure he wouldn’t stay gone for long.  He was the kind of smooth-talking, olive-skinned and handsome man who Emma would have usually pegged as a very successful used car salesman, but unfortunately, that type seemed to be lawyers in Storybrooke.

“Only one?” she asked, sighing and gesturing for him to close the door to her office so that she didn’t have to listen to Tony whine about being hungry.  _Again._   She wasn’t sure her budget was going to survive feeding that guy for much longer.

“Yeah.  There’s a new house in town.  It’s owned by some rich widow named Chloe Zephyr, and Dad and Mary Margaret are convinced it’s always been there, but it hasn’t.”

“Wait, you said a new _house_?” Emma asked before she could stop herself.  “The curse can do that?”

“Yeah, I think so.”  Henry grimaced.  “And that means that the curse isn’t weakening as much as we need it to be, too.”

“We’ll get there, kid,” she promised, and then the name he’d mentioned clicked.  “Did you say Chloe Zephyr?”

The ten year old nodded.  “I think she’s the Wicked Witch of the West.”

“Well, she definitely wasn’t green when she was in here just now.”

“She was _here_?  What did she want?”

“I think she just wanted to tell me how important she was.  She’s got your mom’s old job,” Emma explained, and then cocked her head at Henry.  It was one thing to believe in the curse, but… “Hold on.  Isn’t _The_ _Wizard of Oz_ fiction, not a fairy tale?”

“I think the lines get kind of blurred,” was the kid’s response, and Emma could only sigh.  _Great.  Just what I need.  Some witch who’s probably going to go on about her beautiful wickedness,_ she thought.  _Who’s next, Dorothy?  The Wizard?_

“So, speaking of _The_ _Wizard of Oz,_ do you know who Conrad Rivulet is?” she asked, and then smiled.  “I bet he’s the Wizard.  He seems slimy enough to be lying about his powers.”

“The lawyer?”

“Yeah.  He’s representing those two.”  She jerked a thumb at her current guests, and Henry started flipping through the Book.  After a moment, he looked up, and his expression was grim.

“He’s in here, so he’s not the Wizard,” her son replied, his eyes worried. “He’s Jafar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Virtual cookies to anyone who can guess the geniuses of Jafar’s cursed name!
> 
> Next up: Chapter Fifty-Eight—“ This Day Which Might Inflame,” in which Valentine’s Day hits Storybrooke! On that special day, Rumplestiltskin and Renee prepare a surprise for Belle, Hook tries for another date with Emma, Belle pays August a visit, Regina, Errol, David, and Mary Margaret do another double date, and August finally cracks. Back in the past, Cora demands to know why she can’t harm Snow White, and Rumplestiltskin and Belle talk about Baelfire.
> 
> While you’re waiting, please do let me know what you think!


	58. This Day Which Might Inflame

Spending a week and a half at home with no one for company but his wife and daughter for company (discounting Regina’s visit) had been glorious.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t stay in bed nearly often as Dr. Whale would have liked, of course, but then, Whale didn’t have magic to help speed the healing process.  _And back in the old world, he hadn’t really believed in it, anyway._ Still, after a week he was ready to go stir crazy, even with magic to keep him occupied.  He was determined to open the shop again tomorrow, but he wasn’t foolish enough to do that _today_.  Not on Valentine’s Day, particularly when he’d already planned what he was going to cook for Belle and they’d arranged for Mrs. Lagle (Mother Goose, in another life) to watch Renee so that they could have a private dinner.  Besides, Belle had some errands to run that she wouldn’t tell him about, which gave him time to prepare.

And that also let him spend some time with Renee, who was steadily becoming more and more like Gabrielle.  Particularly with her sensitivity to magic.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t counted on the subtle changes in his daughter that bringing magic to Storybrooke caused, but every day, she grew less and less Renee and more Gabrielle.  He could see the lines blurring between the two, and for the life of him, Rumplestiltskin couldn’t regret that.  Along with her mother, Gabrielle had ownership of his heart—they, and his son, his Baelfire whom he had not seen in far too many years.  Watching his daughter march around the kitchen reminded him so painfully of his boy, and he had to blink tears out of his eyes.  He was so close, so _very_ close.  All he had to do was figure out how to get Emma Swan to believe and break the damn curse.

Well, his ability to heal himself should help with that, assuming that her mind wasn’t so clouded by disbelief that she refused to see what was right in front of her face.  In the meantime, however, he would make sure that he did not fail _this_ child the way he had failed the last.

“Up, Papa!” his little tyrant demanded, and Rumplestiltskin bent to pick her up and place her on the chair at his side.  Being able to do so while suffering only the slightest twinge in his leg was glorious.  He could even have eliminated all of the pain with magic if he so desired.  But Rumplestiltskin left that as a reminder to himself, a reminder of his old weaknesses and his failures.  _And as a reminder not to trust anyone outside my family._   Moe French and Tony Rose had taught him that lesson, yet again.  Perhaps too much time in the Land Without Magic had made him overconfident. 

“How’s that, my little rose?” he asked, bending to kiss her on the top of the head once she was situated.  The chair was set with its back to the countertop, so that Renee could hold onto the back for balance while she ‘helped’ him cook.  Of course, that meant she was already a mess of cream cheese and eggs, but that was what cooking with a child meant.  He’d put aside extra ingredients just for this, anyway.

“Good!” Renee grinned toothily at him.  “Cooking!”

“Yes, you are indeed,” Rumplestiltskin chuckled.  “Now, do you want to help me use the mixer?”

“Uh huh,” she replied, and he showed her how to hold the button down—with help, of course.  And very careful supervision.  Rumplestiltskin could heal her if something went wrong, but he had no desire to ever need to do so.  Not if it meant his daughter would have to suffer even the slightest hurt.

Renee managed surprisingly well.  She was already more advanced than most three year olds, and not because she would be four in five months.  Time may not have _technically_ moved during the curse, but Cora inserting the slight element of into Storybrooke had meant that although no one aged, people _did_ change ever so slightly, and that meant that children grew mentally, although not physically.  She would probably always be old for her age, although Rumplestiltskin couldn’t find it in himself to regret that.  Not when his daughter was to his right and they were busy mixing cheesecake batter together.

Even if Renee seemed to be trying very hard to paint the kitchen walls with the mix, he could clean that up later.  For now, Rumplestiltskin would just enjoy this time with his daughter as they made a Valentine’s Day cheesecake.  Belle usually did the baking, but Gold’s memories had a useful trick or two up their sleeve in that regard.  In this case, it was a made-from-scratch cheesecake recipe that he knew Belle would love.  Gold had never made it for Lacey, for some reason, but he’d always wanted to.  Perhaps he’d simply been too eager not to waste the few precious moments he had with Lacey cooking something that took hours of preparation.

“Decorate?” Renee asked as he filled the spring form pan with the batter. 

“Not this one, sweetie,” he said regretfully.  “This one’s just going to have strawberries on it.”

“Strawberries!”

Chuckling, Rumplestiltskin bent to kiss her on the top of the head again.  “And I have some for you, too,” he told her.  “In fact—”

_Ring!_

Pushing back the desire to snarl, Rumplestiltskin turned to glare at the phone, but it kept ringing.  Seeing that Renee was busy licking batter off of her fingers, he cast a quick spell over his own hands, cleaning them off before picking up the phone. 

“Gold.”

“Rumple, dear, it’s so lovely to hear you sounding better,” Cora’s voice cooed from the other end, and Rumplestiltskin almost hung up the phone immediately.

In the end, however, curiosity won out, and he found himself drawling: “I’m afraid the improvement is not mutual, dear.  Unless, of course your magical problems have been rectified?”

“Now, why would I tell you that?” his former lover retorted, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t bother to hold back his smile, asking sweetly:

“Will it help if I say please?”

He should not have used his caveat on a whim, but the imp inside him could not resist.  There would be a price to be paid, of course, but in this case, it should be minor.  Rumplestiltskin was very wary of using his ‘pleases’ in grand and sweeping demands; he had allowed himself one of those and one only, and it was to keep his family safe.  His own safety he could now assure with his power.  Cora might have been the mayor, but even at her full magical strength, she was no match for the Dark One.

Cora’s snarl digitized through the phone line, and Rumplestiltskin barely bit back his own chuckle as she answered: “No.  It hasn’t improved.”

“Well, then, what can I do for you this fine day, Your Majesty?” he purred, hearing his curse singing in his mind.  It was so much louder, so much more powerful now that there was magic in Storybrooke.  There were moments when Rumplestiltskin thought that the voice of his inner demon would drown out his own thoughts, but then he looked at his little girl, and even the imp had to go quiet.

“Well, I was wondering why you haven’t sought revenge for that terrible maiming you received at the hands of your little maid’s father and boyfriend.  The Dark One _I_ know and love would have avenged himself upon them already.”

_She’s right, she’s right,_ his curse chanted in his mind.  _Kill them both.  Who can stop you?  You  have magic; you’ll leave no proof.  Kill them_ slowly _and make them suffer._   With an effort, Rumplestiltskin pushed the thoughts aside.  It wasn’t that he didn’t want revenge—because he _did._ He burned for vengeance for the way they had hurt him, for how helpless they had made him feel.  Like Cora, Moe and Tony had taken him back to his days as a helpless spinner, to his days of living at the mercy of bullies who had power when he did not.  He was no hero to forgive and forget such a slight; Rumplestiltskin tended to hold grudges until they died of old age or it became useful to discard them.  He was not a good man, and yet he had left them alone, save for notifying the District Attorney that he’d be happy to testify in court when the time came.  Even Gold would have exacted revenge by now, and Gold was far more cold blooded than Rumplestiltskin.

“You knew me at my worst, dearie.  I’ve grown a bit since then,” he replied flippantly. 

“Grown weak, you mean,” Cora retorted.

Rumplestiltskin flat-out giggled, giggled his old imp giggle, the high-pitched and horrible one that haunted so many peoples’ nightmares in their old life.  He wished he could see Cora’s face right now, but he could imagine well enough what she was thinking as Renee glanced his way curiously.  “Oh, I’ve not started yet.  I never said I became _nicer_.  Just that I grew.  Twenty-eight years of waiting breeds patience, and I have always been willing to wait to get what I want.”

“You make it sound like a virtue instead of a weakness.  What exactly has your patience accomplished for you?  You’re still looking for your darling boy, aren’t you?  Your patience hasn’t brought Baelfire home, has it?”

For a moment, Rumplestiltskin was sorely tempted to reach out with magic and strangle Cora then and there.  She certainly deserved death, deserved it far more than the men who had half-killed him, and he could feel the bloodlust burning in his veins.  But _no._   He had to wait.  Rumplestiltskin had just extolled the virtues of patience, and patient he would be.

“Well, it did bring about you casting the curse now, didn’t it, m’dear?” he replied caustically.  “Don’t be too certain that I won’t get what I want.”

“Don’t make an enemy of me, Rumple,” Cora warned him darkly.  “You have _no_ idea what I’m capable of.”

“Oh, I think your games with me are over, don’t you?” he snarled in return.  “Because you can’t be certain that you can _now_ me out of using every little bit of power and knowledge I possess to dismantle you if you try to hurt me.  You’re alive on my sufferance now, Madam Mayor.  And don’t you forget that.”

* * *

 

_5 Months Before the Curse_

“Rumplestiltskin!”

Cora thundered into the Dark Castle with all the power she could summon at her back, winds of darkness sweeping around her, fed by her fury and all of her thwarted vengeance.  _He_ had done this. She knew that like she knew her own name.  George had no powerful enough sorcerer in his kingdom to defend Snow White, and he _must_ have called on the Dark One to protect Eva’s vapid daughter.  Why Rumplestiltskin continued to answer those summons continued to infuriate the Evil Queen; she knew he was playing some game or another, but for the life of her, Cora could not determine which.

That was why she was here to demand answers.

_“Rumplestiltskin!_ ” she bellowed again.  Red was creeping in at the edges of her vision, a danger of using too much dark magic and giving her anger too free of a rein.  Even without her heart, Cora could rage like no other.  She allowed herself to feel that fury because it gave her strength, unlike the weaknesses brought about by love.

Finally, the damn imp showed up, appearing right in his chair at the head of the table, dressed in silk and leather and without that enormous dragonhide coat he usually preferred.  This look suited him, particularly with the yellow silk which he was now wearing, and Cora paused for a moment to admire the view.  The distant echo of emotion stirred within her, but it was quickly overcome by lust.  Lust was easy to feel without a heart; she only wished that her old lover realized that _lust_ was safer and they could both have everything if only they stood together.

“You’re looking a bit piqued, dearie!” the Dark One trumpeted, giggling. 

“And I wonder why,” she retorted dryly, striding forward to glare at him.  But Cora was no fool.  She stopped a half dozen feet away from him.

“Well, I can’t keep all of my glorious misdeeds straight,” he replied easily, sitting back and crossing his legs with a sly smile.  “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Snow White is impervious to any harm I might do her.  Does that ring a bell?”

This time his giggle was even more cheerful.  “Oh, the irony of that statement is _everywhere_!”

“Stop playing games with me, Rumple!” Cora snapped, but she resisted the urge to try to attack him.  The last time she’d tried to overpower the Dark One, nothing had gone her way at all.  _Next time,_ Cora vowed to herself.  _Next time, I will_ take _his dagger, and then Rumple will have no choice but to become my lover._

_And failing that willingness, he will become my_ slave _._   That thought warmed her slightly, and Cora found a small smile rising to replace her fury.  Rumplestiltskin’s next words, however, did not help.

 “You’ll not be able to harm her, you know.  Blood given in love is a powerful potion ingredient, and no one of _your_ blood will be able to harm your little stepdaughter or her family,” Rumplestiltskin replied with a sharp smile.  His reptilian eyes glittered.  “In this world.”

“What do you mean, ‘in this world’?” she demanded, thinking: _Someday, I will avenge myself upon you for this humiliation._ Cora already knew that Rumplestiltskin had used her own daughter against her, and the thought that Regina had chosen _Snow_ over her own mother—again!—burned.  But Regina would not have been able to do it without the help of the demon who had taught them both.

“You’ll have to figure that one out for yourself, dearie,” he giggled again.  “And you can do that somewhere else.  You are interrupting my…well, I’m not going to tell you what you’re interrupting.  I’ll just let you guess.”

She would not suffer the humiliation of being forced to leave, so Cora strode out with her head held high, silently vowing revenge.  In time, she _would_ find the dagger, and she _would_ make him pay.  And then Rumplestiltskin would be the one executing her plans for revenge.  _He_ would be the one suffering, thwarted and furious.  She would treasure his rage when he railed against her control, and she would grant him no mercy.  _You should have accepted my offer when I came to you, Rumple,_ Cora thought coldly.  _Then I would not be so_ justified _in how I plan to treat you._

* * *

 

“He’s upstairs now,” Ruby told Belle, and she thanked her friend with a smile before heading up the stairs towards the rooms in Granny’s Bed and Breakfast. 

She felt a little guilty for heading out on ‘errands’ today instead of spending Valentine’s Day at home with her husband, but Rumplestiltskin had seemed happy to have some time alone with their daughter.  He was undoubtedly up to something—Belle knew her husband well—but so was she.  She did feel much worse about not having told Rumplestiltskin the _real_ goal of her shopping trip, but she had to know the truth before she told him what she suspected.  Otherwise, knowing Rumple, he would do something dramatic.  Oh, it would be well planned out and meticulously manipulative, but Belle knew that he could be careless with his own safety when his emotions took control.  For a man who called himself a coward, Rumplestiltskin was willing to take amazing risks to keep his family safe.

Squaring her shoulders, Belle knocked on the door Ruby had pointed her at.  Several moments passed before she heard footsteps approaching, and Belle’s keen ears detected that there was something slightly off in the gait, like the man on the other side was favoring one leg or the other.  Belle knew that slight misstep well; Lacey had listened to Gold walk that way for twenty-eight years.  But there was no third thump, no cane hitting the ground.  This was something different.

“Can I help you?” August asked as he opened the door, and Belle cocked her head to study him.

_His eyes are blue._

“We need to talk,” Belle said bluntly, pushing past him to walk into the room.  He stumbled, just a little, and she’d counted on that to let her get by.  The door swung shut behind her, and Belle reached past a stammering August to be sure it latched.

“What?  Why would I need to talk to Mr. Gold’s—”

“Let’s not start that,” she cut him off, rolling her eyes and turning to face him squarely.  “My name is Belle.  Lady Belle of Avonlea, back in the Enchanted Forest.  Now, I don’t know who you are, but I can guess that you’re here to get the curse broken, and maybe to reunite with some family as well.  The Savior’s being difficult, and you’re a bit lost, so let’s talk.”

August rocked back on his heels, obviously stunned.  Then he blinked twice, very slowly, and cleared his throat.  “You…drive a hard bargain, Lady Belle,” he said after a moment.  

“Your name first,” Belle replied calmly.  “And then we’ll talk about if I help you or not.”

_Did Baelfire have blue eyes?_   Belle had never thought to ask her husband for a description of his son, though she knew from the drawing Rumplestiltskin had kept that Bae had dark hair.  August had dark hair, too, and he certainly seemed clever enough to be Rumple’s son.  Could Milah’s eyes have been blue?  Belle had never thought to ask for a description of her husband’s first wife.  But her own eyes were blue, and yet Gabrielle had inherited Rumplestiltskin’s brown eyes.  Lacey had read a book on genetics at some point, but she couldn’t recall if blue or brown eyes were supposed to be dominant.

August hesitated for a very long moment, and then answered: “Pinocchio.” 

“Pinocchio?” Belle repeated, not able to remember anyone by that name in their world.  She’d seen the Disney movie, of course, but it wasn’t one of Renee’s favorites, so she didn’t know it well.  The next words came out in a bit of a gape: “A wooden boy.”

“Yes, and turning a bit back every day while Emma screws around instead of breaking the curse,” he retorted angrily.  Then he pulled up the leg of his jeans to show Belle why his footsteps had seemed a bit off.  His shin was entirely made of wood.

That answered that, then.  Belle swallowed, and forced herself to look away from the polished  wooden leg and up at August’s face.  Now that she studied him dispassionately, now that she looked at him without hoping to see the stepson she had never met, she couldn’t see any resemblance to Rumplestiltskin.  He was too tall, too blue eyed, and too there was none of Rumple’s softness in him.   _I had hoped_ so much  _for Rumple’s sake…but that would have been too easy, wouldn’t it?_ Learning the truth took her breath away, but Belle forced herself to focus. 

“You’re here to help break the curse?” she asked, just to be sure.

“I am.  I…came through the wardrobe just before Emma.  I was supposed to stay with her, but I lost her,” he admitted.

_And who sent you?_ Belle didn’t ask.  That was a question for another day; she had learned manipulation from the best, and Belle would not start making promises—or demanding answers—before she had a chance to talk to Rumplestiltskin.  Knowing that another child had been sent through the wardrobe before Emma changed everything, but Belle still wasn’t sure what she needed to do with that information.  Nodding, she replied: “And now you’re trying to make up for that.”

“Yes.”

“And to see that you aren’t turned back into wood.”

“I”—August seemed ready to say something, but stopped himself.  “Yeah.  I’d like to stay human, particularly with magic here, now.”

Belle blinked.  “How do you know about that?”

“Henry, of course,” was the prompt response, and Belle started to wonder if his nose was going to start growing.  She wasn’t an expert at detecting lies, but the way August’s eyes shifted left as he spoke was a dead giveaway.

“Of course,” she echoed, and then glanced obviously at the clock.  “I really must be going. We’ll speak again.”

“How am I supposed to talk to you when you’re playing Gold’s mistress?” August asked as Belle stepped past him.  “And how do you remember, anyway?  No one is supposed to!”

She just smiled at him mysteriously.  “That’s my secret.  We’ll talk another day.  I’ll find you.”

Belle stepped out of the room with a light heart.  Although she was disappointed that August was not her husband’s long lost son, she at least knew who he was and could use that information.  Knowing that the town’s newcomer was Pinocchio certainly threw a wrench in all of their plans, but Belle knew that her husband would find a way to use that information.  Rumplestiltskin always did.

* * *

 

_1 Year Before the Curse_

“I need to tell her,” Rumplestiltskin said quietly after they’d put Gabrielle to bed, and Belle turned to face her husband in confusion.

“Tell her what?”

He grimaced.  “That she has a brother that I lost through my cowardice.”

“Rumple…” Trailing off, Belle laid a hand on his arm.  She was never sure what to say when he got like this, when he blamed himself for the loss of his beloved son.  Weaseling that entire story out of him had taken time, but Belle knew the complete truth now, and she was able to look at it a bit more dispassionately than Rumplestiltskin was.  That was why she told him firmly: “You’re not a coward.”

“I am,” her husband replied quietly, staring at the floor.  “I always have been.”

Silently, Belle stepped forward to wrap her arms around his waist.  From what Rumplestiltskin had told her of his past—which was admittedly not everything—Belle understood a few very important things about him.  One: he had been told his entire life that he was good for nothing, that he was useless and would take after his useless father.  Two: he’d broken his _own_ leg to come home to an unborn son so that he wouldn’t be abandoned the way Rumplestiltskin himself was (a story Belle had only received in pieces and she _knew_ there had to be more to).  Three: he’d worn the label of coward ever since without complaint, accepted that he _must_ be what others labeled him as.  _Sometimes,_ Belle thought, _we become what others think we are, particularly if there are enough people saying it._

“Do you think you’re the only one who has ever made a choice out of fear?” she asked him quietly.

“It’s different.  I’m—I was always afraid,” he said harshly, but Belle thought she felt him tremble slightly.  “You didn’t see me then.  I had nothing.  I _was_ nothing.  Just a coward.”

 “And a father,” Belle pointed out.

His whisper was ragged and broken: “Always that.  Until I let him go.”

“Rumple, if you’d been the coward you seem to think you were, you would never have taken on such a horrible and dark curse to save your son.  You could _never_ have stolen the dagger, faced the Dark One, and then done what you did.  And if you were truly a coward, deep in your heart, you would still _act_ like one now,” she told him, squeezing him tightly.  “You’ve been afraid, yes.  You had a terrible life and you had reasons to be afraid.  But you’re not a coward now.  You wouldn’t fight to protect Gabrielle and I so hard if you were, and if you were truly a coward, you would not have spent centuries working to get back to Baelfire.”

“I still let him go!” Rumplestiltskin cried, and Belle could hear the pent up pain of centuries behind those words.  “I made him a promise and I broke it.  He trusted me, and I let him go.”

“I know,” she soothed him gently.  “And you’ll have to face that when we find him.  Not if: _when_.  But I’ll be right beside you, no matter what happens.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he breathed into her hair, and Belle finally felt him relaxing a little in her embrace, with his arms slowly snaking around her in return.

“It’s not about deserving,” Belle told him for the thousandth time. “It’s about love.”

She felt him shake again.  “I still have to explain this to Gabi.  How do I tell her that I let her brother go?”

“Tell her the truth.  Simply, because she’s two.  Tell her that you lost him and you’re going to find him again,” Belle advised.  “She’s too young to hold it against you, Rumple, but she’ll resent it when she’s older if you don’t tell her now.”

“All right,” he said slowly.  “Will you…be there?”

She knew that he hated asking for help, so Belle came up on her tiptoes to kiss her husband on the cheek.  “Every step of the way,” she promised. 

* * *

 

This world had some terribly useful traditions, and Valentine’s Day (named for some saint, whatever they were) was one of them.  The romantic inside Killian always enjoyed this day, because it was a perfect one in which to make a new conquest—or to entice an current one into becoming closer than before.  This year, of course, Killian’s target would likely prove a greater challenge than any other, but he was prepared.  He started with buying flowers (a challenge with the florist in jail, but Moe had started paying a few high school girls to keep the shop open for him).  Then he’d bought a new tablecloth and a brand new set of china, digging up a set of beautiful champagne glasses out of someone’s storage unit.  These he set up together on the _Jolly Roger_ , preparing to offer his lady a dinner and a view that no one else could.  After all, what was more romantic than a dinner at sea, under the stars?

Of course, he was having it catered.  The last thing he wanted was to trust Smee’s cooking, or his own.  But Killian had spared no expense and made certain every detail was ready before he stopped by the sheriff’s station that afternoon, not surprised to find Emma Swan hard at work and neither of her deputies in sight.

The two men in the cells were looking particularly glum today, and Killian couldn’t blame them.  They’d attacked Gold out of love for Lacey French (whoever she really was), and Gold was free to abuse the lady in question while they were stuck behind bars.  In Killian’s opinion, Lacey had been damn foolish to refuse his own offer, but she had to be doubly stupid in order to refuse to marry Tony Rose, who was definitely one of the fifteen wealthiest men in Storybrooke.  The librarian would probably have managed Rose’s business better than he himself did, which would have been a win for everyone, but instead she chose to remain with Rumplestiltskin.  _Later.  I’ll think on how she might be useful later,_ he promised himself.  Emma mattered today; not revenge.

“Good afternoon, love,” he said, holding out a bouquet of brilliant red roses.  There were dozens more of them, red and white both, decorating his ship, but he’d brought the most beautiful bouquet with him.

“Hey,” Emma said with a surprised smile, and then blinked as she saw the roses.  “What are these for?”

“For you, of course,” he smiled back.  “Beautiful roses for a beautiful lady.  It’s only most romantic day of the year.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Killian.  Thank you.”

As she replied, Killian caught sight of a vase filled with wildflowers that was already on her desk, and he forced himself to say casually: “Have I been beaten to the punch?”

“Maybe,” the sheriff said coyly, her eyes sparkling.  “What would you do if I had another admirer?”

“Challenge him to a duel at first light, of course, and let the winner take you as a prize,” he replied automatically, but threw a charming smile on the tail end of the response so that she thought he was joking.  And he was.  Mostly.

“You know I’d have to arrest you for that,” Emma laughed.

“Only if you caught me, Swan.”

“I think I’d catch you.  Henry gave me the flowers, so if you can resist the urge to challenge a ten year old to a duel, I think we’ll be okay,” she retorted, and now there was a glint in her eyes that wasn’t so playful.  “I’m no prize to be won, by the way.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Of course you didn’t,” she cut him off with a shrug that was just a tad too casual.  “But also I’m not a damsel in distress.  I don’t care how weird or old fashioned this town is: nobody saves me but me.  Got that?”

“Of course,” Killian said quickly, wondering how his perfect plan had gone so far awry.  He put on a contrite smile.  “I’m going about this all wrong.  I was trying to play some dashing romantic hero, hoping to sweep you off your feet for a dinner under the stars, but I fear I’ve only annoyed you.”

“You haven’t,” Emma reassured him, and this time her expression was softer.  “But I already have a date.”

He would _not_ let his jaw drop.  “You do?”

“Henry,” she explained.  “I promised him I’d take him out.”

“What are his parents doing?” he demanded before he could stop himself.

“Busy.”

_Busy doing what?_   Killian wanted to snarl, but managed not to.  Barely.  “That’s…well, that’s a shame,” he said slowly.  _Stop looking so eager, fool,_ the pirate told himself firmly.  _You’re chasing the lass when you should be making her chase you.  She’s refused you twice, now; you need to back off and let her come to you._ Killian made himself shrug.  “It would have been a sight to see.”

“I bet it would,” Emma agreed, and did she sound regretful?  He certainly hoped so.

“Then have a good day, Swan.  I hope you and Henry enjoy your dinner together.”

Now she smiled.  “Thanks.”

Giving her a nod, he turned and headed for the door, displaying a little bit of disappointment, but not too much.  It wouldn’t do to let Emma think that he was _too_ hung up on her; women like Emma Swan didn’t fall for easy men.  They wanted challenges, someone who could keep up with them and give as well as they got.  She needed to know that he was interested, but she also need to understand there were other fish in the pond.  Killian could think of at least three other women who would drop everything to join him for dinner on board the _Jolly Roger_ , and he would definitely be calling upon one of them shortly.  Yet Emma’s voice stopped him before he could finish opening the door.

“Killian.”

“Swan?”  He half-turned back to face her, arching an eyebrow casually.

“Next time, try asking a girl more than a few hours after you want her to go out with you.  It helps to get in before anyone else,” she suggested, and now he _could_ see a slightly flirtatious light in her eyes.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Killian promised, and left the sheriff to wonder.  He had grand plans to execute, after all, and a lady to romance under the stars.

Yet he never called any of the three women he meant to.  Instead, his feet _again_ led him to the Basement, and he found himself paying once more for Mirabella’s company…and forgetting all about Emma Swan.

* * *

 

Dinner for Regina and Errol had been an odd one; she’d invited him over to her home, but David had _also_ invited Mary Margaret.  The idea of doing a double date with her (supposed) husband and her (actual) sister was a little weird, but ever since that first dinner party that Henry had orchestrated, the dynamic of the four of them had worked surprisingly well.  Their shared dinner had even been fun, if not terribly private.  Somehow, Errol and Mary Margaret were beginning to become friends; apparently they’d taken to chatting when Errol stopped by the diner for lunch every day, and the fact that her sister, even while cursed, liked and approved of the man Regina loved truly warmed her heart.

And well, if a group dinner hadn’t been romantic enough for a purist, there was plenty of time for romance when David and Mary Margret headed upstairs to talk.  Regina and Errol remained downstairs, sitting on the couch together and sharing a bottle of wine.  They talked of everything and nothing, simply enjoying one another’s presence, laughing and teasing like they had known one another for years.  Yet all the while, Regina couldn’t help noticing the subtle ways in which she could see Robin of Locksley coming out.  Errol Forrester wasn’t terribly different from the man he’d been before the curse—he was still brave to a fault, still honest and honorable.  His curse had been loneliness and a fabricated history where he’d always been too late to save anyone in a fire.  So far as Regina knew, the fires that Errol “remembered” had never actually happened in Storybrooke, but until the library fire, he’d always felt like a failure.

“I think you’re quite brave,” she said softly in response to his admission.

“I’ve never felt that way,” Errol replied, staring at his glass of wine.  “I never knew what I’d do when the time came.”

“Until you jumped right in and saved three people.  Including _my_ son,” Regina pointed out, taking his free hand.  “I can never thank you enough for that.  Henry is my entire world.”

“I understand, believe me,” he said immediately.  “Rol— _Jamie_ is mine, too.  I don’t know what I would have done if he was in danger.”

“You would have saved him,” she assured him gently.  “But what was it that you just almost said?”

Errol shook his head with an embarrassed smile.  “I don’t.  It’s odd. I just almost called my son by the wrong name.”

 “What did you almost call him?” Regina asked as casually as she could, struggling to hide her racing heart.

_Could this be it?  Could this really be a sign that the curse is finally weakening?_ she thought excitedly, doing her best to conceal her excitement.  _Say it.  Please say it,_ she hoped so loudly that she was surprised Errol didn’t hear her.  But her new love only shrugged and replied:

“Roland.  I almost called him Roland, and I have no idea why.”

* * *

 

Henry’s mere existence made him feel guilty.  Just looking at the kid reminded August of what he had done—and what he’d failed to do.  Blue never tired of reminding him that if he’d watched over Emma properly, she would never have even _had_ a child to let go of, because Emma falling in love was apparently his fault.  August didn’t feel guilty for the fact that Henry existed, however; it was more the way that he had inadvertently made the kid an orphan who got adopted by the Dark Princess that ate at him.  _And that I tore apart two people who loved each other, and for what?  I_ never _would have done that if I’d known Emma was pregnant,_ he told himself for the thousandth time.  But that thought wasn’t any more reassuring today than it had been in the past.  He’d still made Henry grow up away from his real parents, and Henry’s father didn’t even know he existed.

_That_ made him feel guilty, and unlike a lot of the guilty feelings August had lived with over the years, he couldn’t run away from this one.  He was stuck here in Storybrooke until the curse broke, stuck looking at the kid and remembering.  It was bad enough when he’d thought Neal was just some unlucky shmuck who was from this world and had an odd name.  Now that he knew Neal was Baelfire, knew that Neal was from _home_ , August felt even worse.

Besides, between that and the fact that Gold’s whatever-she-was knew who he was now, August wasn’t stupid enough to think that Blue’s plan of him impersonating Baelfire was going to work.  Truth be told, he was _glad_ for that.  He couldn’t be certain that telling a lie of such magnitude wouldn’t actually make his nose start growing, but there was honestly more to it than that.  Maybe, had Henry not been born, August would have felt less guilty.  Maybe, had he not come to like and respect Emma (even if she drove him crazy!), August would not have felt the uncomfortable stirrings of _responsibility_.  But he’d promised his papa that he’d look after her, and in the end, he’d made her lose her child and all but forced a man who loved her to walk away.  Yeah, he could rationalize it to himself that Neal had a choice, but really, August had done most of the choosing for him by calling the police with an anonymous tip that wound up sending Emma to jail.

Blue wasn’t going to like it, but there was no way in hell August was going forward with that charade now.  Lacey—or Lady Belle, really—would certainly clue Rumplestiltskin in if he tried, and August had absolutely zero desire to wind up on the Dark One’s bad side.  Rumplestiltskin was a villain, and a dangerous one at that.  August had enough enemies, and he wasn’t going to add the Dark One to the list unless he had to.  _Besides, Rumplestiltskin helped Snow and Charming many times.  There’s no reason to make him_ not _want to help me,_ the former puppet told himself.  Cora might not be willing to fix him, or the heroes might take her down before she could.  That meant August needed a backup plan…and he needed to shut his conscience up.

So, instead of planning out how he was going to impersonate Baelfire like Blue wanted him to, August sent a postcard.

_Neal,_ he wrote.  _Emma is in Storybrooke.  Nothing is broken yet, but if you want to talk, call me._   August scribbled down his cell phone number and then signed the card before he could change his mind.  He’d drive out of town to throw it in the mail this evening; it wasn’t like Valentine’s Day had any special meaning for him, anyway.  It would be good to get out of Storybrooke, just for a while. 

He needed the break.

* * *

 

Belle _might_ have kicked her heels off a little too enthusiastically when she came through the front door; one of them bounced right through the hallway and into the next room, crashing into something much harder than she meant for it to.  That, of course, brought her husband into the foyer before she could wipe the scowl off of her face.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Rumplestiltskin asked, and Belle wanted to smack herself.  She’d meant to leave her frustrations outside, meant to just enjoy this evening with her husband.  Now what had she done?

“It’s nothing,” she tried to say, but she could tell from his expression that he didn’t believe a word of the excuse.

“You don’t generally take _nothing_ out on your shoes,” he pointed out, and Belle sighed.

“I’m just sick of it,” she sighed, stepping forward to lean against his chest.  His arms wrapped around her immediately, and just being in his embrace made Belle feel better, but it didn’t eliminate her frustration.  “Everyone looks at me with pity.  They all think you’re some terrible monster who demands that I do unspeakable things for you, and I just want to _scream_ at them.  Even Mrs. Lagle gave me this terribly pitying look when I dropped Renee off, patted me on the arm, and said that she hoped I’d be okay.”

“Belle, I never meant—”

“It’s not your fault!” Belle cut him off, pulling back so she could look at the horrorstruck expression on her husband’s face.  “Stop acting like it is.”

“I know what I am,” he said quietly.

“And so do I,” she retorted firmly.  “You’re my husband, and I love you as you love me.  _You’re_ not the problem.  Those narrow-minded idiots are.  I could shout that we’re happily married and in love from the _rooftops_ and they’d still feel sorry for me like I’m some weak-willed little girl who doesn’t know what I want.  And not hating them for it so hard.”

“You’re better than I am,” Rumplestiltskin replied, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head.  “I don’t usually bother to fight that urge.”

“You care more than you let on,” Belle replied, snuggling into him and feeling the warmth of their love start to ease her frustrations.  Rumple was worth fighting for, even when fools told her that their love wasn’t real, wasn’t _true_.  Perhaps things would get better when the curse broke.

Her husband laughed softly in response to what she’d said, but at least he didn’t argue.  This time.  Belle knew that Rumplestiltskin hid a great many things behind a mask.  In the Enchanted Forest, his heart had been concealed by the impish façade and a high-pitched giggle.  Here, it was behind a cold expression and an uncaring attitude.  But there was a good man hiding under the monster, one who really _could_ care about people but was often afraid to do so lest he be hurt.  Belle knew enough about his life before the curse to appreciate how fragile he was underneath the magic…yet she also knew that her love _did_ make him stronger.  So now she just came up on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly.

“I believe in you,” she whispered.

“I will never know what you see in me,” Rumplestiltskin replied, his soft voice full of wonder.

Belle smiled.  “Everything,” she said mysteriously, and watched him smile slightly.  

“Well, then, if you’re done complaining about town attitudes you can’t change, will you let me romance you on Valentine’s Day?” he asked.

“Oh, you have plans?” she teased him.  “I can’t imagine why we sent Renee to Mrs. Lagle otherwise.”

“I even baked,” Rumplestiltskin told her, and Belle perked up. 

“You did?”  Her husband liked cooking, but generally found baking a little more boring—or at least he _said_ he did and left it to her.  Sometimes Belle wondered if Rumple did that to make her feel better about her own lack of cooking skills.  When he _did_ bake, however, what came out of the oven was inevitably elaborate and delicious.

“I did.  Now”—he kissed her lightly, sliding a hand around her waist and pulling her close—“can I pull you away from your frustrations for a bit?  We have five hours until we have to pick up our daughter, and _I_ plan to spend them in ways that do not include complaining about the populace of Storybrooke.  Agreed?”

 Belle bit her lip and smiled up at him.  “I hope you don’t plan to spend those five hours _cooking_ ,” she said suggestively, running a hand down his front and stopping teasingly in the vicinity of his belt.”

“Sweetheart, I _already_ cooked.  Now, will you please get into the dining room so we can get the eating part of the evening over with?”

Giggling, Belle followed him.  They were due for some time together, due for a few hours to just be husband and wife without the rest of the world telling them they were wrong.  _And without our daughter wandering in at the most inopportune moments,_ she thought with a fond smile.  Last night it had been a nightmare.  The night before she’d wanted four separate glasses of water, spaced fifteen minutes apart (and always at the most inconvenient moment!).  Intimacy could be…challenging with a curious three year old around, and Belle was not going to waste the private time they had.

Particularly not when her husband was prepared to romance her with dinner, cheesecake, and roses.  Even if Belle did have to gently inquire about exactly what it was he’d transformed into the roses, based on past experience.  At the moment, however, she was fairly sure that she wouldn’t have objected if Rumplestiltskin had turned her father and Tony into a bouquet each, so long as he promised to turn them back eventually.  Unfortunately, he hadn’t done that to his attackers; instead, Rumplestiltskin had used an extremely ugly antique chess set that Belle had been so hoping he’d eventually get rid of.  Now he had, and she was safe in the knowledge that the roses  hadn’t started life as some innocent passerby.  Not that she really thought Rumplestiltskin was so capricious as to transform someone _random_ ; his revenges were usually much more specific than that.  But she was still relieved, and ready to enjoy her evening.

And when her husband wore _that_ smile, she knew she was going to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I’m going to get back to my twice a week posting schedule – real life has just been a bear lately!
> 
> Next up: Chapter Fifty-Nine—“Memories Gained, Memories Lost,” where Cora starts taking the revenge she has planned, Emma discovers two people are missing, Rumplestiltskin runs into Zelena, something strange happens to David, and August receives an important phone call. Back in the past, Daniel tells Regina to run.


	59. Memories Gained, Memories Lost

There.  _There_ it was.

Satisfied, Cora leaned back in her luxurious desk chair, putting her spell book down with a smile.  Her magic remained somewhat erratic, but it _was_ functional, which meant she was a player in this new game Rumple had started.  Her old lover had stolen the march on  her when he’d brought magic, but the advantage that gave him was wearing thin.  Soon enough, Cora would be back to her full power as the Evil Queen, and there was nothing in this world that could stop her.  Zelena was doing so well already; her magic had manifested itself right away, almost before Cora had restored her memories.  And between the two of them, they would easily be able to handle Regina.  Even _if_ Rumple chose to jump in on her side—he’d always been strangely sentimental about her—Cora was certain that she could win.  Worst case, she’d wake up another potential ally, and then Rumplestiltskin would undoubtedly retreat, as he always did when faced with a battle he could not win.

After all, Rumple was no hero.  He wasn’t in this to see the _good_ side win.  He was only here to find his son, and if he had to ally with the devil to do that, he would.  _And he’ll do far worse by the time I’m through,_ Cora thought with a thin smile.  She already had plans on that front.

But for now, she had a heart to take and revenge to take.

* * *

 

Later that afternoon, Emma flopped down at the bar in Granny’s, exchanging a smile with Mary Margaret as she did so.  Her roommate took her order with practiced ease, and Emma couldn’t help feeling a rush of happiness when she saw the confidence in Mary Margaret’s expression.  The former schoolteacher had come a long way, and had admitted that she and David had even spent the night of Valentine’s Day together.  Under other circumstances, Emma would have been completely wary of her friend sleeping with a married man, particularly with that man’s current wife in the same house, but given the fact that Regina had a date of her own at the same time, Emma could hardly argue.  She still thought the entire situation was beyond weird, but if all four of them were happy with it, well, Emma wasn’t going to argue.

_And Henry was over the moon when he heard about that ‘double date’,_ she thought with amusement, sipping a soda while she waited on her grilled cheese.  _He’s going on and on about how Errol Forrester has to be Daniel from the Book, and how the fact that I’m starting to believe is weakening the curse._   And as much as Emma wanted to argue that fact…well, she was starting to come around.  Everyone in this town really _was_ miserable, and magic was apparently real, too.  If Regina could toss fireballs around—and show Emma dozens of other magical tricks that were actual _magic_ —maybe the idea of a curse really wasn’t that far-fetched.

“Is August up and around yet?” she asked Mary Margaret when her friend delivered her grilled cheese, figuring that it was time to actually listen to the story of a wardrobe, a boy, and a baby.

“No, Ruby said that he drove his bike out of town on Wednesday,” Mary Margaret shrugged.  “I haven’t seen him yet.”

“Who leaves town on Valentine’s Day?” Emma wondered.

“Someone who doesn’t have a date?”

Snorting, Emma only _wished_ that was her problem.  Killian had asked her out—and, come to think of it, so had August.  But she’d already promised Regina that she’d look after Henry, and frankly, Emma was glad to avoid romantic entanglements.  Sure, Killian and August were both good looking guys, but Graham had been good looking, too (not to mention _nicer_ than both of them).  Her aborted romance with the old sheriff still hadn’t gone well, and Emma was starting to think that maybe she just wasn’t meant for some grand relationship.  Particularly not now.  _Not if there really is a curse to break_.

“I didn’t think I turned him down _that_ rudely,” she replied lightly.

“I don’t know,” her roommate said.  “But his room’s been empty since he left—though his stuff is still in it, so I think he’s coming back.”

“Well, that’s good, I guess.”

Just then, Granny strode out of the kitchen, her hands on her hips and looking ready to take the world on.  Immediately, she spun to face the pair of them, demanding: “Mary Margaret, have you seen Ruby?”

“No,” Mary Margaret replied, jumping and sounding startled.

“Where _has_ that girl gone?” Granny grumbled.  “If she’s off with that leather-clad biker again, I am going to _wring her neck._ ”

“August has been gone for two days, Granny,” Mary Margaret pointed out logically.  “When was the last time you saw Ruby?”

The old woman groaned.  “This morning.  She took the trash out, and then just wandered off. Typical!”

* * *

 

His head was _pounding,_ and coherent thoughts were hard to come by.  After a few minutes of fighting back the blackness, however, David finally realized that he was lying on a couch that smelled oddly of some sweet-scented perfume.  There was embroidery of some sort on the cushions, which meant he definitely wasn’t at home; Regina had always insisted on leather, and having a kid in the house meant easier to clean surfaces were definitely more practical.  Blinking dizzily, he finally managed to clear his vision and realize that he was in some fancy sitting room, complete with an immaculately-dressed blonde woman sitting across from him in an antique armchair.  Another woman, this one darker skinned and much more amused looking, sat on a second couch reading a book.

“Oh, good.  You’re awake,” the first woman said brightly, but there was something a little false in the smile.  Or maybe not false.  Just…forced.

Sitting up cautiously, David was a little surprised when a wave of dizziness didn’t hit him.  But his mind was clear enough now, even if he didn’t recognize his surroundings.  “Where am I?”

“Very Merry Escorts, of course,” replied the blonde, and David finally recognized her as the infamous Madam Merryweather.  He’d only met her once or twice, and definitely didn’t travel in her social circles.

“How…how did I get here?” he asked uneasily, looking around again at the plush sitting room.  There was art on the walls and it looked expensive (Cora had a taste for expensive paintings, though Regina had always favored horse statues and Mary Margaret had a beautiful painting of a group of birds), and the carpets were plush and deep.   The two couches were both antique and matched Merryweather’s armchair, and  the overall impression was both pleasing and comfortable.  He knew the second woman, too; or at least vaguely.  She was Octavia Carroll, the manager of Very Merry Escorts and supposedly Merryweather’s right hand woman.  But David couldn’t remember walking in that room.  Not at all. 

“You poor dear,” Merryweather said, rising and offering him a glass of water that Carroll poured, looking bored.  “The mayor found you outside on the street.  You were quite unconscious, so she brought you in.  We’ve looked after you in the meantime.”

“I was unconscious?  On the _street_?” David echoed incredulously.

“That’s what the mayor said,” Merryweather confirmed as David racked his memories.  He couldn’t recall coming here, or being on the street outside.  The last thing he remembered was going into Granny’s to pick up some coffee…

“Is she still here?” he asked, hoping Cora could shed some more light on what had happened.

“No, she left a while ago.  Do you  not remember falling?”

“I don’t even know if I fell at all,” David said bluntly, rubbing his head reflexively.  There were no cuts.  No bumps.  He wasn’t even sore.  “It’s all right if I leave, isn’t it?”

“Of course.  Do drink the water first, though.  We wouldn’t want you to pass back out right outside my door.  Heavens only knows what people would think I’d done to you.” Merryweather spoke lightly, but there was something else in her blue eyes.

“And we _can’t_ have our business’ reputation suffering, either,” Carroll put in, speaking for the first time.  There was something menacing in her eyes that David didn’t appreciate, but he tried to push that aside.

“Right.  I mean, thank you,” he said after a moment, shaking his head again, trying to chase away cobwebs and _remember_.  But there was nothing there.

Nothing at all.  And when he glanced at the clock, he realized that it was now around lunchtime.  The last time he remembered had been around eight a.m.  Where _had_ the day gone, and why couldn’t he remember?

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin had re-opened the shop on February 15th, returning to his normal routine and daring anyone to tell him not to.  He still walked with the cane, of course, because it certainly wouldn’t do for everyone to realize that he’d healed himself rather nicely with magic.  Still, Rumplestiltskin found himself already restless and just wanting to get _on_ with the breaking of the curse.  Regina had obviously not done enough to push Emma along, despite showing her magic and having her listen in on their phone call.  He’d tried a push of his own from the hospital; however, now a more hands-on approach was apparently required.

He had long stayed in the shadows, content to let Regina take the lead in their joint endeavor.  That method, however, was no longer going to go the trick.  Rumplestiltskin had never intended to bring magic to Storybrooke before the curse broke, but now that he had, he knew that he had to rush things along, lest the town turn into a battleground between the few awake magic users with cursed fools caught in the crossfire.  His curse had never objected to collateral damage, of course, but Rumplestiltskin disliked factors he could not control, and having the clueless denizens of Storybrooke in the way would just create a mess he did not have time to fix.

So, that was what made him head towards the Sheriff’s Station two days after reopening the shop.  February 17th was a Friday, which hopefully meant that the station would be quiet.  If it was, Rumplestiltskin was sure he could ignore the annoying presence of his two attackers in the jail.  He was still furious with them, and his curse constantly bayed for their blood, but Rumplestiltskin preferred to punish the real culprit.  Neither Moe French or Tony Rose was brave enough to attack him without a good, solid, _push_ , and he knew exactly who was to blame for that.

_Your day is coming, dearie,_ he promised Cora silently.  _And sooner than you think._

But he was so caught up in his thoughts that Rumplestiltskin almost didn’t see the tall, red-headed woman until he was inches away from crashing into her.  Had he still needed the cane in his right hand, he never would have avoided her without falling over, but now he could nimbly step aside.

“Do watch where you’re going, Mr. Gold,” she snapped, and something in her tone made his head snap around.

One glance took in her newly expensive clothes and pseudo-regal attitude.  The arrogance in her expression was nothing like the cloying sweetness that his least favorite nurse had demonstrated, and Rumplestiltskin’s instincts lit on fire.  He’d heard someone muttering about the mayor’s new assistant, but he would never have expected Cora to act so openly.  _Is she getting desperate, or overconfident?_ he wondered, turning to face her squarely.

“Ms. Zephyr. My, how you have moved up in the world,” he retorted dryly, letting his eyes sharpen.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she sniffed.

“From nurse to the mayor’s right hand.  Surely you see that as an elevation,” Rumplestiltskin drawled.  “Unless, of course, you prefer changing adult diapers.”

That did the trick; she flushed.  “ _I_ ,” she snapped, “am exactly where I should be.  Finally.”

“Mommy dearest finally decided to wake you up, did she?”  He laughed softly as her pale face went red. “Don’t play a player, Zelena.  I can tell the difference between you and your annoying cursed persona.”

“Then, if you’re so smart, tell me why you’re acting like such a fool,” his former student snapped back, and part of Rumplestiltskin enjoyed riling her up like this.  Still, seeing Zelena on Cora’s side should not have been much of a surprise.  She’d always hungered for approval.

“Whatever are you referring to, dear?”

“You’re moving against Mother. _That_ isn’t smart.  Mother has all the power here,” Zelena replied proudly.

Rumplestiltskin allowed himself another laugh.  “Don’t be so sure of that.  And if you want a bit of advice, from teacher to student…keep your options open.  Don’t pin all of your hopes on our dear mayor.  She may be more fallible than you believe.”

Zelena sniffed.  “Of course she isn’t.  Not with _me_ on her side.”

She really was a sad little girl, Zelena, and Rumplestiltskin almost felt sorry for her.  Or he would, at least, until she tried to seduce him again.  _I am so glad that Regina didn’t inherit_ that _proclivity from her mother.  I begin to be glad that Cora married Prince Henry first.  At least he gave Regina some sense._   But he only shrugged in response to Zelena’s confidence, not caring to take the time to educate her.  He’d warned her once.  If Zelena wanted to pick Cora’s side, well, she could lie in the bed she had made.

“That remains to be seen,” he said simply, and turned to walk away.

A step too late, he reminded himself to limp and use the cane.

* * *

 

“Who the hell _is_ she?” Emma asked Regina as the pair sat in front of Any Given Sundae.  February was finally starting to warm up, and getting ice cream together was a good excuse to talk.  Besides, now that Regina was out of work, she had a lot more free time.  _If I had room for another deputy, or could fire one of the idiots I have, I’d hire her in a heartbeat,_ Emma thought with some amusement.  _It would drive Cora absolutely_ crazy.

Regina shrugged.  “Chloe Zephyr, apparently.”

“No, I mean who was she back in fairytale land?” The question came out almost naturally, and part of Emma really wanted to shake herself for making it sound so damn…real.

“It’s called the Enchanted Forest,” her fellow mother—or was she her step aunt?—grumbled.

“Whatever.  Who was she back there, then?”

“I have no idea,” the older woman replied.  “I certainly never met her. Probably one of mother’s many cronies.  It got hard to tell them apart, and I never much cared.”

“Henry thinks she’s the Wicked Witch of the West.”  Emma couldn’t help snorting as she said that.  Listening to Henry talk about figuring out that Jafar was now a lawyer and how King George had always been the D.A. was one thing.  At least they were fairytale characters!  But the Wicked Witch of the West was straight out of fiction, not fairytales.  Emma could only stretch her mind to accommodating _one_ weird set of reality at a time, thank you very much, and fairytales had already taken over.  Fortunately, Regina seemed to share her disbelief.

“The _what_?” Regina echoed skeptically.

“So, you haven’t heard of her either.”  She couldn’t help feeling relieved. 

“Outside of the movies?  Not at all,” was the droll reply.  “Anyway, if she’s Mother’s new favorite, I’m not particularly terrified.  We’ll throw a bucket of water on her and be done with it.”

“Something tells me it won’t be that easy.”

“In this town?” Now Regina snorted.  “Nothing ever is.”

* * *

 

Meanwhile, August W. Booth sat in a restaurant in Portland, Maine, munching fries and telling himself— _again_ —that he should head back into Storybrooke.  He’d meant to drop off the postcard in the mail and return the same night, but now it was the 17th and he still hadn’t gone back.  He wasn’t exactly afraid, and this little town wasn’t any more enticing than Storybrooke, but he was _safe_ here.  Here, he didn’t have the Blue Fairy pulling his strings and Cora blackmailing him.  Here, his papa wasn’t in danger if he failed to please a sadistic Evil Queen.  And it wasn’t like the Savior was depending on him, anyway.  Emma hardly ever even listened to him.  She was too focused on Henry, on Regina, and on everyone else.  August was starting to think that he’d come to Storybrooke too late to make a difference.

So, why go back at all?  If Emma didn’t need him, and she was going to figure out how to break the curse without his help.  What purpose did he have?  He could go somewhere else, anywhere else, and even if ( _when)_ he turned to wood, no one would actually notice.  Or perhaps there as someone else out there like the Dragon, someone who could change him back.  He didn’t have to go to Storybrooke to get fixed.  He could—

_Ring!_

Jumping, August pulled his cell phone out of his pocket to glare at it.  He didn’t recognize the number, but a distant part of his mind knew that area code 212 was from New York City.  One of his editors had a NYC number, even though the guy lived in Arizona.  This, however, was not Eric’s number.  He contemplated not answering the phone, but it wasn’t like he had anything else to do.

“Yeah?”

“August?” a voice he hadn’t heard in ten years said from the other end, jerking him up short.  August felt his jaw drop.

“Neal?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, buddy. You’re the one who mailed me your phone number, remember?  I just got it today.”

“I…I guess I didn’t expect you to call so fast.”  _Or at all._

“I didn’t see any reason to waste time,” Neal Cassidy replied.  “Is Emma all right?  Are you there with her?”

“I’m, uh, nearby, yeah.  She’s fine,” August answered, figuring that had to be true.  Emma had been fine when he left Storybrooke, after all.  So had Henry, but it wasn’t his place to tell Neal that Emma had borne his son.   “Everything’s fine.”

“Then why’d you send me a postcard early?  You said you’d send word once the curse broke.”

“Yeah, well, things aren’t as clear as they were supposed to be,” he grumbled, and then wanted to kick himself for the response.  But maybe, maybe that was the answer.  Maybe he should get Neal to come to Storybrooke, and then he could get a favor out of Gold.  Could Gold fix him?  Could Gold _protect_ him?

“Sounds like the story of my life, man.”

“You and me both,” August snorted.

“So, why the postcard?” Neal pressed.  “You sure Emma’s okay?”

_I never should have called the police,_ he thought guiltily, hearing the worry in Neal’s voice.  Those two had been good together, and August had played more than his part in ruining that.  Maybe they would have fallen apart, anyway.  A life as petty criminals on the run was no place for a child, right?  But August knew Henry, and he knew that the kid would have preferred to grow up with his real parents, to know them both and to not have become an orphan just because it was more convenient for the Blue Fairy.  Instead, poor Henry was stuck with the Evil Queen’s daughter, and August had no idea how that was going to turn out.  He’d tried to do the right thing, tried to do what Blue told him to, and all he’d done was screw up.  Again.

“Hey, you still there?” the other voice said, jerking August out of his funk.

“Yeah, sorry,” he replied quickly.  “Just thinking.”

“You gonna tell me what the hell is going on then?  Is Emma all right?  This curse thing…it’s dangerous, isn’t it?” Neal asked, and August wanted to hang up on him.  _He’s figuring too much out,_ the former puppet thought reflexively.  _I don’t need him to distract Emma now!_

Or did he?  Would that help pry Emma away from Regina?

“You don’t want to take a road trip to Maine, do you?” August asked almost before he thought through the consequences.

_“What?”_

“Well,  yeah, it’s kind of dangerous,” he answered Neal’s previous question, warming to the topic.  Neal showing up would be a _great_ way to get Henry away from Regina, and that would probably help lessen the Dark Princess’ sway over Emma, too.  Besides, if bringing Baelfire to Storybrooke got August in the Dark One’s good graces, that would be useful!  The sudden appearance of his long lost son certainly wasn’t going to be something the Dark One would be upset over.  August could use this.  “I mean, the Evil Queen wants her dead, but Emma’s holding her own.”

“Evil Queen?  What the hell ‘Evil Queen’ are you talking about?” Neal demanded.

“Um, you’d probably think of her as the queen out of _Snow White_ ,” he answered, hearing the concern in Neal’s voice and trying not to smile.  _Yeah.  This is going to work._   August could do this.  He could protect Emma, get the curse broken, _and_ get himself turned back human before the puppet took over.  “She’s kind of a nasty piece of work.”

“You mean the crazy chick with poisoned apples and a magic mirror?” the other man asked incredulously.

“Pretty much, though she’s a lot worse in real life.”

“Damn.  I mean—be straight with me, August.  Is Emma in danger?  Is that why you want me to come there, or are you trying to get yourself out of trouble?”

“Look, man, I’m not in trouble.  _I’m_ fine,” August lied, and felt his nose twitch a bit.  But the appendage didn’t grow, not outside Storybrooke.  It just hurt.  “And so’s Emma.  For now.”

“I’ve got a life and a girlfriend.  And an actual job.  I can’t just walk out on no notice.  These things take time.”

“I never said you had to.”  August forced himself to sound casual.  “If you’ve got a new girl and don’t want to worry about Emma, that’s fine.”  _I really hope you don’t, though!_   “I just promised you that I’d let you know, and that I’d take care of her.  This is me doing that.”

Nevermind that he was currently miles away from Storybrooke and not doing a damn thing for Emma.  August was sure that she was fine at the moment, and Neal didn’t need to know that he’d skipped out for a few days of freedom.

“Just tell me how to get to that damn town, all right?  I’ll have to rent a car, and I’ve got to clear things up here, first.  It’ll probably take me a week.” Neal growled, and August resisted the urge to punch the air in victory.

“I can do one better.  Head up 95 until you hit Route 1, and then get off at the Kennebunk exit.  Call me then and I’ll direct you in.  The place is a little hard to find.”

* * *

 

_6 Months Before the Curse_

“My  mother threatened Snow and Charming again,” Regina admitted in a whisper, trying to ignore the pair of guards who were now always in the room when she visited Daniel.  Her mother had both of their hearts, of course, and had warded them against any enchantment Regina could think up, but at least neither seemed too interested in eavesdropping.  Officially, they were there to guard her ‘virtue’, so as long as Regina and Daniel remained a respectable distance apart on the couch, they stayed on the other side of the room.

“That’s hardly anything new, love,” Daniel pointed out with a wan smile.

Regina shook her head miserably.  “No.  But she’s planning something horrible this time.  I can feel it.”

“You’ll stop her again.  Just like you did with that spell that keeps her from harming Snow and her family.”

“Rumplestiltskin’s spell, you mean,” she pointed out, her shoulder slumping in defeat.  Regina _hated_ just sitting here and waiting for her mother to find some other way to hurt her sister; Daniel could tell her that she had saved them, but Regina knew the truth.  If she had just done as she was told instead of running away with Daniel, her mother would never have focused on hurting Snow like this.  All of her attention would have been on Regina, on making Regina the perfect queen, and Snow would have been safe.

“He still couldn’t have done it without you,” her (former) husband pointed out, taking her hand gently.  The feeling of his fingers in her own—something she felt so rarely now that Daniel had been moved into rooms away from her own and Regina so rarely got to see him—was almost enough to make her cry.

“You don’t know Rumple.  He always finds a way to do what he wants, and for some reason, he wants Snow and Charming to be safe,” she retorted.

“Then he’ll help them next time, won’t he?”  Daniel stroked her hand.  “You shouldn’t worry so much.”

“He’ll only do it if it’s in his interests.  Next time, it might not be, and I can’t even _be_ there…”

“Of course you can.”

“What?”  Immediately, she knew what he meant, and Regina twisted to face him.  “Daniel, _no_.  I can’t.  I _won’t._   We both know what that would mean, and—”

He cut her off with a hard kiss, one that reminded Regina of a few stolen weeks when the world had been at their feet. 

“Hey!” One of the guards shouted, but Daniel had already pulled back.  Fortunately, the guards were lazy and Cora obviously wasn’t controlling either of them at the moment, because they didn’t bother to approach.

“Living like this isn’t living, Regina,” her True Love said quietly.  “It’s not just the fact that I haven’t walked outside this castle for over a year.  It’s not just feeling trapped.  It’s seeing _you_ trapped and knowing that I’m the key.  I won’t be used against you any longer, love.  You have to break free.”

“She’ll _kill_ you, Daniel!”

“And then I die for something worth dying for,” he replied calmly.  “I’ve thought about this for a long time.  I’d rather die to free you than be the chains that hold you down.”

Her throat was too thick for words, and hot tears were already starting to steam down her face.  “I can’t live without you.”

“Of course you can.”  A warm hand cupped her cheek, and Regina leaned desperately into his touch, trying to savor this moment for all it was worth.  “And someday, somehow, you’ll find it in you to love again.  I know it.”

“No.  I won’t.  I can’t.  Not after you.  _No one_ can be like you,” she whispered brokenly. 

“Hush,” he quieted her, and Regina tried to gulp back her sobs without success.  “I love you, Regina.  I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you, but we were never meant to be.  Now let me free you.  Let me help your sister in the only way I can.”

“Daniel…”

Regina had been forced to choose between her True Love and her sister so many times, had tried to toe the line so that her mother wouldn’t hurt Daniel.  Snow had suffered for that, and even though her sister claimed to understand, Regina had always hated herself for choosing Daniel.  Now, however…well, she knew she would never forgive herself for this.  Never.

“Go,” Daniel said softly, kissing her once more, and Regina tasted his tears as well as her own.  “Go to Snow, and don’t look back, no matter what your mother does.”

“I _can’t_ ,” she all but wailed.

“You can.”  Reluctance written all over his face, Daniel pulled away.  “And you have to.  Go, Regina.”

She wanted to argue, but what could she say?  Their love _was_ doomed.  Regina had known that for years, yet she’d kept fighting, refusing to let go, because she loved him so very much.  But Daniel was right.  This was no life.  Not for him, and not for her.  And if Regina stayed, she knew that Cora would use her against Snow.  _Again._

“She’s going to make you choose between us again,” Daniel pointed out quietly, reading her mind as he rose from the couch.  “You know that.  So don’t play her game.  Leave before she can blame you.  Let this be _my_ choice, as Snow once ate the apple to save me.  I’m letting you go to save her.  Please.”

“I don’t want you to die,” Regina whispered, clinging to his hands as she stood with him.

“I think I already am,” he admitted.  “Cora would never let us be together.  You know that.  We hoped in the beginning that she might be satisfied by all the power, but we know better now.  She won’t be satisfied until you’re broken at her feet and your sister is dead, and I _refuse_ to let that happen.  So you have to leave.”

Closing her eyes on tears, Regina lunged forward to kiss him one last time, to savor the feeling of True Love echoing through her veins.  Knowing Daniel was right did not make leaving any easier, and she knew she took the coward’s way out when she teleported away with the taste of his lips fresh on her own.

Snow found her crying a few minutes later, hiding in a corner near the chambers Snow and Charming shared.  Her sister wrapped her arms around Regina without a word, and just held her tight.

That was the last time she would see him before the end.

* * *

 

Regina said goodbye to Errol in the front hall, resisting the urge to ask him to stay longer.  Their Friday afternoon ‘lunch’ had already turned into a three hour long date, extending past the time that Henry got home from school.  David was still at the animal shelter, thankfully.  Although he and Errol seemed to be getting along well enough, it was awfully hard to have a date when the man she was technically married to was in the house.  Henry didn’t make it much better, though, giving Regina a none-too-subtle thumbs up when he got home.  Her mischievous boy had headed upstairs to do his homework while Regina and Errol talked, but Regina could feel his eyes on them now.

And there was nothingin the world more unnerving than having your ten year old son judge your dating choices.  _Nothing._

“Are you done spying?” she asked as the door clicked shut, turning to stare at her child.

But he just smiled hugely.  “I just like seeing you finally get your happy ending.  You deserve it.”

“Oh, Henry.”  Regina was fairly sure that she could have melted into a puddle of goo, she would have.  Hearing her son say things like that filled her heart to bursting, but at the same time, Regina knew that she had to tell Henry the truth.

But before she could say a word, before Regina could steel herself to correct an assumption she _knew_ her son had made, Henry bounced forward to hug her. 

“I always knew you weren’t evil, Mom.  You just did what you had to so that you could keep Daniel safe, and it worked!  Now Grandma’s curse is going to be broken, and you’re going to be able to finally be with your True Love,” he gushed.  “Will that make him my stepfather?”

_I should have told him this the first time Henry hinted that Errol might be Daniel,_ Regina thought behind a watery smile.  _I never should have let him keep believing this._ But she still couldn’t find words, and Henry continued before she could scrape up her courage.

“My book says that Grandma crushed Daniel’s heart to cast the curse.  How did you save him?”

“Your book is right,” Regina finally forced herself to say.  “My mother did crush Daniel’s heart.  She killed him.”

“But you saved him.  Right?”  Ten year old eyes—brown, unlike Emma’s green—focused on her and Regina’s heart threatened to break all over again as the memories tried to overwhelm her.

_She was too late.  Her mother stood over the fire pit, with Daniel by her side.  He was on his knees and looked defeated, and Regina tried to rush to him, only to be stopped by a wall of magic._

_“Mother, no!” Regina howled, and Cora smiled thinly._

_“I’m glad you could be here for this, dear,” her mother said calmly.  “I always knew your stableboy would have his uses.”_

_“Mother—!”_

“Mom?” Henry interrupted her memory.  “You _did_ save him, right?”

“No, honey.  I couldn’t,” Regina admitted in a whisper, looking away, staring blankly at the front door as the pain of Daniel’s death welled up all over again.  “I couldn’t save him.  I was too late.”

“But—but—Daniel wasn’t supposed to _die_ ,” her son objected.  “He can’t have died.  If he died, who’s Mr. Forrester?”

“Daniel is dead, honey,” she said, biting her lip and struggling to keep her voice level.  “And when he died, I thought I’d never love again. I thought I _couldn’t_ …and then I woke up with you in my life.  I’ll never understand why my mother let me adopt you, but I will always be grateful for that. You taught me to love again.”

The idea of clinging to her son for dear life was an attractive one, but she didn’t try to hug him again.  She just gave him another watery smile, trying to push away the memories of Daniel’s death and focus on the good things in her life.  _Mother_ will _pay for that,_ Regina promised herself.  _I’ll make sure of that.  But I also won’t forget the good things I have now._

“Then who is Mr. Forrester?  Do you know?” Henry asked curiously, and for once, Regina was glad that no ten year old was going to dwell too long on the death of a man they had never met.  Henry was more curious about the living.

“I do know, but only because I was able to ask someone who already knew him,” she admitted, feeling a smile sneaking onto her face.  Regina would always mourn for Daniel, and she would always love him, but she also knew that she had to move on.  _Daniel wanted me to find love again,_ she remembered.  _I never thought I would, but now that I have, I’m not letting go._   “Actually, he’s Robin Hood.”

“Robin Hood?  Like out of the legends?”

“Yes.”  If Regina’s smile was a little stupid, well, she couldn’t help herself.  Henry grinned back.

“Cool!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neal isn’t engaged to Tamara yet, they’re just dating. This is several months before we meet the two of them in “Manhattan.”
> 
> Next up: Chapter Sixty—“Long Kept Secrets,” in which Emma breaks into August’s room, Regina unearths some secrets, Cora continues to stay ahead of her enemies, and Killian walks a dangerous line. Back in the past, Hook goes after Rumplestiltskin and finds something unexpected.
> 
> While you’re waiting, please do let me know what you think! My muse has been incredibly uncooperative with this story lately, and feedback always seems to help. :)


	60. Long Kept Secrets

This was ridiculous. 

Regina _knew_ that she shouldn’t be spying on the man who probably qualified as her oldest friend (disjointed though their friendship could be), but since the bastard refused to answer her questions, what choice did she have?  Rumplestiltskin was as slippery as water was wet, and his seeming inactivity lately _couldn’t_ be anything other than an act.  She was reasonably certain that he wouldn’t work with her mother, but she hadn’t expected to wake up and find them _sleeping_ together, either.  And now he was keeping his ‘maid’ on the side!  What _was_ it about that man?  Her mother wanted him—had for years, even back when he was scaly and dark, after she’d dropped him like a rock for another man—and now Lacey French was into him, too.

Personally, Regina didn’t understand the attraction.

She did, however, know that there were plenty of mirrored surfaces within Gold’s shop to use to spy on the pair, and when she’d spotted Lacey French heading into the shop that Monday, Regina discretely teleported herself home and pulled out a mirror.  Mirror magic had always been one of her specialties, and although she knew that Rumplestiltskin kept most of the mirrors in the Dark Castle covered just for this reason, he didn’t seem to have done the same thing in Storybrooke yet.  Regina supposed that getting beaten half to death probably made you forget a few things, particularly when you were busy figuring out how to send your former (current?) maid off to bring magic to save your life.  She hadn’t asked him what lie he’d fed Lacey about that, or how he’d convinced a thoroughly cursed woman to _bring magic_ to Storybrooke.  But it really was starting to become important. 

Screw his privacy.  Rumple had been the one who taught her how to spy on people using mirrors, anyway.  If he’d forgotten those lessons, Regina had not, and she had a curse to get broken and a mother to defeat.  She’d spy on him a thousand times over if the wily bastard wouldn’t tell her the truth!  So, with that thought, Regina flipped her hand mirror over, and focused on Gold’s shop.

* * *

 

“I brought a picnic,” Belle called into the back room cheerfully.  She’d heard her husband’s muffled ‘be there in a minute’ when she’d opened the front door, but no one else was in the shop, so Belle felt free to act like herself.

Besides, Renee (who was very nearly Gabrielle these days) was off at Errol Forrester’s playing with young Jamie.  That gave Belle a couple of hours to have lunch with Rumplestiltskin before she picked the pair up for time at the playground, and she meant to make good use of it.

“Why ever would you do that?” Rumplestiltskin asked, coming out of the back with a puzzled expression on his face.  “Not that I’m not happy to see you, of course.”

Grinning, Belle slipped behind the counter to kiss him on the cheek.  “I have an ulterior motive, of course.”

“Do you now?”

“Yep.”  She put her picnic basket down and batted her eyes at him, watching Rumple lick his lips.  He really _was_ feeling better, and Belle knew it wasn’t just because he was finished healing himself.  Magic made him feel _safer_ , particularly since Cora couldn’t find a way to abuse him when he had more power than she did.

“Are you going to share this ‘ulterior motive’ with me?” he asked when she didn’t volunteer more.

“Nope.  Not telling,” she retorted cheekily, reaching into the basket.  “But I _did_ bring some of Granny’s best chocolate cake.”

“Sweetheart, I’m already in love with you, and you already know I’ll give you the world.  What could positively make you feel the need to bribe me with that?” Rumplestiltskin sounded wary, now, and with good reason.  She tried not to overindulge his sweet tooth, after all (particularly since his very human teeth looked _way_ healthier here than the rotted ones in the Enchanted Forest had!), and Belle usually didn’t encourage him to eat that absolutely succulent and sugar-filled cake, no matter how good it tasted.

“You’ll have to wait and find out,” Belle tried to say mysteriously, starting to put food out on the counter.  Rumple helped her automatically, pulling out the sandwiches and fries—Belle had an inordinate weakness for fries that almost matched her husband’s for chocolate—as she pulled out a jug of iced tea and cups.  He did, however, shoot her a dirty look, which Belle countered with a smile.  “Patience is a virtue, Rumple,” she teased him.

That only made him snort, but his frown vanished when Belle wrapped her arms around Rumplestiltskin’s neck and kissed him soundly. 

“Your idea of entertainment sometimes leaves a bit to be desired, my dear,” he grumbled, but Belle could see that he was having a hard time staying grouchy.

“Like your wardrobe, you mean?” she shot back, deciding to take the opening while she had it.

“Beg pardon?” Rumplestiltskin stared at her with confusion.  “Is there…a problem with my suit?”

His expression was almost comically lost as he glanced down at his immaculately tailored (and oh-so-expensive) black suit.  Today he was wearing the blue shirt Belle loved, complete with a darker blue tie and matching pocket square, and he looked quite wonderful, truth be told.  There was also nothing wrong with his always perfect attire…except for one thing.  Confused brown eyes looked back up at her, and Belle realized that she couldn’t keep this up for long.  Those eyes did her in every time, so she took pity on him.

“There’s no problem with your suit,” she reassured her husband, leaning in to drop a kiss on his nose as he stared at her, mystified.  “But I miss the leather pants.  They’d make _everything_ better.”

“You…you _what?_ ” he managed to stutter, and Belle grinned.

“I _did_ sneak them into the chest that came over,” she replied.  “Remember?”

“I saw them, yes, but…”

“I miss them,” she said simply, letting her right hand drift down his left side to land on his hip, caressing him lightly through the fabric.  “I miss the way they feel, the way they smell.  I liked you in leather.”

Yes, Rumplestiltskin’s pupils _had_ dilated just a little bit, particularly if he was remembering the same kind of nights she was. 

“Are you trying to bribe me into wearing them, sweetheart?” he finally managed to say, sounding a little hoarse.  She giggled.

“I knew you were smart.”

“ _Belle_ ,” Rumplestiltskin all but growled, but cut off whatever complaint he was going to voice when she kissed him again.

“Is it working?” she whispered breathlessly in his ear.

“Only if you’re willing to wear the dress I bought you in Agrabah,” he replied immediately, and Belle blinked.

“I’m not sure it has enough material to be properly called a dress, you know,” she pointed out, remembering the gold and blue outfit from a trip early in their courtship.  Still, wasn’t exactly complaining.  “But it’s a deal.  Sealed with chocolate cake.”

Rumplestiltskin laughed, and the two reluctantly broke apart after another deep kiss to eat their picnic lunch.  All the while, Belle started planning.  It was good to have magic here in Storybrooke, after all.  She’d never have asked Rumplestiltskin to put those leather pants on while he had that horrible limp, but now things were different.  Cora’s hold on her husband had weakened, and even with the fate of Storybrooke hanging in the balance, they could afford a little happiness.

* * *

 

August had been gone for six days, and Emma was starting to worry.  She’d never bothered to get his cell number when trucking over to Granny’s to find him had been so easy, and now the fact that _Ruby_ was missing, too, was starting to set her teeth on edge.  One nomadic author wandering off was easy to swallow, but the fact that Ruby had also gone missing—apparently two days after August—was one too many coincidences for her tastes.  Emma was hesitant to lay the blame at Cora’s door for the dual disappearances, despite what Regina and Henry kept saying, but suspicion was definitely in order.  _Even if Cora_ isn’t _involved,_ she thought grimly, heading up the stairs with a key to August’s room in hand.  Granny had been a bit hesitant to hand it over, but the old woman was worried about Ruby, which meant she cooperated in the end.

Footsteps behind her made her whirl around, coming to face a startled ten year old who looked like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Henry!  What are you doing here?”

“I came to be your lookout,” her kid replied with a grin.  “Don’t you need one if you’re going to break into someone’s room?”

“I’m not breaking in,” Emma replied, rolling her eyes.  “I have a key.”

“Oh.”  He looked disappointed, and Emma resisted the urge to shake this son she’d never expected to meet—or to care about so much.  “Can I come along, anyway?”

“This is a police investigation.”

“You’d have a warrant if it was, and I don’t see one,” the too-smart boy pointed out, and Emma sighed.

“Okay, fine.  So it isn’t official.  That doesn’t mean you should touch anything, all right?” She tried not to groan.  Chasing Henry off would take longer than she had before Granny wanted the key back, and besides, the kid was clever.  He might spot something.

Henry’s smile could have powered the entire town for a week.  “Okay!”

“I’m going crazy,” Emma muttered to herself, shaking her head as she unlocked the door.  “Absolutely crazy.”

“No, you aren’t,” Henry corrected her.  “You’re just starting to believe.”  Then his smile faded a little.  “Do you think that the Evil Queen might have taken August and Ruby?”

“I doubt it’s that simple, kid,” she replied as they stepped inside.  “August left on Valentine’s Day, and Ruby disappeared two days after that.  August I can see.  He keeps talking about the curse and _subtle_ isn’t exactly his middle name, but what could the Evil Queen have against Ruby?”

“She bit her when she was a werewolf,” he answered immediately.  _Just what Regina said._ Did he have the Book memorized or something?  “Back in the Enchanted Forest.”

“Great.”

The room was messy, with the bed half made and August’s typewriter on the desk.  Its box was empty and laid open next to the chair, looking as if August had just wandered off for a few minutes.  The closet was wide open, and most of August’s clothes seemed to be present, though his wardrobe really did seem to consist of worn jeans and shirts.  His leather jacket was gone, but since people had seen him leaving town on his motorcycle, that wasn’t a surprise.  Nor was the lack of a helmet.  There was an open pack of Storybrooke  postcards on the desk, next to an old-fashioned looking fountain pen, but other than that, there was nothing remarkable.  Just a big stack of papers, some of which looked scribbled on while others looked like drawings.

One of those drawings, however, stood out a bit, and Emma stepped over to the desk to take a closer look while Henry crouched to look under the bed.  It was an odd line drawing of a wavy knife, simple and done only in black ink.  Emma would have put it aside had the lengthy name on the blade not triggered her memory—wasn’t ‘Rumplestiltskin’ in the Book?

“Henry, come take a look at this,” she called, staring at the drawing.  Her son was by her side in a flash.

“Oh, wow.  That’s _cool_ ,” he said immediately, and Emma wondered how much of that was just a ten year old boy’s innate love for shiny weapons.

“Isn’t this Rumplestiltskin guy in your book?” she asked.

“Yeah, and that’s the dagger!  There isn’t a picture of it in the Book.”

He said that like she was supposed to know what it was, but Emma was drawing a blank.  “Care to explain?”

“It’s mentioned in one of the stories,” Henry replied a trifle impatiently.  “It’s the Dark One’s weapon.  Rumplestiltskin uses it to kill the old Dark One and get his powers, but it all kind of goes wrong and he winds up a little crazy and really dark.  It’s in the story with Baelfire and the Blue Fairy.”

“So…why would August have a picture of something that isn’t in the Book?” Emma wondered.

“I dunno, but—” Cutting off, her son twisted to look up at her with huge eyes.  “Emma, this is bad.  This is _huge_.  If the Dark One is here, and there’s _magic_ , he’s more dangerous than the Evil Queen!  I mean, sometimes he was on the heroes’ side, but if he’s allied with Cora, _everyone_ is in trouble when he wakes up.”

Blinking, Emma tried very hard to keep up with that logic.  She sort of remembered Rumplestiltskin’s role in her parents’ story, but truth be told, she hadn’t been paying much attention to that.  “Huh?”

“He shouldn’t be here,” Henry stressed.  “The cell they put him in for trying to steal Cinderella’s child should have held him and kept him there when everyone else was taken away.  But if he is here, that could be really bad.  We need to tell Mom.”

“Well, let’s go find her, then,” Emma replied, picking up the drawing.  She folded the paper and slipped it in her back pocket, figuring that she could apologize to August for the petty theft.  However, doubting the sudden danger Henry spoke of never entered her mind, even if they were talking about magic and evil beings.

Some other bit of knowledge, however, lurked at the edge of her consciousness, waiting to get out and draw the parallels between a monster who tried to steal a child and a man who had done a deal for one.  But Emma wasn’t ready to get there.  Not yet.

* * *

 

The Dark One was having a picnicin his shop.  Of all things, a _picnic_?  Regina wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, to shake her head in disbelief and tell herself that Rumple must have put some spell on her mirror to show her the most ridiculous things, but she knew he hadn’t.  She’d wound up transfixed by that odd little exchange, part of her wanting to laugh at Rumple’s sappy grumpiness and part of her envious at the ease with which he interacted with his ‘maid’.  Regina had finally forced herself to look away when they’d started their picnic with the cake, trying to ignore the softness she saw in Rumplestiltskin’s eyes every time he looked at Lacey French.

But she couldn’t.  That conversation had been odd in too many ways that only led to one conclusion…and Rumplestiltskin had called Lacey by another name.  That made all of her previous assumptions blow right the hell up, and she found her feet carrying her towards the pawn shop before Regina could even make up her mind to go there.  Rumplestiltskin had avoided answering her questions last time, but not today.  There was too much at stake.  So, she burst into the shop and started talking before she even bothered to verify that Rumplestiltskin was alone.

Thankfully, he was.

“I’ve had it,” she snapped.  “I’m done with your excuses and I want to know what the _hell_ is going on between you and your damn maid.  Is she awake?”

“Hello to you, too, Regina,” Rumplestiltskin replied with Gold’s inscrutable calm.

“Don’t you ‘hello’ me, Rumplestiltskin,” Regina snarled, stalking up to the counter to look him in the face.  “I just watched your nauseating little picnic with the wench through a mirror, so don’t you _dare_ tell me that she’s just your maid.  She’s got you wrapped around her little finger!”

Her outburst made him blink.  “Is there a question in that tirade, dear?”

“Yes!”  With an effort, Regina managed to stop her shout at the one word and then lower her voice.  A little.  “Who the hell is she, and does she _remember_?” she demanded.

“She’s—”

“If you say your maid one more time, I swear I will punch you right in the face,” Regina spat.

“I think you’ve been spending too much time around Emma Swan,” he replied, and the bastard was starting to quirk a smile, damn him.

Regina, however, was not going to put up with his games today.  “Rumple!”

“Fine, then,” Rumplestiltskin spoke evenly.  “You want information, and I want something in return.  You resist the urge to tell the Savior anything about who I really am, and I’ll answer your questions.  Truthfully, even.”

That proposal made Regina pause to study her old teacher, her mind whirling.  So far, she’d not told Emma about Mr. Gold’s identity, but she’d always intended to.  Self-preservation had just kept her from mentioning it, because how do you explain that your oldest friend and mentor was ostensibly the darkest sorcerer of them all?  Snow had never understood—and never asked about—the depth of her relationship with Rumplestiltskin, but Regina knew that Storybrooke was too small to hide it for long.  Still, she’d put off telling Emma…because she didn’t want her niece, her friend, to think less of her.

Her eyes  narrowed.  “Why don’t you want her to know?”

“Frankly, I’d prefer a bit of anonymity when the curse breaks, since I’m not exactly as recognizable as most,” he answered.  “Let’s save the lynch mobs for your mother, shall we?”

It was logical reasoning, and very Rumplestiltskin.  Regina had a feeling that there was more to it, but really, what did she have to lose? 

“Fine,” she said.  “Now tell me what I want to know.”

“Very well,” Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “Yes to your second question, and as to the first, she’s my wife.”

“She’s your—” Shock made her cut off, and now it was Regina’s turn to blink, absolutely flabbergasted.  “Your—”

“Wife,” he finished for her coolly.  “I do believe you are familiar with the custom of marriage, even back home.”

“But you’re—you couldn’t—you’re not—”  She’d been reduced to a stuttering idiot because the idea was just that ludicrous.  Regina could barely wrap her mind around the idea of Rumplestiltskin in love with his maid, but could he really have _married_ her?

“I’m not _what_?” Now there was a dangerous edge in Rumplestiltskin’s voice, one mostly hidden by a surface layer of amusement, but not quite.

With an effort, Regina got ahold of herself.  “You married your maid.”

“I did.”  His shrug seemed to be casual, but Regina could feel something simmering beneath the surface.  “About four years before the curse was cast.”

“You never told me?” The words burst out before she could stop them.

“Don’t feel insulted.  We never told anyone.”  A grimace.  “Well, except her father, and that did not end terribly well.”

“I doubt you got the beating over her there that you did here.”  Again, Regina couldn’t stop her big mouth, and she wanted to kick herself.  “Sorry.”

But Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “No, it didn’t quite end up like that.  Though saying he was displeased might just be an understatement.”

“Renee is your daughter,” Regina realized suddenly, and then jerked herself up short.  Could the Dark One have a child?  What if Renee had been placed with Lacey—or Belle, if that was her real name—by the curse?  Could she belong to someone else?  Yet Rumplestiltskin doted on the girl. 

“Her real name is Gabrielle,” he confirmed, and yet again, Regina found herself flummoxed. 

A moment passed before she could form her next thoughts into words.  Rumple had said he’d answer, though, so she was damn well going to get her money’s worth out of not telling Emma.  “Here’s what I don’t get,” she said slowly.  “You two were together under the curse.  _No one_ was happy under the curse.  How the hell did you pull that off?  What kind of deal did you make with Mother?”

“Do you really think I was _ever_ foolish enough to tell your mother I had a wife and child to  protect?” Rumplestiltskin snorted, and now there was a dangerously protective edge in his voice he was obviously not hiding.  “My intention was precisely the opposite.  I wanted my cursed self to stay as far away from them as possible, but things didn’t exactly work out as I had planned.”

“That sounds like an understatement.”

“Indeed.”  Then Rumplestiltskin turned to call towards the back of the shop.  “Belle, sweetheart, why don’t you come out and meet Regina now that she knows who you are?”

She could have smacked him upside the head if the consequences of doing so probably wouldn’t have been being turned into a uniquely crabby frog.  So, all Regina could do was cross her arms and snarl: “She’s been back there the whole time?”

“Of course she has.  Do you think I’m telling you anything she doesn’t already know?” her old teacher drawled as Lacey French—or was she now Belle Gold?—stepped out of the back room wearing a pretty smile.

Regina hadn’t ever paid much attention to the librarian, save for being grateful that Lacey had given the Book to Henry.  After the fire, she’d noticed her a little more—the smaller woman had been damn brave and had saved Henry’s life almost as much as Errol had.  Regina liked to think that she would have reached out to her after that, but Lacey had disappeared into the maw of Gold’s pink mansion, and Regina had been too busy to worry further.  After all, Regina was probably the only one in town who knew Gold wouldn’t hurt her.  So, she’d never known her well, certainly not well enough to know _when_ she’d woken up.  Was it Emma’s presence, too, that made her aware?  Or had there been something else?  The real answer probably didn’t matter, though, and Regina wasn’t quite curious enough to ask.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Regina,” Belle said in her soft accent, holding out a hand.  “You’ve always been Rumple’s favorite student.  He likes you more than he lets on.”

“Belle,” Rumplestiltskin grumbled even as Regina took the offered hand, and she decided right then and there that the intelligence and independence in Belle’s answering smile was something she could like.  It had been annoying when she thought the girl had been cursed into falling in love with Rumple, but if she was his _wife_ …well, that could make her an interesting ally to have.

“Does he now?” she replied, a sly smile worming its way onto her face. 

“His heart’s a bit better than he’d like people to believe,” the younger woman confirmed, ignoring the way her husband glared half-heartedly. 

_Apparently, he’s used to that,_ Regina thought, liking the firm handshake and the way this woman refused to be cowed by Rumplestiltskin.  _Then again, if she married him in all his sparkly imp glory, she’s got to be made of pretty stern stuff,_ the ‘Dark Princess’ decided.

“It looks like you know that better than most,” she replied wryly, and then looked back at Rumplestiltskin.  “So, this is the big secret, huh?  You have a family to protect.”

“It’s not a secret I advise you to share with your mother, dear.”  His voice was soft, and _sounded_ non-threatening, but Regina certainly got the hint.

“I’m not that stupid,” she said bluntly.  “Besides, I want to be your ally, not your enemy.”

“Do you now?  Even if it means I have murderous desires towards your loving mother?”

“She tried to kill my son.”  The words bit out of her, hard and cold.  “She _killed_ Daniel.  And I know she’ll kill Snow or Charming—or Emma—the first moment she thinks she can get away with it.  If I have to choose between them and Mother, my family wins every time.  I won’t try to stop you.  If she threatens my family, I’ll even help.”

“The offer’s appreciated, though I can handle Cora.”  Rumplestiltskin didn’t look surprised, either, the bastard.

“So, are we allies, then?”  Best to have it in the open with him.  If his price was first dibs on putting her mother in her grave, well…Regina might shed some tears for Cora, but her mother had made her own choices.  Regina would protect those she loved above all else.

“It appears that, as usual, our interests are aligned,” he replied cagily.

“Yes or no, Rumple.”

“He means yes,” Belle interjected, giving her husband a look.  “Don’t you?”

“I do,” he confirmed, looking slightly abashed.  _Damn,_ Regina thought.  _She_ does _have him wrapped around her little finger!_   Suddenly, that seemed like a good thing, so long as she could keep Belle as an ally.  “Now, and when the curse breaks.  I have a feeling that we’ll need one another then, even if the more ‘heroic’ side of your family tree doesn’t like me.”

“I _told_ them it was a bad idea to throw you in that cage,” Regina grumbled, not missing the reference.

Much to her surprise, Rumplestiltskin laughed.  “Oh, they played right into my hands on that front,” he said with a casual shrug.  “It gave me the access I needed and made your mother think I could be contained.  Imprisonment was useful, even if it was a tad unpleasant.”

Judging from the look on Belle’s face, she had disagreed with him on that topic, but it was nice to see that Rumple wasn’t _too_ whipped.  Even if he was still crazy.

“Well, I’m betting you don’t want to repeat the experience, so unless you plan on making friends with Snow, I suppose I’m the one who’s going to reassure them that you’re not going to go back to stealing babies,” she said dryly.

“I suppose you are.”

And just like that, a deal was struck.  Regina knew better than to demand specifics from him; the war they were fighting was too fluid, too fragile, to pen themselves in like that.  But she knew Rumplestiltskin, and she trusted him.  Her mother would be _furious_ when she realized that her former lover had moved on—because Regina knew her mother was still hung up on him, though she’d never understood why—and that meant Rumplestiltskin would not ally with Cora.  He had a family to protect, just like she did, and that would hold them together.

* * *

 

_4 Months Before the Curse_

He knew how to kill the demon.  Baelfire had told him about the dagger that could slay the Dark One back in Neverland, but Cora had done _nothing_ so far to help him acquire it.  She had promised him help, had promised him vengeance, and yet Cora had not delivered.  He had been back in the Enchanted Forest for two months with her damn treasure, had been trapped in her toxic little court-in-exile, and he had nothing to show for it.  So he was damn well going to _take_ what he wanted without waiting for some Evil Queen to deliver. 

Those thoughts brought him to the gates of the Dark Castle, gripping the Sword of Peleus tightly in his hand.  The sword was _supposed_ to kill any magical creature, but if what Baelfire had told him was right, only that dagger could do the job.  Still, the dagger _had_ to be here in the demon’s lair, didn’t it?  Hook had waited in town until the girl he had bribed to call upon the Dark One had promised to do so.  She had plenty of reasons of her own, though Hook wasn’t sure why any woman struggling through a difficult pregnancy would want to call upon a demon for help.  Still, he’d given her enough money to motivate her, and the women down in Caerleon seemed willing to reassure her that the Dark One wouldn’t hurt a pregnant woman.  Ruthlessly pressing down his own flash of guilt—after all, Cassie had chosen to call upon the Dark One; she hadn’t had to take his money—Hook eased the outer gate open. 

So far as he could tell, he had to make it through three gates and then into the castle itself.  Then he’d have to hunt down the dagger, but who better to find buried treasure than a pirate?  The Dark One should be gone for a few hours, which gave him plenty of time to ferret out the weapon’s hiding place.  Then he would lay in wait for the demon and be done with this.  _Milah, my love, I am so close,_ he thought, feeling an eager chill roll down his spine _.  I will avenge you.  Today._

The second gate opened just as quietly as the first; for a supposedly terrifying castle, the grounds were remarkably well-kept.  Through the third gate he could see a pretty little garden, complete with a beautiful wall of roses off to the right.  There was a large fountain in the middle, bubbling gently…and with a child’s hands splashing in the water.

She was a little girl, dressed in red and yellow, and playing with two wooden boats.  She was rather adorable, and probably around three, giggling and laughing with some woman who sat on the fountain’s edge with a book in her hands.  The woman and child were both dressed simply, like merchants, maybe…but what were they doing in the Dark One’s castle?  Had he stolen some _other_ child?  Again?  Hook had heard tales about how the depraved demon would trade for children, but he had not expected to find a child here.  _A child and whatever poor woman has been stolen to care for her._

“Look!  Floaties!” the little girl cried triumphantly, pointing at the boats.

“Yes, they are,” the woman laughed, reaching out to push one of the boats into a circle.  The little girl shrieked happily, and Hook stood transfixed, just staring at the silly little domestic scene.

They were in his way.  Logically, he could tell himself that he was a pirate and such things should not slow him down.  The girl was what, three?  She wouldn’t delay him, and he could easily knock the nanny unconscious.  They were probably prisoners, so they wouldn’t know anything useful, but he could easily dispose of the problem.  And he _should_.  He had time, but not much, and Hook knew that if he didn’t get into the castle soon, he would never find the dagger.

But could he do that if he had to hurt a little girl to do so?  What might the Dark One do to the child—and her nanny, or whatever the woman laughing with her was—if Hook somehow slipped by them.  He could deal with a woman being hurt; it was distasteful, but happened frequently enough in their world.  But a child?  Particularly one so young?  Could he live with himself if he caused that?  He’d done many regrettable things during his years as a pirate, including his long years working for Pan, but Hook had always tried very hard not to harm children.  Would it be his fault if the Dark One punished a child because of his actions?  He couldn’t be sure.  Yet it wasn’t his problem, was it?  He was a pirate, not a philanthropist, and this child was _not_ his responsibility.  He reached for the gate, and—

“What _are_ you doing, Gabi?” the voice that haunted his nightmares interrupted Hook’s thoughts, and his head snapped around to see a familiar glittery figure reaching for the child.

Innocent little girl that she was, ‘Gabi’ giggled.  “Floating boats!” she declared.

“Are you, now?” the demon asked, and a wave of his hand made the two boats start speeding around in the fountain, racing one another.

“Uh huh!”

Hook didn’t bother to listen to the rest.  He couldn’t bear to see what happened once the Dark One bent to pick up the poor little girl, and he didn’t want to know what would happen to her now.   A proper hero, a good man, would have tried to rush in and save the girl—and probably the woman who watched over her as well—but he was no hero.  He’d given up that road when he became a pirate.

Vengeance was all he had left, but he would not avenge Milah today.

* * *

 

Twenty-eight years later, he was still waiting.  Now, however, Killian found himself again dancing attendance on the queen who had chuckled when he returned to her castle, chiding him for trying to go after the Dark One himself.  Now, however, Cora sat primly in her living room with another woman…one who Killian remembered seeing before, too. 

“I remember you being a lot greener,” he said before he could stop himself.

Cora’s red haired daughter scowled.  “Yet I remember you being just this rude.”

“Forgive me,” Killian said quickly, noticing the way Cora’s eyes narrowed.  There was magic here, now.  He couldn’t afford to anger the queen _too_ much; he liked his heart where it was, thank you very much.  He’d always been her ally more than her servant, carefully giving Cora reasons to value his independence.  He wasn’t going to change that, now.  _Even if Cora’s promises of vengeance are growing rather thin._ Rumplestiltskin had magic, too, of course, but Killian had charted his course long ago.  He was rather stuck, at least for now.  “I meant no offense.”

“You are forgiven,” Zelena sniffed, probably in what she thought was a regal fashion.  It just came off obnoxious.

“You called for me?” he asked, turning to Cora.

“I did.  And I see the two of you remember one another.  Good.”  Cora sat primly in an armchair, looking as if she was sitting in a throne with the court at her feet.  She was dressed in a gorgeous gray suit, looking every bit the modern woman—save for the heart held idly in her left hand.

“We do,” Killian answered since she seemed to be waiting.  “How may I be of service?”

How he managed to get those words out without betraying his growing distaste—or was it hatred?—for Cora, Killian did not know.  But he couldn’t afford to offend her, not yet.  Cora still had all the power in Storybrooke.  She was still his best chance for vengeance.  Sure, the curse might be weakening—he’d overheard enough of the Nolan child talking to assume that was happening—but that didn’t mean Cora would lose her iron grip on the town.  Even _if_ Emma managed to break the curse, which Killian was not certain would happen, there was no guarantee that Emma and her allies would overcome Cora.  Killian knew the queen too well to think that she was anywhere near finished, and he would remain as her ally until he was certain that doing so would not be in his best interests.

“Well, since acquainting the two of you does not seem to be required, I thought that you might join us for dinner,” Cora replied.

“With a heart in your hand, Your Majesty?” he couldn’t help asking.

“No.  I thought I would use this first,” she said easily, although Killian could see she looked distracted.  “And then we shall eat.”

“What do you see, Mother?” Zelena asked curiously.

“Two fools doing your sister’s bidding.  Regina thinks she’s smarter than she is,” Cora told her, her fingers drumming idly against the heart.  “They think they’re diverting my suspicions by becoming friends.”

“Who?”  Now Zelena sounded eager.

“David Nolan and Errol Forrester.  One a feckless prince who always makes the wrong choices, and the other some fool who your sister thinks she can fall in love with.  They’re having drinks at the Rabbit Hole and trying to look innocent.”

That was interesting.  Regina’s husband and the firefighter who had saved her son.  Killian hadn’t noticed the mayor’s younger daughter running around with the firefighting chief, but apparently he needed to pay attention to that from here on out.  He’d always had an eye for scandal and the power that came from being the one who knew what was going on when no one else did, but he’d missed this one.  Cora, however, obviously had not.

* * *

 

Cora was, in fact, several steps ahead of Regina, although some of them were in more of a… _diagonal_ direction.  Presently, she was busy watching David Nolan and Errol Forrester have drinks together, laughing like idiots and joking like fools.  Watching the pair at the bar of the Rabbit Hole certainly wasn’t the manner in which she intended to spend her evening, but for the moment, she steeled herself to pay attention.  The odds of nothing happening were high, but Cora had not been so successful in holding onto her power by being careless.  Now that her magic was working, she knew that holding a heart gave her unique insights into what its owner was doing, and she would reap the benefits of those advantages.

_As always_ , the queen thought to herself.  Regina was still a silly girl in so many ways.  She thought that doing the right thing would be rewarded, that good deeds led to good things happening to her.  Cora knew better.  She knew that life would give you nothing that you didn’t take, and she would _always_ take what she was owed.  She would work hard and do whatever was required.  Cora understood the value of hard work, which was why she was spending her valuable time watching men drink.

Then a figure entered the edge of her narrow vision through the heart, and Cora perked up.  Her little puppet was back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thank you to everyone for the lovely comments this last chapter. My muse is slowly trying to recover (at least it’s let me write a scene and a half), so I think you’re all helping pull me out of the dregs of No-Inspiration-Land. 
> 
> That said, I’ve posted three of my six entries from this year’s Rumbelle Showdown, and the first two are set here in the FOTS Universe. Give them a whirl if you’re curious! In the meantime, whose heart do you think Cora is holding here—and what in the world has happened to Ruby?
> 
> Next up: Chapter Sixty-One—“Deals and Denials,” where Henry and Emma bring the drawing to Regina, Cora corners August, Ruby wakes up from a drugged sleep, Hook brings important information to Emma, and Belle and Rumplestiltskin tie the knot in Storybrooke. Back in the past, Cruella and Ursula discuss allying with Cora.


	61. Deals and Denials

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note for the last chapter: Ms. Carroll is Ursula's Storybrooke identity. We'll see Cruella in Storybrooke later.

“It’s just a drawing,” Regina said with a shrug, and Henry peered at his mother curiously.  That wasn’t the reaction he’d expected; he _knew_ that Regina appreciated how important this mere ‘drawing’ was.  She was the daughter of the Evil Queen, and the Book said that she’d learned from Rumplestiltskin himself!  She _had_ to know how dangerous the Dark One was, and her response was that this was ‘only a picture’?  he couldn’t help it; his jaw dropped and he just stared at Regina.

“I took a look at Henry’s book,” Emma spoke up before he could say anything.  “It’s maddeningly vague where this ‘Dark One’ is concerned, but it really does seem like he’s a pretty dangerous guy.  And apparently this dagger is the only way he can be killed.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Regina replied vaguely, and but then she shrugged gain.  “But I’m not sure why you’re asking me.”

Henry’s instincts were lighting off, screaming warnings in his ears, and that made him  shut his mouth and scowl.  “If the Dark One got out of the cage Grandpa put him in, and he’s here in Storybrooke, he’s _really_ dangerous,” he pointed out, trying not to sound like a worrywart, but knowing that what he said was true.  “He’s unpredictable, isn’t he, Mom?  No one ever knows what side he’s on, and he only does what he wants to.”

“Rumplestiltskin is unpredictable,” she agreed slowly.  “But he’s not particularly fond of my mother.  Even if he is here, we have far bigger problems to worry about.” 

“I thought he liked Grandmother,” Henry objected, remembering the few scenes in the Book between the Evil Queen and the Dark One.  Their recorded encounters had been riddled with darkness and power plays, and although  Henry knew which one of them was the bigger villain, he wasn’t sure at all that the Dark One wasn’t playing his own game.

Regina, however, snorted.  “About as much as you enjoyed having the chicken pox,” she laughed, and Henry started to wonder how much she really knew her old teacher.  He knew that Cora had taught her, too, and knew that Regina had always struggled against darkness.  Did she only see what she wanted to see, or was she right?

“Is he here?” Emma pressed.  “Ru—”

“Don’t say his name!” Henry cut her off frantically.  “He can hear it if you say his name!  There’s magic here now, remember?”

“Only if he remembers, right?”

Henry fought the urge to roll his eyes.  “Why wouldn’t he?”

“Rumplestiltskin,” Regina said, looking at the pair with annoyance.  “Looked very different back home.  There’s at least one illustration in your Book to show you that, Henry.  So, good luck figuring out who he is here.”

Now _that_ was a challenge that Henry could accept.  Maybe Regina was afraid of finding out who Rumplestiltskin was here in Storybrooke, but _he_ wasn’t.  There had to be clues in the Book.  Yes, he’d looked different, but all of the answers were in the storybook.  He just had to look hard enough.  Then he’d be able to protect his mom from whatever she was worried about.  Hopefully, they’d identify Rumplestiltskin before the Dark One could wake up, and when August got back, they could ask him what he knew, too.

* * *

 

She had hoped that the puppet would come see her of his own accord, but he had returned the previous night and not bothered to do so.  Of course, Cora was not surprised by that—August was certainly a coward of the lowest sort—but she was a tad irritated.  Which was why she sought him out.

Breaking into his room at the inn and waiting for his return was no difficult feat.  The patience part of the equation was a little more trying, but Cora spent that time rewriting her special lists, creating plans for the future and deciding exactly how she was going to use the tools at her disposal.  She took notes, of course; the risk of having the notes discovered was not nearly so great as the consequences of forgetting her own plans.  Cora was not a fool.  Complicated plots were easily lost track of if one was not careful, and she had always been careful.  These plans, contingency plans, and counterstrategies had been in her mind for over twenty-eight years, and a mere puppet was not going to send any of them awry.

His expression when he stepped into the room and saw her, however, was quite lovely. 

“Your…Majesty,” August said slowly, his eyes wide with shock and fear.

“Pinocchio,” she purred, enjoying the way his wooden leg dragged.  Now that her magic was back, Cora could find a way to fix him.  She could only turn him fully human temporarily, of course; she didn’t think she had the power to do so permanently, but August wasn’t to know that.  Still, he’d have to _earn_ that.  Cora gave nothing away for free.

“What are you doing here?”

“Your absence has been noted, dear,” she smiled.  “I missed your…services when you did not return.”

“I—I had things to take care of,” he stuttered, shifting uncomfortably.

“Of course you did.”  Cora rose from the chair at the desk, smoothing her skirt out as she did so.  “Yet while you were gone, I began to believe you were no longer worried for your dear papa’s safety.”

That made him flinch.

“But I know that is not the case, is it?” she pressed delicately.

Wide eyed, August stared at her, clearly getting the hint.  “I just…I just needed to get away.  I talked to a friend, just had a couple of drinks…nothing important.  I swear.  Emma didn’t know where I was, either.”

“So, you’re lazy as well as being a coward,” Cora shrugged.  “This is no surprise.  But what friend did you talk to?

“Excuse me?”

“What friend?” she pressed. “Did you see them in person, or did you use your phone?”

Not for the first time, Cora wished she had someone within the town who she could send after fools like August, but the curse kept everyone but her inside.  The only way anyone else could leave was _with_ her, which was why she’d had to go to Boston with Regina in order to set up Henry’s adoption. Of course, that had turned out to be a terrible decision; she had given Regina a child to build the perfect little family, to give Regina someone harmlessto love.  Yet it had brought her nothing but grief.  _Grief and a Savior,_ the Evil Queen remembered acidly.  Just thinking of that put her in a foul mood, and August was the only target currently available.

“He called,” August answered quickly.  “I didn’t get far enough to visit anyone.  I don’t have a lot of friends, really.”

“Then who is this one?”

“No one.  I—”  He cut off as his cell phone flew out of his pocket and landed in Cora’s hand.  Quickly, she pulled up the received calls list, noticing that August really wasn’t a terribly popular man.  _I wonder if he annoys everyone else as much as he annoys me,_ she thought idly, noticing a name attached to a fifteen minute long phone call.

“Neal Cassidy,” she read.  “And _who_ is this?”

* * *

 

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

Ruby had spent most of the last few days drugged and dopey, and now she was listening to two blondes tell her that there was no escape, and that she’d be beaten soundly for trying.  But neither Ana nor Mirabella seemed to be laughing, and if there was a punchline to what they’d just told her, Ruby couldn’t find it.

“She’s not,” Ana Scadlock—technically her name was Victoria, but Ruby wasn’t dumb enough to tell her that—said grimly.  “Believe me.  When Francis dropped me off here, I tried to get out right away, and Merryweather’s thugs beat the hell out of me, with ‘Ms.’ Carroll watching to make sure they beat me thoroughly enough.”

“Your _husband_ brought you here?” Ruby gaped, preferring to focus on that rather than the horribleness of the rest of it.

“Yeah.”  Ana grimaced.  “But it’s not his fault.  He didn’t have a choice.”

“How do people not know about this place?” she demanded.  _How did_ I _not know about this place?_ The waitress wondered worriedly.  _I mean, I knew Emma was looking into something called the Basement, but she’s got_ no _idea how horrible this place is.  Talia Rose looks like someone tried to smash her face in with a baseball bat, and whats-his-name Paris looks even worse._

“No one cares,” Mirabella said quietly, twisting her shoulder-length hair around one finger nervously.  “Everyone who knows doesn’t care.  Or they have reasons to be silent.”

“They can’t expect us to go out on ‘dates’ and come back here,” Ruby objected, her mind whirling.  She’d never really thought about Merryweather’s escorts before, and now she was starting to feel guilty, but she’d be damned if she was going to behave herself like some pliant little girl.  She wasn’t cowed, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to live in a place where Merryweather’s bully boys could boss her around.  _And worse._

“Have you _ever_ seen any of us out in town?” Magnolia Souci spoke up from where she’d been comforting Paris.  “Mirabella’s the only one who’s _ever_ been out of the Basement, and that was only the once.”

Oddly enough, the shorter blonde went a bit red at that.  “It was only because Killian paid extra,” she muttered.

“And because you actually have a regular customer who fancies you and who _doesn’t_ also beat you,” Ana put in bluntly.  “Merryweather has some sort of dirt on him, anyway.  She has to, to have let you go out of here with him.”

Mirabella just shrugged and looked back at Ruby, speaking compassionately.  “Magnolia’s right, Ruby,” she said gently.  “We don’t usually get to leave.  I doubt I’ll ever get to again.  We’re not escorts.”

“Then what the hell are we supposed to be?” Ruby demanded, trying to pretend her voice hadn’t gone shrill with worry and more than a little fear.

“We’re the girls who can’t say _no_ ,” Ana replied, looking her straight in the eye.  “And they’ll beat the life out of you for trying.  Just look at Talia.”

Reluctantly, Ruby did, taking in the bruised and bloodied face that Magnolia was currently holding ice against.  Talia looked miserable, not to mention defeated, and Ruby wanted to strangle someone on her behalf.  “What happened?”

“She and Paris got caught sleeping together,” Ana answered.  “They weren’t even having sex, but Madam Merryweather doesn’t approve.”

“They were beaten like that for sharing a _bed_?” she gaped.

“That’s not the worst of it.  You try to escape, they’ll just beat you.  But you try anything else, and your family suffers.  That Granny of yours?  She’s up on the chopping block if you misbehave.  Just like my husband is if I do, and like Paris and Talia get beat on if the _other_ acts out.”

“That’s…”

She didn’t know what to say.  She just didn’t.  Ruby was a fighter, and she didn’t believe in giving in, but how in the world was she supposed to fight _this_?  She couldn’t do anything that would lead to Granny getting hurt, and _no one_ seemed to know about this place.  Or care.  Even Cyril (Killian) O’Malley, who had seemed like a decent guy—if flirty and sometimes naughty—apparently knew about this place and _paid_ for Mirabella to go out with him.  _What the hell is going on here?_ She asked herself, and then tried not to swallow nervously when Madam Merryweather came walking down the stairs with Carroll right on her heels.  The older woman appeared nice enough until you got a good look at her eyes, and that was what sent a chill running down Ruby’s spine.  Carroll, however, turned to look straight at her.

“You’re not being trouble, are you, Miss Lucas?  I’d hate to hear you were,” the dark skinned woman said coolly.

“No.”  Ruby gulped.  She wanted to snap something back, but what should she say?  Mouthing off would only tell them that she meant to do something, and Ruby didn’t want to tip her hand so soon.

Still, she was in huge trouble, and she had to get out.  Fast.

* * *

 

_6 Months Before the Curse_

“She’s not going to try to talk to that infernal Snow White again, is she, darling?” Cruella asked over the crackling of the fire, and Ursula grimaced.

“Thankfully, no.  The stupid heroes already turned her down, and Maleficent has too much pride to go crawling back,” she replied with a sigh, leaning back against a rock wall outside the cave and shivering.  Mal hadn’t wanted to risk breathing fire with the egg so close by—apparently that could make it hatch early—so they’d been left with the rubbish little fire Cruella was able to light.  Ursula, being a sea creature, had no use for open flame, not when you could find warm springs, anyway.  “Even if Regina _did_ warn her that her mother is going to try to get the Dark Curse from Rumplestiltskin soon.”

“He’ll have to be a fool to give it to her, and even our diminutive Dark One is no fool,” her companion—and lover—sniffed, pulling her furs close around her body.

“Well, we have seen how he can make an idiot out of himself over women,” Ursula pointed out, rubbing her arms for warmth.  “Didn’t he and Cora have a thing back in the day?”

Cruella shuddered theatrically.  “Don’t remind me.  Besides, he’s quite moved on to that little maid of his.  Don’t you remember how eager he was to give up the gauntlet to save her?”

“Right before he took it back, you mean,” she retorted, imagining how _good_ her tentacles would look wrapped around that scrawny gold neck.

“Oh, that’s no matter, darling.  We all know what’s coming.  If Cora gets that curse, we villains won’t be off nearly as badly as the heroes,” the other woman waved a hand.  “In the meantime, I plan on making friends with Cora to make sure my life is every bit as comfortable as I would like it to be.”

“You can’t be serious.  That woman is _crazy_.”

“So?” Cruella shrugged.  “It takes one villain to know another, and you and I both know what the heroes think of us.”  Ursula opened her moth to argue, only to be forestalled.  “Oh, I’ll not betray you or Mal.  Don’t worry about _that_.  But it won’t hurt _us_ at all to have one foot in each camp.  Maleficent is friends with Regina, and so I’ll cozy up to her dear mother.  You can be our wildcard—or be friendly with the Dark One, if you like.  He’s always got his own game going.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?” she asked fondly.  Yet it _was_ a good idea. Maleficent had gone to the damn Charmings and offered to help them, after all.  She’d even _told_ them that Cora’s threat the day they’d announced little Snow was expecting would likely be fulfilled in the form of a terrible curse.  Maleficent had offered an alliance, had offered help and information free of charge, and she’d been spat on for her troubles.  They _all_ had, and that burned.

 What did they care if Cora cast the Curse to End all Curses?  They could bargain to be together, no matter what horrible world the curse thrust them in to, and then they could watch as the heroes suffered.  Ursula had no love for those fools, particularly after they’d decided to throw their attempt to help back in their faces.  Now they were guarding Maleficent as she guarded her own egg, the child that their dragon friend treasured above anything else—and Ursula wouldn’t put it past the heroes to try to endanger that child, either.  That, of course, was why she and Cruella were there.  The heroes might think that villains couldn’t form friendships, but they were wrong.  

“Are you _in,_ Ursula, or are you going to pout all day?” Cruella broke into her thoughts.

“I’m not pouting.  I’m thinking,” she shot back, and the other woman laughed.

“There’s nothing to think about, darling, unless you’re contemplating how to lay your own egg.  It must be a _marvelous_ way to keep your figure when pregnant.”

Despite herself, Ursula laughed.  Yes, life with Cruella was always an adventure, and Mal only made things more interesting.  Surely the three of them could come to some sort of accommodation with Cora.  After all, Cora was in exile now, and gathering allies of all sorts.  Ursula had heard that even Jafar had paid her a visit, and if that wasn’t a surprise, she didn’t know what was.  So had some odd green-skinned witch from Oz, of all places!  The heroes had no idea of the scope of the force Cora was building to oppose them, and it would definitely be in their best interests to be on the winning side. 

* * *

 

It was the first time they’d ventured out into town since Rumplestiltskin had been injured, and Belle wanted nothing more than to wrap an arm around his waist and show the entire town how much he meant to her the moment they got out of the car.  But she resisted the urge—barely—and settled for exchanging a smile with her husband.  He was still walking with the cane, and usually remembering to pretend to limp, but he was up and around, and the light that beating had dimmed from his eyes was back.  There was a bounce in his step that she hadn’t seen since the Enchanted Forest, and if Belle could have stared at him all day long, she still wouldn’t have had enough.

“Ready?” he asked her, and she could see the old imp coiling within him, wanting to wiggle in glee.

“Never more so,” she replied, reaching out to take his hand.  They’d been careful, making sure that Cora was away from the town hall, but now was the time to finally fill in the loophole they were both too aware of.  The curse would break soon enough, and they needed to be ready.  This was only the first step of many, but at least they were going to enjoy themselves.

Hand in hand, they walked into town hall and down to the Clerk of Court’s office.  Storybrooke’s Clerk of Court had been a bailiff back in the Enchanted Forest, and he’d actually been from Caerleon, the town that owed fealty to the Dark Castle.  That meant that Rumplestiltskin had technically been his lord and Belle his lady—though the latter had been a secret the bailiff had not been privy to.  Much though Rumplestiltskin eschewed the title of ‘Lord’ of Caerleon, Belle knew that he always had looked out for his people.  He’d probably not been pleased to find one of his people working directly for Cora like this, but now it had become useful.  Even if Royce Hopkins didn’t remember ever knowing Rumplestiltskin right now, he’d probably favor him once the curse broke. 

Hopkins was sitting at his desk when they walked in, and if the stout, balding man was surprised to see Gold and his ‘kept woman’ walking in together, he didn’t show it.

“Hello,” Belle said cheerfully, and was glad to see that Hopkins smiled back.

“Miss French,” he acknowledged her.  “Mr. Gold.”

It took a brave man to greet her first, and Belle liked Hopkins immediately.  Rumplestiltskin—who was old fashioned in the cutest ways—clearly approved as well, though his tone failed to show it when he replied simply: “We’d like to get married.  The required paperwork is all here.”

The folder landed neatly on the desk, but Hopkins’ wide brown eyes clearly didn’t see it.  Instead, he stuttered: “You…you _what_?”

“Legally speaking,” Belle supplied, feeling bad for him and not wanting Rumple to start in on intimidation yet.  “We don’t need a ceremony, but we’d like to do it today.  And secretly.”

“But you’re—you’re—”

“What my father and his accomplice did have no bearing on my life,” she cut him off, trying not to let her annoyance show.  “Mr. Gold and I want to get married.  We’re both here of our own free will.  Is there a problem?”

“Um, no?” Hopkins was still staring at her with wide eyes.  “I just…I was just surprised, is all.  Nothing more.”  He snuck a nervous glance at Rumple, who immediately said:

“I believe that your own wife has been ill, yes?” His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the purpose in the unhurried tone.  “Hospital bills stacking up?”

“…Yes.”

“Well, then, dear, today is your lucky day.”  Leaning down, Rumplestiltskin opened the folder to the front page.  “I will make a deal with you.  You will marry us and file the paperwork without letting the mayor see it.  You’ll mention our marriage to _no one,_ and in return, I will pay for your mother’s medical care.  All of it.”

“You would?” the clerk gasped, but now he sounded more hopeful than frightened.  Clearly, he’d been expecting threats, not a deal

 _Is this a bribe?_ Belle wondered.  _We’re not asking for anything illegal, though defying Cora is a lot to ask in this town._ Still, this approach was far better than threatening the poor man, and she approved.

“I never break a deal,” Rumplestiltskin replied bluntly, pointing at the paper.  “Sign the contract, and your worries for your mother are over.”

“I can do that!”  Quickly, Hopkins did so, and moments later, he led them through a set of impersonal and hurried wedding vows.  They were nothing like the heartfelt vows Belle had exchanged with her husband in Amorveria, but Belle didn’t need a romantic wedding.  She’d already had one of those, one she would never forget.  Now what they needed was a secret wedding, one that would still count when the curse was broken—even if no one in town wanted to acknowledge their _real_ wedding—but one that Cora could not catch wind of.

There were risks, of course, but Belle rather fancied becoming Mrs. Gold.  It was better than leaving herself tied to her father, particularly after what Moe French had done.  Later, they’d sign a joint custody agreement that Rumplestiltskin would quietly file with the most compliant judge he could find.  Change was coming to Storybrooke, after all, and it did not do to meet such things unprepared.  Belle was as determined to face whatever came at her husband’s side, so it closing every possible loophole off _now_ was infinitely preferable to do so later.

They shared a quick kiss, thanked Hopkins, and headed out of the office less than fifteen minutes after walking in, legally married and with a copy of the marriage certificate to prove it.  Belle, of course, had every intention of dragging her husband home after this and recreating at least _one_ facet of their original wedding night, but first they had to step back into the sunlight and pretend like they were not madly in love.  They’d made it halfway to the car when they ran into Cora.

“Taking your pet for a walk, dear?” the mayor asked immediately, and Belle felt her husband tense.  Her hand had been resting lightly on his left arm, and she could _sense_ the magic rolling through him.  A shiver ran down her spine as power gathered, and for a moment, Belle worried that he might attack Cora then and there.

“Hardly,” he ground out, glaring.

Cora smiled sweetly.  “Miss French, I’m so surprised to see you continuing to keep company with such a _dangerous_ man as our Mr. Gold.  You will have to let me know if you ever need help getting away from him.  It’s such a pity that your father failed to save you.”

“I didn’t need rescuing,” Belle snapped before she could stop herself.

“Perhaps not yet,” the mayor chuckled, but her laugh cut off when Rumpelstiltskin stepped forward to grab her arm.

“Don’t get any ideas, Cora,” he growled.

“Ideas?  I’m merely making conversation.”

“Well, do it elsewhere.  _Please_ ,” her husband snapped, and Belle saw the magic take hold, spinning Cora around and forcing her to walk away.  The use of that caveat clearly infuriated her, but Belle wasted no time in leading her husband to the car.

 _Another few seconds, and I’d be explaining fireballs to the fire department,_ she thought without a shred of amusement.  Fortunately, Rumplestiltskin acquiesced and climbed into the driver’s seat instead of attacking Cora like Belle could see was burning to do.

“Was that wise?  Using a ‘please’ again?” she wondered once they were settled.

“I don’t like her near you,” Rumplestiltskin snarled, and Belle felt her heart fill with love for this foolish, protective man.

“I’m not the one she’s hurt, Rumple,” she reminded him softly, reaching out to squeeze his hand.  “I don’t like her near _you_.”

“I’m fine.”

“Of course you are,” she agreed, choosing not to mention the nightmares they both knew he still had.  “I just worry that she’ll try to find a way to hurt you again.”

He snorted.  “Let her try.”

“Let’s _not_ say that, all right?” Belle said pointedly.  “I don’t want any more nights of waiting for you to come home bleeding and shaken.”

“I’m not—”

“I know,” she cut him off before he could try to claim that he’d never been frightened or that Cora hadn’t carved scars into him that time would never heal.  They both knew better, but Rumple liked to pretend.  Leaning over, Belle kissed him on the cheek.  “I love you.  And let’s go home so I can remind you of how much.”

Had she not blown in his ear, Rumplestiltskin might have continued being grouchy, but he was so ticklish that she knew it would do the trick.  He tried to glare at her, but when Belle leaned in to kiss him properly, she knew she had won.  “I love you, too,” he whispered against her lips.

“Forever,” Belle agreed with a sultry smile.  “Now take me home, husband, and let’s consummate our second marriage.  Just in case.”

Doing so wasn’t required in this world, of course, but that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t enjoy themselves.

* * *

 

He’d expected a slightly better greeting than this when he reached the private room Merryweather had set aside.

“You really are a piece of work, you know that?” Mirabella demanded, making Killian blink.

“I—what makes you say that, love?”

“Don’t call me ‘love’,” she snapped.  “I’m not your ‘love’.  I’m a whore that you pay for.”

Taken aback, a long moment passed before Killian could find his voice.  “I know that.  I thought, well, I thought you knew that you were more than that.  To me, I mean.”

“Am I?” Mirabella asked him, and really, he couldn’t blame her.  He still dreamt of Milah, was in the midst of (failing to) seduce Emma Swan, and yet he kept finding himself coming back to this woman.  And paying for her.  Yet he’d never forced her.  He’d always asked, never taking anything Mirabella wasn’t willing to give and always taking no at face value.  They usually talked more than anything else; Mirabella—whoever she had been back home—was clever and funny, and Killian enjoyed spending time with her.  Sometimes, he felt like she was the only one in this entire town who saw him for who he _wanted_ to be, and as foolish as that thought was, given how she was still under the curse, he reveled in that feeling.

“Yes,” he said more honestly than he wanted to.  “You are.”

“Other men buy me, too,” she said, sounding defensive.

“Tell me who they are and I’ll encourage them to never dream of doing it again,” he replied without thinking, and Mirabella actually smiled.

“You know I can’t do that.  You know how things are here.”

“They won’t be like this forever,” Killian said, and almost smacked himself.  What, did he _want_ the curse to be broken?  Cora would strangle him—or rip his heart out—for even _thinking_ such a sentiment, but he did feel for Mirabella.  He always had.  She reminded him of someone, and it wasn’t just the way her fire and her daring brought Milah to mind.  She was herself, and _liked_ her…and he’d always felt she deserved better than being locked in this place.

“Tell that to Talia and Paris.  They were both beaten senseless for _cuddling_ , Killian.  Or the new girl who tried to argue with Ms. Carroll and got two broken ribs for her  pains. You know she’ll be expected to ‘entertain’ customers despite that,” the woman he’d taken sailing on Valentine’s Day bit out,  her expression hard and angry.  “This place _never_ changes, unless it’s to get worse.”

Pirate though he might have been, hearing tales like that could turn even his stomach.  “There’s a new girl?”  he managed to ask after a moment.

“Yeah.”  Mirabella met his gaze very levelly.  “I think you know her.  Her name’s Ruby.”

The leggy wolf-girl.  Now Killian’s stomach _did_ do a backflip, and he felt like vomiting.  He’d known that the Lucas girl had disappeared, but he’d assumed that she’d run off with the author she was always fawning over.  When August had come back, Killian had assumed that Ruby had, too, despite not seeing her since then.  But now she was down _here_?  What in the world could the waitress have done to offend Cora so much?

Now she was hurt, and Mirabella was staring at him in a challenging way, all but demanding he _do_ something about this.  He’d always liked Mirabella’s fire, and he got the hint, all right.  Even if he knew that she didn’t dare come out and say anything.  One word overheard—even the ones she’d already said—would line Mirabella up for a beating, probably worse than any she’d ever received.  Mirabella had always been the most outspoken of the Basement’s long term girls, and Killian had tried to shield her as much as he could over the years.  It had never been much, and she had never asked him to do so, but he’d always wanted to try. 

But now she was—silently and eloquently—asking him to help, and Killian had a deadly decision to make.

* * *

 

Henry enjoyed going out with his grandparents.  He really did.  But today’s trip to the park had been more than a little bit strange, mostly because Dad/Gramps seemed distracted and distant no matter what Mary Margaret said.  Henry had run around with the other kids for a while, hoping that being away from the pair would get them to talk, or cuddle, or something.  Or maybe they’d even kiss, because if they _really_ kissed, maybe _they_ could break the curse.  Henry was running out of ideas on how to break it, after all, and even Emma believing didn’t seem to be doing the trick.  Assuming she was actually believing and not just humoring him.

But nothing had happened.  Mary Margaret seemed to be trying to draw Henry’s adoptive father out of the shell he’d somehow crawled into, but she hadn’t managed, either.  So, when they walked back into town their conversation was oddly stilted, leaving  Henry to wonder what in the world had gone wrong.  David, however, insisted on stopping off at the animal shelter to check on a sick kitten, which at least gave him a chance to talk to Mary Margaret.

“Do you think they’re something wrong with him?” he asked bluntly.  They probably didn’t have much time.

Mary Margaret shrugged.  “I don’t know, Henry,” she replied quietly, glancing worriedly at the door David had disappeared through.  “He seems so…distant.”

“He wasn’t like that this morning,” Henry said, wishing it wasn’t true.  But David hadn’t started acting like that until they’d meet Mary Margaret in the park.

“Maybe he has a touch of the flu,” she suggested hopefully. 

“I don’t think so.  Mom bullies him pretty good when he’s sick.”

“I bet she does.”  Mary Margaret’s smile was strained.  “I’m sure you father is fine.  He probably just…”

 _Oh, no._   Henry could _see_ the curse working on her, could see her insecurities piling up and her starting to doubt, so he spoke up quickly.  “It isn’t you.  I _know_ it isn’t you,” he told his grandmother.  “Dad loves you more than anything.  If he’s not acting like it, there’s something wrong.”

“I don’t know,” she said softly.  “Maybe we’re just not meant to be.”

“You _are_.  You’re True Love, remember? We just have to get the curse broken so you can both remember that,” he reminded her.  “This is probably the curse trying to drive you apart.  Don’t let it.  True Love has to be fought for.”

“I remember that from your book.”

“Well, then do it,” Henry smiled.  “You’ll be okay.  I know it.”

But he still wasn’t sure what was wrong with David.  Despite what Henry had told Mary Margaret, he was certain that it wasn’t _just_ the curse, but clearly he’d picked the wrong adult to talk to.  He needed to mention this to his mom.  She’d know what to do.  Even if she had been acting a little funny about the curse lately.

* * *

 

“A word, Swan?”

Startled, Emma looked up from the stack of affidavits she’d been reviewing, surprised to see the marina owner standing in her office.  She noticed right away that he looked uncharacteristically nervous, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other and not at all looking like his usual suave self. 

“Killian,” she greeted him curiously.  “What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk,” he said shortly.

Emma blinked.  He wasn’t even flirting with her, and that was a first.  “Well, sit down and let’s talk, then,.”

“Not here.”

 _That_ put her on edge.  Clearly something was up, and whatever it was had Killian strangely anxious.  Spooked, even.  Emma’s instincts were already lighting off and while she was sure that he wasn’t lying, she was certain of nothing else.  Whatever was going on, however, required investigation, so Emma stood and moved away from her desk.  “Lead on,” she said, gesturing towards the door.  “Where do you want to go?”

“Somewhere without mirrors,” he muttered, and Emma did a double take.  She couldn’t have heard that properly, not when Henry had just been talking about mirror magic the day before.

“Come again?”

“Nothing,” Killian said, shaking his head and leading her outside.  It was a nice day, growing warmer as the sun got higher in the sky, but Killian shied away from people and headed down the alley behind the diner, stopping right next to the very full and stinky dumpster.

“Okay, this is getting a bit cloak and dagger-y,” she said when he shoved his hands awkwardly into his pockets and stared blankly at the dumpster.  “You gonna tell me what you want to talk about?”

A long moment of silence passed, during which Emma started to wonder if Killian was even listening to her.  Then he spoke in a rush, the urgency in his voice startling Emma:

“This can’t get back to Cora.   And you _can’t_ use what I tell you officially.  You’ll have to do it outside the law.”

“Whoa, slow down.  _What_?” Emma demanded.

“You wanted to know more about the Basement, and I’m going to tell you,” Killian replied, his blue eyes focusing on her and burning passionately.  “Because you have to get them all out of there.  Soon.”

“You’ve got to give me something I can work with,” she objected.  “Rumors aren’t—”

“Look, everything you’ve heard about the place is right.  People pay for the ‘merchandise’ down there and can do whatever they want,” he cut in.  “And it has to stop.”

“You gonna testify about that?” Emma asked, trying not to sound frustrated.  But the Basement had always been a black hole she could never crack.  People _knew_ bad things happened there, but no one could prove it and no one was willing to talk.  And now Killian was talking, but of course he wanted it to be confidentially. 

“Of course not!  I like _living_ , Swan.”

“Cora’s not going to kill you,” she scoffed.  But the library fire came to mind, as did the attack on Gold.  If Regina and Henry were right about the curse, might Cora actually be as evil as Regina claimed?  _Could she really be some Evil Queen?_

“You have no idea what that woman is capable of,” he retorted.

Emma crossed her arms.  “You never struck me as the type to run scared.”

“I’m not.” Then he smiled wolfishly.  “But I’m a sensible man, and making an enemy of the mayor is hardly wise.”

“Then why come to me at all?”  She wanted to shake him, and barely resisted the urge to do so.

Blue eyes met hers.  “Because your friend Ruby is a prisoner there.”

* * *

 

Ever since she had learned that her mother was a powerful sorceress, Zelena had dreamed of a moment like this.  Her mother trusted her, had included Zelena in her plans and was now even allowing her to come along on a day like this.  They had made four stops, and this was the fifth, magic sweeping them from place to place like a pair of avenging angels.  _Regina_ hadn’t done this with their mother, Zelena knew.  She had always tried too hard to be like the stupid heroes, instead of embracing the power that their mother could give them.  Regina was a fool, and now Zelena sat at her mother’s right hand.

 _No one_ could stop them.

“What…what are you doing?” the owner of the ice cream shoppe stuttered, staring at the pair of them when Cora threw her against the wall with magic.

“Don’t play at being foolish, dear,” Cora purred.  “It’s unbecoming of a woman who should be a queen.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ingrid objected, but her protests sounded weak to Zelena’s ears, and that made her giggle.

“Of course you do.  I’ve been watching you since you marched into Storybrooke with your memory stones and tried to pretend that you were here all along,” her mother replied with a smile.  “Did you think I failed to notice that?”

“I—” Ingrid’s eyes went wide, but then Zelena saw the older woman’s expression change.  “Very well, then.  I will not try to lie.  What do you want?”

“Your allegiance, of course,” Cora answered easily.  “Your ice magic is powerful, and I am collecting allies.”

“I’m not like you.  I’m not interested in power.”

Cora’s perfectly trimmed eyebrows rose.  Her eyes were on Ingrid, but Zelena heard the edge in her mother’s voice, and she knew what needed to be done.  “Is that a no?”

“It’s—”

Zelena never gave her the chance to finish that sentence, instead plunging her hand straight into Ingrid’s chest.  That took the so-called Snow Queen by surprise; obviously, no one had ever assaulted her in such a personal and physical way.  But Zelena just grinned as she yanked the beating heart free, glancing down at it to see the black spots amidst the red glow. 

“What was that?” she asked cheerfully.  “Were you about to say that you were going to make your own decisions?”

“You can’t!” Ingrid objected, reaching for her heart, only to find herself flung back against the wall by Cora’s magic.

“I just did,” Zelena cooed, grinning. 

“Well done, darling,” Cora praised her, holding out a box for the heart before she turned back to face Ingrid.  “You could have been my ally.  Now, you are my servant.  You will tell no one of this, and you _will_ do as I command.”

Zelena placed the heart within the box, treasuring the look of fury on Ingrid’s face.  Impotent fury, that was, and it was _beautiful._   Ruling Oz had been nice, but Oz was a small land.  Once she had ousted the false Wizard and exiled her ‘sister’ witches, there had been no challenges to her power.  Here in Storybrooke, however, there were many powerful magic users, many of which were now beholden to Cora.  Watching her mother work was absolutely fascinating.  Cora was utterly brilliant and Zelena was going to be by her side.  For everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene here with Cruella and Ursula is the same scene Snow and Charming interrupt in the show—but, as you can see, the Apprentice has not sent them to steal the egg, which means they didn’t come here.
> 
> Next up: Chapter Sixty-Two—“True Loyalties,” where Emma tries to figure out how to get into the Basement once and for all, Cora reminds Killian who has the power in their relationship, August fesses up to a secret, and trouble comes to call on Belle. Back in the past, David tries to figure out a way to protect his and Snow’s unborn child.


	62. True Loyalties

“…We’ve got to get in there,” Emma concluded.  She’d chosen to speak with Regina outside, just as Killian had chosen to do with her, because there really _wasn’t_ any reason to think that the sheriff’s station wasn’t bugged.  No, she didn’t believe Henry’s insinuation that Cora could actually spy on them through mirrors (or any reflective surface, which she thought was going a bit far), but being careful never hurt.  Killian had come to her the evening before, and Emma had sat on this as long as she could.  Now that it was morning, she’d called and asked Regina to meet her here, because, well, who else should she turn to?

Her friend—and aunt, if Emma really was going to believe in this mess—sighed.  “We’ve known that for a while.  But Mother’s not going to make it easy.”

“We _can’t_ let her just kidnap people whenever she feels like it and stick them in some brothel!” Emma hissed, surprised to see Regina dragging her feet.  “What could Ruby ever have done to her, anyway?”

“She bit her, actually,” was the dry response.

“What?”

“I’ll let Snow tell you that story when she wakes up.”  The older woman quirked a smile.  “It’s a pretty good one, actually.”

Her world had gone mad, but Emma was actually kind of looking forward to hearing that.  She was still struggling to keep everyone straight with their fairytale personas—how Henry  made it look so easy, Emma would never know—but she supposed that she’d finally taken the plunge towards believing.  Not that she was going to let the curse get in the way of doing the _right_ thing for the people who were stuck in the Basement.  As far as Emma was concerned, her job as sheriff came first.  She had to help them, and then she could get on with breaking the curse.

However she was supposed to do that.

“Okay, stories aside, she needs help,” Emma said firmly, and was glad when Regina nodded.  “We can’t leave Ruby—or the others—there.  So how are we going to do this if my informant isn’t willing to let me use the information officially?”

“I don’t—”  An odd expression crossed Regina’s face, and then she suddenly changed her tune.  “You know, I might just know someone who can help with that.”

“You do?  That’s great!  Who is it?”

“Uh, let me wait until I talk to them before volunteering anyone to help with our decidedly illegal endeavor,” was the cagey answer, but Emma supposed she couldn’t blame her.  She had just opened her mouth to agree when a third voice interrupted:

“‘Cuse me, Sheriff, but I couldn’t help but overhear you planning something to do with the Basement,” an accented man spoke up, and Emma whirled to face Francis Scadlock.

_Oh, great._ The head reporter was probably one of the _last_ people she’d wanted to overhear this conversation.  He was a professional sensationalist, preying on people who couldn’t fight back, and depending upon scandals to sell newspapers.  He was  prick, too, one who had written a horribly untrue story about Mary Margaret and all but accused her of murder.  Those rumors were _still_ floating around, and Emma had not forgiven the reporter for it.  Yet, he _was_ a reporter, and with Sidney gone…

“What if we are?” she asked him, narrowing her eyes and looking for lies.  “Not that I’m saying that we are.”

“Well, if you are goin’ after that awful place, I’d like to offer my help,” he answered immediately, looking around furtively.   “My wife—well, let’s just say she don’t belong there, neither, and I’ve got a bone to pick with Madam Merryweather.  So, you do the job, and I’ll make sure everyone knows about it.  You can be dead certain that the entire bloody town will know how awful the place is once I’m through.”

It was a damn good offer, and Emma was of a mind to accept.  Regina, however, got in first.

“We’ll think about it,” she replied caustically, grabbing Emma by the arm.  “For now, we were just leaving.”

Emma managed to remain silent until they reached her bug, which Regina unceremoniously shoved her inside before climbing into the passenger seat.  Then she turned to glare at her friend/aunt.

“What the hell was that?”

“He’s one of my mother’s favorite toadies,” Regina retorted, waving a hand.  It glowed slightly, and then so did the mirrors, and Emma wanted to bash her head into the steering wheel. _What, Regina believes her mother can watch through mirrors, too?  Great.  Just great._

“So?  It sounds like he’s having a change of heart,” she replied.

“He’s cursed.  He can’t have a change of heart,” the older woman snorted. “And Mother might just have his actual heart, which would _really_ mean he’s doing her bidding.”

“What do you mean ‘have his heart’?” Emma wondered, and that earned her an incredulous look.

“You really don’t know anything about magic, do you?” Regina replied, and then proceeded to explain.

* * *

 

“I was beginning to feel like you had abandoned me, Captain,” Cora said quietly as Killian came into her office.  He hadn’t been summoned, but Killian wasn’t an idiot.  He’d gone behind Cora’s back to tell Emma about the Basement—an uncharacteristically altruistic action on his part—so now it was time to prove his loyalty.  After all, he _was_ still a villain.  He might be hedging his bets by warning the Savior and becoming her friend (even if she didn’t seem interested in more than a friendship at the moment), but Killian knew Cora well enough to know that she hadn’t lost yet.  She was a remarkably resilient woman, and he wasn’t willing to bet against her.

“Of course not,  love,” he replied easily.  “But it’s hard to seduce the Savior if I always appear to be your friend.”

“Yet you’ve not managed that, have you?” the queen countered with an ominous edge in her voice.

“Alas, no.  The lady does not appear to desire courting at the moment,” Killian admitted.  “Though I do believe I’ve managed to secure her friendship, at least.  She’s spending more time with her son than any other man, so I don’t think I have any competition on the romantic front.”

“How dear _is_ the boy to her?” Cora asked next, surprising Killian.  She usually wanted to talk about Emma or some other threat to her rule.  Why had Henry come up?  Killian _still_ felt guilty for his part in setting that library fire, in almost killing two children.  He was grateful every day that the Errol Forrester had rushed into the library to rescue both of them…and now he was worried to hear Cora bring an innocent boy into this mess.  Again.

“He’s her son,” he pointed out warily.  “And also your grandson.”

Cora shrugged.  “He’s no blood of mine.”

Listening to her dismiss the boy so coldly rocked Killian to his core; he had done horrible things in his life, things he regretted and things he did not.  But he had never even imagined treating a child so dismissively, or endangering one as blatantly as Cora seemed willing to do with Henry.  _Handing boys to Pan doesn’t count,_ he told himself for the thousandth time, pushing those memories aside.  Still, even _Pan_ treated children better than this!  So, he couldn’t help staring at her incredulously, couldn’t help the way his jaw dropped open ever so slightly.  Cora has always been bloodthirsty and cold, but he had the feeling that she wanted to endanger a child, and Killian couldn’t stomach that.

“Why does that matter?” he demanded a little more stringently than he should have.

“It doesn’t.”  Another shrug.   “Not yet.”

A terrible feeling crept down Killian’s spine, but Cora’s next words only made it worse.

“Your loyalties, however, _do_.  The fact that you’re trying to help Miss Swan has not escaped me.  Nor has your little conversation with her yesterday, the one you tried to hide out behind Granny’s.”

Now his jaw _did_ drop open, and Killian swallowed hard.  Cora did not even smile as she continued:

“You’ve told her more than I would like, Captain.”  Her voice turned cold.  “But I’ll be merciful.  You want your little ‘Mirabella’ out of the Basement.  Fine.  I know that you’re woefully sentimental and always have been.  But you _will_ do my bidding, unless you want Mirabella to mysteriously disappear before Swan and her little friends can get there.”

Well, at least that threat was expected—and it wasn’t like Killian was planning on betraying Cora, anyway.  Not really.  “I remain your ally, Your Majesty,” he said frankly.  “Because we both know that the Basement has never been anything to you save a distraction.  And a convenient place to store old enemies, of course.”

Cora snorted.  “They’re not important enough to be my enemies.”

“Annoyances, then,” Killian allowed.  “You asked me to distract the Savior, so I am.  She’s less amendable to my romantic overtures than we had both hoped, so I’ve improvised.”

“Have you now?” she questioned him astutely.

He was walking a fine line, Killian knew, keeping his options open and trying to play both sides.  But right now, the only thing he could be certain of was that the curse would eventually break.  Who would win after that happened he did not know; Cora was already planning, and Killian was wise enough never to count her out.  So, the only safe thing was to earn credit with both sides, to make sure that he could best judge which side to choose when it came to the final battle.

* * *

 

“There’s something wrong with David,” Henry said to his mother, and she gave him a narrow look. 

“You should still call him ‘Dad’, you know,” Regina pointed out.

“He’s my _grandfather_ , Mom.  I mean, he's my dad, too, but it's so cool that he's Prince Charming and he's my grandpa.  I want to call him that _because_ I love him.”

“I’m still your mother.”  She spoke levelly, but Henry could see the worry buried underneath a studiously casual expression.  So, he hugged her.

“That’s different,” Henry pointed out.  “You’re my mom.  If you were my grandma, too, maybe that’d be different, but you’re not.  You’re my mom, no matter what happens.  Dad’s my dad, but he’s _also_ my grandpa, and I want to call him what he really is.  This world isn't the _real_ thing, it's just a curse.”

Regina hugged him back tightly, and Henry felt her swallow hard.  He loved his adopted mother as much as he loved his birth mother—and had loved her for longer, too—but sometimes he didn’t understand her insecurities.  Of course, Henry knew Regina’s story and knew that she had those she’d loved many times.  But things were different now.  Surely she could see that?  Still, he knew that he wasn’t doing a very good job of explaining things.  He _loved_ David, but he knew that the man who had raised him—the doormat that Cora had created—wasn’t the real Prince Charming.  His adopted father was exactly what Cora wanted him to be, and not awake like Regina was.  If Regina hadn’t woken up, maybe things would be different with her, too.  But this was the _real_ Regina, and she’d become his mom now even if she’d been less than ideal while cursed.

“I love you, Henry,” she whispered, and Henry squeezed her back before pulling away.

“I love you, too,” he smiled.  But something was weighing on his mind, so he couldn’t help continuing: “And I love Grandpa.  That’s why I know there’s something wrong with him.  He’s really distant, even with Mary Margaret.”

“He is?” Regina sounded surprised, and Henry understood why.  She was trying so hard to take a step back and give David and Mary Margaret space, trying to bring Prince Charming and Snow White out from behind the curse. 

“Yeah.  Even Mary Margaret is worried.”

Regina blinked.  “I’ll talk to him, okay, sweetie?”

“Okay,” he agreed.  Regina would figure out what was going on, Henry knew.  She was smart like that, and she knew the stories even better than he did.   She’d get to the bottom of this.  He knew it.

* * *

 

_5 Months Before the Curse_

“Are you all right?” Snow asked him quietly, and David turned to face his wife.  She was beginning to show, and she’d never been more beautiful—but the surge of love that ran through him only reminded him of all the reasons he had to be concerned.

“I’m fine,” he answered honestly.  “I’m  just…worried.”

“You’ve seemed so distant lately,” she replied, stepping forward to put a hand on his arm.

“I keep trying to come up with ways to keep you and our child safe.  Cora made her threat a month ago, and I keep wondering what she’s going to do to ruin things.  I can’t risk you— _either_ of you.”

“Oh, Charming.”  Snow nestled up to him, and David gladly wrapped his arms around her.  “It will be all right.  Regina is still helping us, remember?”

“I worry about her, too,” he couldn’t help saying.  “We both know she’s done everything she can for us, so what happens when Cora is too powerful?  Regina has always been honest about her mother being stronger than she is.”

“We’ll get through this,” his wife reassured him.  “Together.  Like we do everything.”

“Yeah.”  But he still found himself staring out the window, out at a countryside their child would someday inherit.  David would do _anything_ to keep his family safe, even things he knew were not wise.  He would try not to cross lines that should not be crossed, and yet…  “Maybe it’s time for us to make another deal,” he said quietly.

“You mean with Rumplestiltskin.”

“He’s helped us before,” David pointed out.  “And Regina knows him better than most.  She’ll be able to tell if he’s pushing too hard.”

Snow frowned.  “I’m not sure, David.  Cora already can’t harm us, right?  What more can she do?”

“Aside from send the assassins that Grumpy caught yesterday?”

“All right.  You have a point.  But surely there’s no need for that, right?”

“I just want our child to be protected.”

* * *

 

“Things are getting bad, you know,” August said quietly, wishing he could come outright and tell Emma what was going on.  But he didn’t dare.  Cora hadn’t taken his heart—despite threatening to—but she had his papa under her control.  Whoever had attacked Marco had obviously done it on the queen’s orders, and August didn’t dare try to wiggle away from her right now.  There was too much at risk.

_I shouldn’t have come back,_ he told himself.  Returning to Storybrooke would only make things worse; had August stayed away, he might have managed to keep his father safe and avoided betraying Emma.  Instead, he’d let his own odd sense of duty bring him back—that, and a phone call he hadn’t expected.  So, here he was in the sheriff’s office, trying to ignore the two men in cells outside and get a curse broken.

“I’ve noticed,” the sheriff replied, looking distracted as she fiddled with the blinds. 

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”  Emma shook her head.  “I’m just thinking.  There’s a lot going on.”

This was the first time August had been able to pin Emma down in private since he’d come back, but he could already sense that something was going on.  What had happened while he’d been gone?  It hadn’t been that long—just three days!  What could have changed in such a short time?  Emma seemed both more distant and more driven, and August wasn’t sure if that was a good thing at all.

“Yeah, there is.” 

For a moment, August almost asked her if she’d started believing, because he was almost sure that she had.  But if he knew, he’d have to tell Cora.  So, he didn’t ask.

“I took the money,” he blurted out instead, leftover guilt from talking to Neal still with him—particularly given what he’d told Cora about Emma’s ex-boyfriend.

“Money?” Emma finally looked up at him, confused.

“Neal,” August said, swallowing hard.  “Neal…gave me the money from selling the watches.  It was twenty thousand dollars, and I said I’d send it to you with the bug.”

Green eyes widened, staring at him.  “There wasn’t any money with the bug,” Emma protested.  “And…and _you_ sent the car to me?  How did you know I was in jail?”

“I did,” he admitted in a whisper, not sure why these words were coming out now.  Maybe Emma just deserved to know before Neal showed up in Storybrooke.  Maybe he could give her that much.  August couldn’t seem to help her break the curse, but he could give her something worthwhile.  “I…I was the one who called the cops.  It wasn’t Neal.  He wanted to go to jail for you, but I sold you out.”

Emma just stared at him, and August felt any trust she’d held for him evaporating.  _Maybe that’s good,_ he thought sadly.  _Then Cora can’t use me against her.  See, Papa?  I promised I’d look out for Emma, and I’m actually doing that, now._

“You _what_?” she managed to say.

“I was supposed to watch over you from the moment we came out of the wardrobe, but I’m not really good at resisting temptation.  I ran away with a bunch of other kids, and I left you behind,” he told her quietly.  “Then, when I found you again, you were with Neal.  You two were happy, and I was afraid that you might settle down with him and never come to Storybrooke.”

“You sent me to jail?” Emma demanded, suddenly looking more angry than shocked.  “You did that?  You—you— _why?_ ”

“Because if you found happiness, you would never have come to break the curse,” he replied miserably.

“You don’t know that!  If you hadn’t done that, if _you_ hadn’t sent me to jail, Henry would have grown up with us!” she wheeled on him, shouting now.  “Instead, he grew up like both Neal and I did, never knowing that his parents loved him!  And Neal doesn’t even know about him because you let me blame _Neal!_ ”

“I know.”  August had to swallow, but couldn’t help cringing.  “It’s my fault. I convinced Neal to stay away once I’d called the cops, and when he tried to send you the money and the car…I took the money.  I don’t even remember what I spent it on.”

He could see the unshed tears in Emma’s eyes, and August knew that he’d ruined any chance of an actual friendship with her.  But…but maybe this was what he deserved. He’d lied to her and he’d ruined her life.  The least he could do was tell her the truth now.

“Get out,” she whispered brokenly, and he went.

Coward that he was, though, he never told her that Neal was on his way to Storybrooke…or that Neal was in fact related to someone else in this very town.  He also never mentioned exactly how much Cora _knew_.

* * *

 

The knock on the door came just as Belle was crawling around on the living room floor.  She was “it” and searching for her daughter, pretending not to notice the muffled giggles coming from behind the couch.  Three year olds, even daughters of Rumplestiltskin, were not the most subtle creatures ever created, and Renee had a lot to learn about playing hide and seek.  The game was a break from Belle’s current planning about how to help bring Emma around—now that Regina knew about her, she saw no reason to stay completely on the sidelines.  Of course, she’d need to be careful, since Belle knew better than most how dangerous Cora was, but she was ready to help.  Back in the Enchanted Forest, Belle had chaffed with being Rumplestiltskin’s hidden wife, even though she’d understood the necessity.  But Storybrooke was too small for that, and she was glad.

“Mama, door!” Renee announced, just in case Belle had missed it.

“Now I found you, silly duck,” she replied with a smile, picking herself up and brushing off her skirt.  “You stay in here, okay?”

“Uh huh.”

Renee was a well behaved girl, and her block set was still on the floor on the other side of the couch.  She’d be all right for a few minutes while Belle dealt with their visitor, so Belle strode through the front hall and peered curiously through the stained glass windows next to the door.

A balding, heavyset man stood on their stoop, fiddling with his glasses.  Belle couldn’t remember ever having seen him before, although a vague memory of Lacey’s surfaced enough to make her just a little nervous.  Still, that was no reason to be rude, so Belle opened the door with a smile.

“Hello.  What can I do for you?”

“Miss French?” the man asked, and Belle just managed to keep that smile in place.  _Technically, no.  Technically, even in this world, I’m Mrs. Gold now, but I suppose pointing that out would be silly._

“Yes?”

“I’m Mr. Tollak.  I run Fagin’s Group Home and the Storybrooke Office of Child and Family Services.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Belle replied warily.  There was something about the man’s manner that put her on edge, that made her start to worry.  Tollak hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary, but his mere presence was worrisome. 

“I’m afraid I can’t say the same,” Tollak responded, and that did nothing to put her at ease.  “My office has received worrisome reports about you, Miss French, and the conditions in which you keep your daughter.”

“About _what_?” Belle asked in shock, unable to believe her ears.

“You are an unmarried single mother living with a notoriously powerful man. You are unemployed, and this fiction of being Mr. Gold’s ‘maid’ wears rather thin.  What you do with your own body is your business, of course, but you have brought a child into a toxic environment, and that cannot be allowed to continue.”

“And what evidence of that do you possess?” Belle demanded hotly.

“Several calls have been made to child services by several different sources.”

Belle smelled a rat.  “Have they now?”

“Indeed they have.  I am not at liberty to divulge my sources, of course.”

“Perhaps because you have none?” she shot back before she could stop herself.  A giggle drifted out from the living room, but for once, knowing her daughter was happy did not make Belle smile.  Instead, she crossed her arms and glared at the man standing on her doorstep.  “Now, are you here to voice baseless accusations, or do you have another purpose?  Because if you’re just here to sprout lies, you’re welcome to leave.”

“Miss French, I don’t think you understand the seriousness of the situation,” Tollak replied, and his tone was full of arrogant superiority. “ _Multiple_ allegations of neglect have surfaced.  Your daughter will be remanded into the care of my office until proof can be—”

“ _What_?” Belle cut him off, feeling her eyes go wide and all color leave her face.  “You can’t take my daughter!”

“The law says I can.  And I _will_.”  Tollak smiled, his grin full of teeth and vicious victory.  “Bring the girl.  I will take her now.”

“Not if I can help it, you won’!” 

Slamming the door shut in Tollak’s face, Belle leaned against it for a moment, her mind whirling.  She didn’t know the law well enough.  She didn’t know anything about how the Office of Child and Family Services worked; there had never be any reason for her to learn about them!  But Tollak didn’t give her time to think; he started pounding on the door almost the moment it was shut, and Belle groped for her cell phone, only to remember it was charging in the kitchen.  Would Tollak try to push into the house?  Would he, worse yet, call the sheriff and make Emma help him with this?  Belle didn’t know what to do; she only knew that whatever allegations that Tollak spoke of _had_ to be false, because obviously no one was neglecting Gabrielle.  But what if this spun out of control too quickly to stop?

“Rumplestiltskin,” she whispered desperately, hoping against hope that the old magic would work here and he could hear her.

She could not breathe for several moments, could only squeeze her eyes shut and listen to the pounding on the door behind her back.  Belle could feel the wood vibrating against her shoulders, could hear Tollak telling her that if she didn’t open the door now, things would only get worse.  That she couldn’t hide from the truth and—

* * *

 

“She slammed the door on me!” Tollak snarled loudly enough to make her pull the phone away from her ear.  “And now it’s locked!  I can’t get in, let alone get the girl.”

_Do I have to do_ everything _myself?_ Cora wanted to demand, but managed not to.  Barely.  “I don’t care what you have to do, dear.  You _will not_ leave there without Renee French.  Do you understand?”

“I understand, but—”

“I’m not interested in excuses, Mr. Tollak.”  She should have taken his heart, but Tollak—Fagin, an exploiter of orphans back in their own world, too—just hadn’t been important enough to bother with.  Now, however, he was proving troublesome.

“I may need to find a little assistance,” the little fool whined. 

“What, you can’t overpower one tiny woman and take a three year old?” Cora mocked him, and was not surprised that she could hear Tollak puffing up on the other end.  Had things been different, she could have been a bit more explicit in her instructions, but Rumplestiltskin’s damn _please_ still lingered.  Thanks to him, she couldn’t harm either the French girl or her brat, but taking a child away from a horrible life wasn’t _harming_ her, was it?

“I’ll do what has to be done,” Tollak promised, and Cora smiled.

* * *

 

_Rumplestiltskin_. 

The call burned in when he was polishing a necklace that had once belonged to Cinderella’s evil stepmother and speaking idly with Marco, who had dropped by to talk about a clock that Gold sent over for repair.  It made Rumplestiltskin’s head snap up so fast that his neck cracked, the word sinking in to his very soul.  Few enough in Storybrooke knew his true name, and fewer still would dare call for him.  With this call, however, there was no doubt that he would answer, but first he had to get rid of Storybrooke’s handyman.  Under other circumstances, Rumplestiltskin might have just bullied the old man into leaving, but he had always felt an odd kinship with the former woodworker, particularly now that he knew Pinocchio’s story, thanks to Belle.

Still, it took a few precious minutes to convince Marco to leave.  But the moment the door swung shut behind the handyman, his magic swept him away before Rumplestiltskin even made a conscious decision to leave the shop.

He landed in his own front hall, to find Belle leaning against the door while someone pounded on it.  Worry sliced through him, but he tried to keep his voice calm, asking:

“You called, sweetheart?”

“Rumple!” Her eyes flew open and Belle flung herself forward before he could so much as blink, burying her head against his chest.  Rumplestiltskin had appeared only a few feet in front of her, and caught her easily enough, wrapping his arms around his wife.  “They’re trying to take Renee!”

“What?” He pulled back to look at her, rage singing in his mind already.  “Who?  Who is trying to take her?”

“Some man named Tollak.  He says he’s from the Office of Child and Family Services, and that they have reports of neglect and something about me being a single mother without a job.  I didn’t know what to do, or if they can even take her away, so I called you,” Belle said in a rush, and Rumplestiltskin leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead as the pounding stopped.

“You did the right thing, sweetheart,” he told her, his mind working furiously.  “Now, let us see if we can put an end to this, shall we?”

The desire to turn Tollak—whom he knew to be Fagin, a slightly magical lowlife in their world who was more fraud than sorcerer—into something small and scaly was enormous, but Rumplestiltskin resisted the urge for now.  He could probably make the man go away via other means, which would certainly be smarter.  _Do it anyway,_ his curse urged him on.  _Who can stop you?  Who will know?  The so-called heroes are sleeping, and the Savior hardly believes magic exists.  No one is going to make an issue out of some scoundrel being turned into a snail.  Or a snake.  Perhaps that would be more appropriate._

“Thank you for coming,” his wife said softly, and he felt soft lips brush his cheek.

“Always,” he assured her.  “You know there is nothing I would not do for my family.”

_Knock.  KNOCK._

That pounding was going to give Rumplestiltskin a headache. 

“I know,” Belle replied, and Rumplestiltskin opened the door as she stepped aside to make sure there was space for both of them.  Tollak stood on the doorstep, looking self important and cocky, though his expression faltered slightly when he saw Mr. Gold, whom he had only been foolish enough to cross once under the curse.  Tollak had never been stupid enough to do that twice, but now here he was on Gold’s doorstep, creating trouble.

“What exactly are you doing at my home, dearie?” Rumplestiltskin asked before Tollak could recover from his surprise.

“I—Mr. Gold, this is a matter between Miss French and myself.  I’m sorry you have been bothered by it,” the odious man replied in a hurry, looking uncomfortable. 

“As am I,” Rumplestiltskin bit out, digging into his cursed memories to call up Gold’s cold exterior and to banish the imp that wanted to come out, all claws and fury, to rend the man before him.  “Now.  What appears to be the problem?”

“No problem,” Tollak said quickly. “I’m just here to pick up Renee French.”

“On what grounds?”  Gold had been a lawyer and Rumplestiltskin could certainly draw upon that knowledge.  Given to him by the curse or not, those skills were certainly relevant, and he would use what he had to.

“There have been accusations of neglect.  With the way Miss French remains unemployed and as a, uh, ‘guest’ in your home, there are…concerns about Miss French’s suitability as a mother.  Clearly, she cannot properly provide for her child, which is where my office must step in.”

“And what legal basis do you have to do so?” he demanded.

“Storybrooke law states that children must be removed from precarious situations such as this right away,” Tollak replied, and Rumplestiltskin racked his mind to see if that was the case.  He couldn’t remember anything like that, but then, he wasn’t surprised.  Cora still had enough power over the curse to change little things like that. 

“She’s not in a ‘precarious’ situation!” Belle burst out before Rumplestiltskin could respond, and for once, he cursed his wife’s impulsive nature.  Usually,  Belle’s intelligence got the better of her rashness, but there were moments…  “She’s in a home where she is loved and cared for!”

“Evidence suggests otherwise, Miss French,” the little worm replied importantly, and Rumplestiltskin wanted to strangle him.  Or rip his heart out.  That would have been nice.

“I’d like to see that evidence,” Rumplestiltskin cut in before Belle could say something else.  “Before I let you do anything.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t your business, Mr. Gold,” Tollak said, obviously trying to sound regretful.  And failing.

“He’s my lawyer,” Belle said quickly, and Rumplestiltskin could have kissed her.  That put him soundly in the middle of things, and he should have thought of it himself.

Tollak snorted with laughter.  “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“If you’re going to accuse me of something, dear, I recommend you do so to my face,” Rumplestiltskin growled, fury surging within him.  Belle squeezed his arm, which served to throttle back some of his rage, but not much.

“I have no desire to do so, of course,” was the smarmy response.  “I am simply here to do my duty and retrieve the child.”

A beat up pickup truck stopped in front of the house before either Rumplestiltskin or Belle could reply, and Keith Law stepped out, grinning from ear to ear.  The temptation to throw a fireball at the odious sheriff’s deputy was high, but somehow Rumplestiltskin managed to stop himself.  That bastard had come onto Belle more times than either of them could count, and had tried to rape Lacey while under the curse.  He was still the same rat who had tried to _buy_ Belle back in the Enchanted Forest, too, and neither of them would ever forget that.  Now, however, he seemed there to back up Tollak’s attempt to take their daughter away, which made Rumplestiltskin hate him with the fire of a thousand suns.

“Having problems, Mr. Tollak?” Keith called cheerfully.  “Lacey French can be a handful. I should know.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Deputy,” was the smiling response.  Tollak looked like a man who thought he had won, smug and full of himself.  “Everything seems to be under control, but I thank you for your concern.”

A toothy grin; Keith was close enough that they could smell the alcohol wafting off of him.  “Just here to do my public service and all.”

“What _exactly_ are your grounds for doing so again?” Rumplestiltskin cut in testily as Keith sauntered up to stand next to Tollak.

“There are allegations of neglect,” Tollak replied impatiently.  “No child should be forced to live in a home where her unwed mother whores herself out to a rich man for a few favors.   One can only imagine how the poor little girl gets… _lost_ in such a life.  Or in the way, constantly underfoot and annoying.”

The way he looked at Rumplestiltskin indicated that he felt Gold should be _thankful_ for his intervention, and that shocked Rumplestiltskin enough to keep his blood from boiling for several long moments.  Stupefied, he just stared at the heavyset man for a moment, his mind running through which of his various options would solve this problem the fastest.  That, of course, provided time for _another_ car to pull up in front of his house.  Emma Swan exited  the yellow bug and stormed up the walk, her suspicious eyes focused on Keith.  Belle, however, clearly wasn’t going to wait on the sheriff to arrive, or for Rumplestiltskin to respond to that wholly offensive comment, before snapping back:

“How _dare_ you imply that I’m taking less care of my daughter because I live here?” she snarled.  “Where I live—and who I live with—has no bearing on how I raise my child!  Unless you have evidence, you’re welcome to leave.”

“I can arrest her for interference, if you want,” Keith volunteered.  “Both cells are full, but I can come up with someplace…special to keep her.  If you know what I mean.”

 “You’ve got to be kidding me.”  Belle rolled her eyes, but Keith stepped forward, leering.

“Come find out, Lacey.  You wouldn’t want to interfere in legal matters—or would you?”  And then the fool reached out to grab her by the arm.

Rumplestiltskin, however, was no longer crippled.  And Keith’s actions had shaken him out of his intellectually-fueled lethargy, and Rumplestiltskin stepped forward to grab the larger man by the elbow.  Hard.

“Lay one hand on her, dearie, and I’ll make sure you never use that hand again,” he said softly.

Startled, the sheriff’s deputy blinked at Rumplestiltskin, clearly never having thought he might step in the way.  Keith Law was many things: inebriated, conceited, and none too bright, but he was also _bigger_ than Rumplestiltskin by a rather significant margin.  He was also used to being able to bully anyone he chose, which meant he sneered when he looked down at the smaller man.

“You’re interfering in an arrest, Gold,” Keith said, but ruined the threatening tone with a slightly drunken slur.

“You don’t have anything to charge her with,” he snorted derisively.  “And until you come back with a warrant, you’re not welcome on my property.  So get out.”

He knew Keith wasn’t likely to listen, of course, which was why Rumplestiltskin was already gathering magic to himself.  Dark magic was a little harder to manage in this world, what with the way True Love shaped magic here, but he could still come up with a thousand and one nasty ways to be rid of Keith Law, most of which would even satisfy his raging curse.  Belle, however, must have sensed that, because he suddenly felt her hand land between his shoulder blades, her touch soothing and gentle. 

“You can’t make me—” Keith started, only to have his own boss cut him off.

“What the hell is going on here?” Emma demanded, reaching the group.

“I’m simply trying to do my duty, Sheriff,” Tollak piped up piously.  “The law says that an employed single mother who is engaged in _risky_ behavior should be investigated for any incidents of neglect.  Several reports have surfaced, so I am here to collect the child.”

“You’re here to _what_?” the sheriff said, as if she couldn’t believe her ears.  Rumplestiltskin felt an unexpected flash of admiration for her, then; Emma Swan might be the most stubborn woman he could _possibly_ have chosen to make into the Savior, but she did have her moments.

“Well, it’s obvious that Miss French cannot pay for proper care for her daughter, and Mr. Gold is in no way liable for doing so—and nor should he be,” Tollak smiled innocently.  “As such, it is clear that the girl isn’t receiving proper care, so she’ll be remanded into my custody.  Immediately.”

“Over my dead body,” Belle growled, just as Emma asked incredulously:

“You’re going to take a child away from a mother who loves her because her place of work burned _down_?”

“Pity is not in my job description.”

“Neither is compassion!” Belle snarled back, and now it was Rumplestiltskin’s turn to lay a hand on her arm.

“Do contain yourself, Miss French, or I will be forced to have you removed,” Tollak replied, and Rumplestiltskin could see the anticipation gleaming in his eyes. 

“I’m not letting you take my child.  She’s perfectly well cared for here!”

“Let’s not beat around the bush, shall we?  You’re Mr. Gold’s live-in whore.  What time do you have for a child?” Tollak dropped his bomb with a smile, and Belle went white.

Rumplestiltskin, however, could keep quiet no longer.  “She’s not my whore, dear,” he snarled.  “She’s my wife.”

“The hell she is,” Keith giggled.

“Would you like to see our marriage license?” Rumplestiltskin retorted, his curse screaming for him to do _something_ terrible to the pair.  But Emma’s presence stopped him.  He _needed_ the Savior to be at least neutral to him.  He couldn’t afford to find himself in jail, not when they were so damn close.  He smiled darkly.  “Or perhaps you’d like to see the legal documents proving we share joint custody of _our_ daughter.”

All three of their visitors looked shocked, but the sheriff recovered fastest.  “Tollak, this has gone far enough,” Emma said strongly.  “Leave them alone, all right?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Sheriff,” the weasel said, not at all regretfully.  “I have a court order to take Renee French away today and a bed ready for her at Fagin’s.  Even if Miss French’s ‘circumstances’ have changed, they’ll have to fight that out in court.  Later, of course.”

And Tollak pulled out his trump card.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contest time! Whomever can guess how long FOTS currently is (word count in Microsoft Word, not AO3 or FFN), I’ll give you the spoiler of your choice - or sneak preview at any scene that I’ve already written. For the record, I’ve just started writing chapter 70. This little contest will run through the next update on Friday. 
> 
> Next up: Chapter Sixty-Three—“The Price of Protection,” Rumplestiltskin cashes in a favor, Emma confronts Cora, Regina meets Zelena, Mary Margaret runs into difficulties with David, and Hook decides to go after Belle. Back in the past, Cora goes to Rumplestiltskin to get the Dark Curse, and then Charming goes to Rumplestiltskin behind Snow’s back.


	63. The Price of Protection

Tollak produced the court order, his trump card that said he had every right to take Renee away.  Rumplestiltskin quickly yanked it out of his hands, his eyes flying over the pages.  Unfortunately, everything _was_ in order—he would have been surprised if it had not been, knowing how thorough Cora could be—but that didn’t mean he lacked options.

“Let me see that,” Emma demanded after he was done reading it, and he handed the papers over. 

“You can’t let them do this,” Belle said to Emma, and Rumplestiltskin knew his wife was trying to hold back tears.  He turned slightly to squeeze her hand, pulling his cell phone out at the same time.

Thanks to the curse, Cora was speed dial number one.

“I was wondering when you’d call, Rumple, dear,” his old student purred before the phone could ring a second time, and the Dark One saw red.  The temptation to send his magic winging out across Storybrooke and strangle her was almost overwhelming; the idea of doing so was far more appealing than even taking his fury out on these fools.  But no.  There was a better way.

“You’re skating very close to the edge, dear,” he growled instead.

“Oh, what?  To breaking that little ‘no harm’ clause you bound me to?” she chuckled softly.  “Taking a child from a neglectful situation is hardly harmful.  I’d even say I’m helping her.  And you, of course. I can’t imagine you enjoy having the brat underfoot.”

“What I do in my home is _my_ business,” Rumplestiltskin snapped.  Sooner or later, Cora would hear—thanks to his own outburst—that he and ‘Lacey’ were married.  She would, however, be likely to assume that he had done so for legal reasons and not because he’d been married to Belle back home.  Or so he hoped, anyway.

Telling Tollak, Keith, and Emma that had _not_ been one of his wiser moments, but he was damn sick of listening to people call Belle his whore.

“Not any more, darling,” Cora replied, and he could _hear_ her victorious smile.  “Say goodbye to the cute little girl.  Maybe you can console Lacey after she loses her.  Won’t _that_ be fun?”

“No.”  His voice went ice cold. “Call off your dogs, Cora.”

“No pleases, now,” she purred, but he’d not intended to use that, anyway, so Rumplestiltskin snorted.

“Oh, that’s not necessary at all.  But you’ll do it.”

“Will I?”

“You owe me a favor, dear.  From when I gave you a little special something to deal with your stepdaughter, remember?” If his tone went a little high-pitched and imp-like, well, Rumplestiltskin didn’t care.  He _felt_ like the imp right now, fury and power rolling through his body.

“I’m not going to—”

“‘Of my choosing.  _When_ I choose.  No exceptions’,” he quoted himself.  “And I so choose.  Call your dogs off.  _Now._ ”

“You’ll seriously waste a favor from _me_ on your mistress’ little brat?”  Cora asked incredulously.

“Just do as you’re told, Madam Mayor,” he retorted, feeling four sets of eyes on him.  Had Emma and the others not been staring, Rumplestiltskin might very well have called her something else.

“Fine,” Cora snapped, and a _click_ signified the end of the call.  Rumplestiltskin turned to Tollak with a smile.

“You’ll be receiving a call from the mayor shortly,” he said coolly.  “I suggest you listen to her before you try to do anything.”

“You can’t bully the mayor,” Keith tried to say as Tollak stared, slack-jawed.

“Who said anything about bullying?” Rumplestiltskin smiled sweetly, and he heard Belle snort softly at his side.  “No, _this_ is me bullying.  Get off my property, or I’ll ask the sheriff to arrest you for trespassing.”

Keith goggled.   Emma tried a little too obviously not to laugh, and Tollak’s phone rang. 

“You gonna let him do that?” Keith demanded of his boss.

She shrugged. “It is private property.”

“Bitch,” Keith muttered, but he stalked off as Tollak began backing away, Cora’s sharp tones more than obviously coming out of his phone.  Emma waited until both were out of hearing distance between turning a glare on the Golds.

“What the hell, Gold?” she asked.  “How’d you manage to make Cora back off?”

“You know very well that I collect favors, Sheriff,” he replied with a shrug.  “The mayor owed me one as well.  It seemed the most expedient way to be rid of this…foolishness.”

“The two of you are really married?”

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Belle burst out before Rumplestiltskin could answer.  “I’m not some helpless damsel in distress, and I’m _no one’s_ plaything.  I make my own choices, and this is where I choose to be.”

His wife always looked utterly beautiful when she was angry, particularly when that anger wasn’t aimed at him.  Emma, however, didn’t seem to know what to do with that.

“I…I guess I’ll be going, then.  Congratulations?”

“Thank you,” Belle said regally, and the pair watched the sheriff, her deputy, and the odious head of Fagin’s Group home leave in silence.  Only then did Rumplestiltskin close the door and wrap his arms around his wife.

Neither needed to say a word.  They just hung onto one another.

* * *

 

_5 Months Before the Curse_

“You have the Dark Curse,” Cora said by way of greeting, striding into the Dark Castle as if she owned it.  Of course, that was how Cora walked into _anywhere,_ but there were times Rumplestiltskin thought that he should remind her that she was not the most powerful person present.

But no.  He needed her, and her ego would feed overconfidence.  He would need that, when the curse was cast.  Cora was less impulsive and more calculating than either of her daughters, and Rumplestiltskin would need every advantage he could get.  Cora was dangerous, but he had no choice but to accept that risk by using her.  There were no other choices, which meant he had to watch himself now.  It would not do for Cora to remember how powerful he was, not yet.  She’d always had an inflated view of how easily she could manipulate him, and Rumplestiltskin would use that.

“Your point, dearie?”

Cora drew herself up proudly.  “I want it.”

“Do you now?”  Rumplestiltskin let out a giggle, lounging back in his chair at the table in his great hall.  “And why in the world would I give you the most powerful curse ever written?”

“Because you’ll never cast it,” his former student retorted.  “For the Dark One, you have an annoying streak of morality.  Otherwise, you never would have helped my obnoxious stepdaughter so often.”

“I take what side is most useful to me, Cora, m’dear.  It has nothing to do with morality or _liking_ someone,” he said lightly, twirling a hand to emphasize his point.  “Your stepdaughter has proven useful.  She had something I wanted.”

“Like what?” Stepping forward, Cora leaned into the table, her face less than a foot away from his.  “What interest could Snow White possibly hold for the Dark One?  What could be enough to make you ally with _Regina_ over me?”

“Careful.  Whine any more pitifully and you’ll start reminding me of your elder daughter,” Rumplestiltskin said, and watched Cora’s still-pretty face screw up in a snarl. 

“Zelena has her uses,” she snapped.

“Oh, of course she does.  Now that Regina’s not behaving terribly well, of course.”  He waved a hand.  “Oh, worry you not.  I have no intention of enlightening Zelena to tell her what a miserable mother you make, and how she’s your very distant second choice.  My lips are sealed.”

“They’d better be!”

“Stop grandstanding and tell me why I should give you the Dark Curse,” Rumplestiltskin cut in before she could start ranting.  He needed to bring Cora back around to the subject at hand.

“Because you’ll never cast it, and you need it to get to the Land Without Magic,” Cora replied, her eyes narrowing ominously.  “Under other circumstances, I might never have considered it.  But now I need it, and you need me.”

“So I do,” he shrugged.  “ _If_ this is how I aim to get to the Land Without Magic,” he agreed.  “There are other ways.”

Cora laughed.  “If any of them had worked for you, Rumple, you would already be gone.  Stop playing with words and tell me what you want.  I’m prepared to make a deal.”

“Well, then.”  Rumplestiltskin rose from his chair, coming around to face Cora.  She couldn’t see the visions dancing before his eyes, but _he_ could, and several of them were downright interesting.  “Since, as you point out, you’ll be putting me on a road I very much desire to tread, I’ll deal lightly.  The Dark Curse”—a flick of his fingers, and the ancient curse scroll lay in the palm of his hand—“for that necklace.”

Cora’s hand immediately went to her throat.  “I’ve been wearing this for years.”

“As did Queen Eva before you,” he grinned.  “Give up your little babble, and the curse is yours.  After all, destroying Eva’s daughter’s happy ending is _far_ more satisfying than wearing her necklace, isn’t it?”

Cora had never been sentimental; instead, she was mercurial.   So, she handed over the necklace—which, Rumplestiltskin promptly snuck back into Mary Margaret Blanchard’s keeping twenty-eight years later, when the curse put it back in his shop—and took the Dark Curse in exchange.  Even knowing what she did, Cora seemed to think she’d gotten the better end of that deal, but in the end, Rumplestiltskin knew she would rue her choice.

He would make sure of it.

* * *

 

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Emma demanded, striding into the mayor's office.

Cora sat behind her desk, perfectly composed and looking like she hadn't just tried to steal a child away from her loving mother.  The smug smile on the mayor's face was utterly toxic, and if nothing else, _it_ made Emma believe that she really was the Evil Queen.  In the beginning, she'd thought Henry was just a kid who didn't like who didn't like his grandmother, but now she really could see what Henry saw.  This terrible woman had cast a curse that doomed everyone else to misery, hadn't she?  Her smirk told the tale of someone who cared about no one but herself.  Even if she wasn't some Evil Queen, she certainly was a cold hearted bitch.

"Sheriff Swan, I don't recall having asked you to come here today,” Cora replied innocently, but the smile was still playing over her lips.

She wasn’t even _trying_ to pretend that she hadn’t just tried to ruin a pair of lives.  _Or three, if Gold really is Renee’s father,_ Emma added mentally.  And to make matters worse, one of those people was a three year old _child._ Emma could live with Cora trying to screw her over, because she was an adult.  But a three year old little girl?  How could even _Cora_ do that?

“You didn’t have to.  You tried to take Renee French away from her mother,” Emma snapped in response, stopping in front of the desk and crossing her arms.

“I tried to save a child from a dangerous situation.  Surely you—as a mother—would appreciate the need for that,” the mayor said serenely…until a theatric frown crossed her face. “Then again, having given up your child, perhaps you do not.”

The low blow was so obvious that Emma just snorted.  “You wouldn’t know good parenting if it bit you in the ass,” she retorted, remembering the stories of Regina’s screwed up childhood from the Book. 

Cora only laughed.  “Well, your concern for little Renee French seems to be misplaced.  After all, I called Mr. Tollak and told him to leave her alone, so she should be perfectly fine…until Gold decides she shouldn’t be, of course.”

That comment brought up another question entirely.  “What kind of hold does Gold have over you, anyway?”

“My, you make it sound so… abominable,” the older woman smiled.  “No, Mr. Gold and I simply have an understanding.  There’s nothing more than that to it.”

“Right.”  Try though she did, Emma couldn’t see a lie in those words, and _that_ made her wonder.  Gold’s protectiveness earlier had seemed totally genuine, as did his affection for Lacey French.  Yet if Cora was telling the truth, what kind of _understanding_ could they have?

What the hell kind of cat and mouse game was going on between those two?

* * *

 

Regina knew that she should be more careful, but she just couldn’t care.  Her mother had made no moves to try to regain control of her, so even if Cora’s magic was working, Regina appeared to finally be free of her.  Of course, she knew better than to underestimate her mother, but there were moments that Regina was too happy for caution.  Once, she had lived a wonderful life like this, had been in love and free to express that love.  Then, she had taken her precious weeks as Daniel’s wife for granted—even though she had been determined not to at the time.  Now, she would not make the same mistake.  She would love Errol with her entire soul, and damn the world if people wanted to tell them they were wrong.  Regina no longer cared.

That attitude, unfortunately got her into trouble when she and Errol headed back from the newly refurbished Dave’s Fish and Chips.  One moment, she’d been contemplating the fact that poor Graham was still paralyzed in a world were magic could heal his injuries, and the next, she’d bumped into an obnoxious red-haired woman.

“Excuse me,” Regina muttered distractedly, swerving towards Errol to give the other woman space.

“I don’t think so,” the redhead retorted, jerking Regina up short.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said that your rudeness will not be tolerated.”  A poisonously sweet smile.  “ _Regina_.”

“What the hell did I do to you?” she couldn’t help asking, staring at this woman.  “And who _are_ you, anyway?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” the other woman cooed.  “Poor baby.  You’ve always been terribly short-sighted, haven’t you?”

Errol spoke up from Regina’s right.  “Look, I don’t know who you think you are, but--”

“Stay out of this, pretty boy, unless you want Regina to be shopping for another lover.  Annoy me too much, and you’ll meet the same fate as the last one.”  Blue eyes sparkled nastily, and Regina felt herself reaching for magic instinctively, only to have her preliminary feelers met in kind. 

“You might want to try something more specific next time, because a vague threat is nobody’s friend,” Errol shot back, and Regina could have kissed him had the situation not been so dangerous.

Who _was_ this woman?  Even as the thought crossed her mind, Regina could feel the slight tendrils of the Dark Curse reaching into her, trying to adapt memories and adjust her thoughts.  Now that she was awake, the curse didn’t have much chance of actually affecting her, but she _could_ glean bits of truth from it.  The curse wanted her to believe that this was Chloe Zephyr, her mother’s new assistant and a rich widow who had recently returned to Storybrooke after time away, polishing some unspecified political skills in Washington, D.C.  But Regina remembered that this same woman had actually been a nurse just a few weeks earlier, one who’d been clingy and annoying and all over Rumplestiltskin.

Now, however, this Zephyr chick was glaring fire at Errol, so Regina stepped forward.  “I don’t know who or what you _really_ are, dear, but I can tell you this: if you lay a hand on anyone I care about, I will _end_ you.   Understood?”

Zephyr giggled.  “You can’t stand up to me, Regina.  You’ll never be as powerful as I am.”

“Try me.”

“Oh, I will.”  She shrugged showily.  “But not today.  Your day will come—both of you.”

“Pardon us while we shake in fear,” Regina retorted, rolling her eyes.  But she could feel the power crackling in the air, power like her own, just so much darker.  Whoever Zephyr truly was, she was a powerful sorceress, and Regina really didn’t want to get into a fight with Errol there.  Nevermind the fact that she’d have to explain magic to him—she had the feeling that Zephyr was the type to go after bystanders first.

“You should,” was the grinning answer, and then Zephyr turned away, calling over her shoulder:  “Until next time!”

Regina just watched her go, wondering where in the world her mother had dug up _this_ interesting little sociopath.  She’d always known that her mother had allies (though not as many allies as servants; Cora preferred to take hearts to ensure loyalty, which didn’t tend to endear her to other powerful magic users).  Was this woman one of them?

“Who _was_ that?” Errol asked quietly after Zephyr was out of earshot.  “She really seems to need a dose of _something_ to calm her down.”

“That was my mother’s new assistant,” Regina replied drily.  “She really can pick them, can’t she?”

“That woman is flat-out crazy,” he said, and Regina couldn’t disagree.

“And dangerous,” she added quietly.  “Very, very dangerous.”

* * *

 

Emma was working late, and Mary Margaret had cooked.  She’d done pretty well, too; she was no gourmet, but she knew her way around the kitchen, and the stroganoff she’d made was darn tasty, if she said so herself.  Of course, she’d found herself in a flurry to get done in time; with Ruby still missing, she working extra shifts at the diner, so she’d gotten home later than she wanted to.  But she got dinner on the table with two minutes to spare, turning to smile at the door and waiting for her guest.

Convincing David to come over had been harder than usual, mostly because he’d been so _quiet_ lately.  But he’d seemed happy enough to have a little date once she’d talked him around, and he’d even called her that morning to ask what kind of flowers she’d like.  Mary Margaret couldn’t remember the last time someone other than Jefferson had bought her flowers, and gifts from her ex-boyfriend had always come with a creepy-clingy vibe, like he was awaiting payment for anything nice he gave her.  Looking at their relationship through the wisdom of hindsight, Mary Margaret couldn’t remember what she’d ever seen in him.  Perhaps she’d been young and foolish, or lonely and miserable.  Either way, she was glad he was gone.  David was like the other half of her soul, her perfect match, and being with him was the best feeling in the world.

But he didn’t arrive on time.  Five minutes ticked past the hour, and he still wasn’t there, but Mary Margaret could tell herself that he was running late.  At ten past, she put the stroganoff in the microwave to keep it warm, and at fifteen after, she was starting to worry.  Finally, at seven twenty, she picked up her phone and called, telling herself that she _wasn’t_ being stalker-ish.  Twenty minutes late had to mean something, didn’t it?

David didn’t answer the first time she called, so she left a voicemail.  Perhaps he was buying flowers and had hit a snag?  Or maybe he’d left his phone on silent again.  It wouldn’t be the first time.  But after thirty minutes of waiting—and knowing exactly how long it took to get from the flower shop to her loft—Mary Margaret gave in to her anxieties and called again.

“Yes?” David’s voice finally answered.

“David!” she gasped, trying not to sound clingy.  “I was getting worried.  Are you on your way over?”

“No.  Why would I be?” he asked, sounding distant.

Blinking, Mary Margaret felt her voice go small.  “We…we have a date.  Remember?”

How could he have forgotten?  They’d talked just a few hours ago.

“Something else came up.  I can’t make it,” David replied.

“I can postpone if you want,” she said, dredging up a smile.  “Emma’s working until midnight, and—”

“I’m just not interested in coming over tonight, Mary Margaret,” he cut her off, and she almost dropped the phone.

“Why…why not?”

“I’m just not.”

Stung, all she could do was stare at the phone and wonder what in the world had happened to the man she loved so very much.  This wasn’t him, this wasn’t _David_ , and Mary Margaret had no idea how things had gone so wrong.  She’d talked to Henry about him being distant lately, but this was entirely new, entirely different.

This was terrifying, and she had never felt more alone.

* * *

 

_5 Months Before the Curse_

He’d had to travel far from the castle to make sure that Snow couldn’t interfere.  David knew she felt that they shouldn’t make important decisions without one another, and usually, he absolutely agreed on that.  But right now, he simply _had_ to act.  She probably wouldn’t agree with making another deal with Rumplestiltskin, but he had to make sure that Snow and their unborn child were protected.  Cora wanted both dead, and he knew that Snow might not survive a second poisoning and miscarriage.  So, straightening his spine, he called upon the Dark One, knowing in his heart that he would pay whatever price it took to keep his family safe.

“You called?” the high-pitched voice said from behind him, and David whirled around to find Rumplestiltskin sitting on an overturned tree, legs crossed and looking casually merry.

“I need your help, and I’m prepared to pay for it,” the shepherd-turned-prince said firmly, squaring his shoulders. 

“And what exactly is it that you want?” the imp trilled, twirling a hand.

“Snow is four months pregnant,” David explained.  “Cora already made her miscarry once, and she’s vowed to destroy our happiness.  I know that the rumors say she’s going to cast some terrible curse, but I know she won’t stop trying to hurt Snow more directly.  Even with the protection spell keeping Cora from harming us.”

“What, you don’t trust my magic?  Or Regina’s love for your wife?” Rumplestiltskin asked, and had he not been smiling, David would have felt less of a need to snap:

“Cora has allies, and those allies can hurt Snow.  Unless blood magic somehow protects us from them, too?”

“Ah, the puppy can bite!” the Dark One laughed, and waved a hand when David started to respond hotly.  His tone turned serious: “You’re right to be concerned for your True Love, dearie.  Cora is a dangerous enemy indeed, and she’ll stop at nothing to destroy the both of you.  And your unborn child.”

“Can you help us?” David asked, mollified by the way the Rumplestiltskin had stopped mocking him.  Sometimes, he thought he had a pretty good read on the Dark One, but other times, the scaly sorcerer was a mystery to him.  “Tell me your price, and I’ll find a way to pay it.”

“Careful making such promises, dear.  It’s dangerous to offer to pay _anything_.”

The warning made David swallow hard; he knew that.  Regina had warned both him and Snow multiple times about making deals with Rumplestiltskin.  _Always expect him to be several steps ahead of you,_ she’d told David.  _Don’t be fooled by his odd appearance.  He’s ten times smarter than anyone else you’ll ever meet, and forget that at your peril._

“I need your help,” he repeated.  “I’m not offering ‘anything’, but if the price is something I can pay, I will do so.”

“Well, luckily for you, I’m not interested in ruining your life.  Simply in…storing something somewhere.”

“Dare I ask where?”

“It’s a simple thing, really, though you’ll need the help of a certain thief to hide this potion where it needs to be hidden,” Rumplestiltskin replied, brandishing a vial full of glowing purple liquid.

“What _is_ that?” David asked curiously.

“A potion made of the True Love shared between you and your dear wife,” was the surprisingly straightforward answer.  “Hiding it will ensure that this potion is available, even should Cora cast the most terrible of curses.”

“You want me to hide it in a place of your choosing, then.  Is that the best protection you can offer?”

“Oh, of course not.  _This_ is the protection I offer.”  A puff of red smoke filled the air, and suddenly there was a necklace in Rumplestiltskin’s other hand. “This belonged to the late Queen Eva, before our dear Evil Queen stole it.  So long as Snow White wears it, she and the baby she carries will come to no harm.  No manner of poison can harm them, and even natural calamities will be held at bay.”

That…that sounded extraordinary.  More than David had even hoped for, more than he would have ever dared to ask for.  But he was smart enough to know that such protection must indeed come at a very high price.

“And you want me to hide the potion in payment for that?” he asked, just to make things clear.  That seemed too easy.  _Far_ too easy.

“Oh, no.  Your family may very well need this someday,” Rumplestiltskin replied, gesturing with the potion.  “So, my price is protection for protection.  I will give you the means to protect your family now—and in the future—and in return, you will offer the same to me.”

“Protection?” David echoed.  “For your…family?”  Surely he had heard wrong.

“For someone or my choosing,” the Dark One snapped, looking like he had swallowed a lemon.

“Someone you care about,” he couldn’t help saying, sending that there was something going on under the surface.

Rumplestiltskin’s eyes narrowed, but David could see that he was actually uneasy.   “Is it such a strange concept to you?”

“You love someone.”  _Don’t be fooled by his odd appearance,_ Regina had said.

“Mere flickers of light in an ocean of darkness,” was the dismissive response, but David thought there was a warmth in the strange eyes.  However, the look vanished quickly, replaced by the hard-edged exterior that hid…what?  “Now.  Will you take the deal or not, dearie?  I’ve other places to be if the answer is no.”

“I’ll hide the potion,” David agreed.  “And I will exchange your protection for my family for mine of whomever you choose, so long as it lays within my power to do so.”

Somehow, he had the feeling that he would not regret that last promise, despite the fact that David knew being _specific_ was the key to making a safe deal with the Dark One.  But the flicker of, well, humanity, in Rumplestiltskin’s eyes gave David hope.  Whomever Rumplestiltskin wanted to protect, David had a feeling that he would not object to their safety.

“Excellent!  Now, here’s what you have to do…”

* * *

 

Killian Jones was many things, but he was not a man to pass up a golden opportunity like this.  Oh, he had a few qualms of conscience, but he _had_ tried to save the lass, to give her the chance for a better life.  He’d not hurt the little girl, of course—he was no monster—but Lacey French was fair game.  She’d chosen to stay with the demon, and even if she was cursed to do so (which Cora insisted she was not, and Cora would know), the curse was weak enough now that she should have been able to leave him.

Some women, however, were simply drawn to darkness and to power.  Killian knew that from experience, and he sometimes wondered what that meant about the type of person Lacey French _really_ was.  The curse had made her nice, quiet, and unassuming.  But who had she been back home?  He had no idea, but any woman whose true self wanted the Dark One was one whom Killian had no qualms about harming.  Besides which, Rumplestiltskin was awake and chose to remain with this woman.  That told Killian that the demon _had_ to have some feelings for her.  Whatever kind of feelings he was capable of having, anyway.

Part of him felt guilty, but Killian pushed that aside.  He couldn’t kill Rumplestiltskin now, not with magic in Storybrooke.  He’d need the damn dagger for that, and perhaps this was an opportunity to find it.  Gold’s little lover might just know where it was, and, well, he’d spare her life if she told him.  Otherwise, he’d hurt the Dark One however he could.  _He took Milah from me.  Perhaps I owe him a return favor,_ the pirate thought to himself, watching the young woman as she walked into the ruins of the Storybrooke Free Public Library.  _And now is my chance._

* * *

 

She _missed_ the library.  Ever since the fire, the building had been a burned out shell—or at least it had until someone had _finally_ convinced the mayor’s office to start rebuilding Storybrooke’s most distinctive landmark.  Rumple had told her that it had come up in the last City Council meeting, brought up by—of all people—Judge Herman.  Until recently, Judge Herman had been so firmly in Cora’s pocket that everyone in town wondered how he managed to breathe in there, but like many others, he was starting to grow more independent.  King Francis had been open-minded enough to let Thomas marry Ella back home, Belle knew, and although she bore a _bit_ of a grudge at that family for having conspired to lock her husband up, she also knew that Rumplestiltskin had done his damnedest to encourage that.  So, in the end, she supposed she would simply be grateful that Judge Herman had managed to encourage the council to vote for reconstruction.

Now, one month after work had commenced, the library was starting to look a bit like itself again.  The back of the library actually had survived the fire, albeit with lots of smoke and water damage.  Her own former apartment had been thoroughly baked, although some of the old furnishings had been recognizable before the cleaning crews went through.  Belle was terribly grateful that Dove had dug through the rubble (in the dark, no doubt) to find the few things that truly mattered.  Because of that—not to mention how much time had passed—there was no reason for her to go back, not really.

Save for the memories.

This was the apartment were Lacey had first introduced Gold to Renee.  This was the place where Gold had babysat Renee when Lacey had been sick as a dog, sitting through three run-throughs of _Beauty and the Beast_ and cooking soup that Lacey promptly threw up all over him.  This apartment had been part of a romance that she, as Lacey, had never known was True Love, yet had been so very _real_ to her under the curse.  Lacey had been so very miserable most of the time; Gold had been the sole ray of light in her life.  In hindsight, it was funny that Belle, who was supposedly the ‘better’ one in their marriage, would feel that way about Gold, underneath whom the Dark One had slumbered.  Yet it was true.  Gold had made Lacey’s life livable, had given her joy when she had only had her beloved daughter.  Her father had abandoned her, both before and during the curse.  So far as Lacey knew, there had been no one to turn to…except Gold.

So, yes, perhaps she missed her old apartment _almost_ as much as she missed the library. Of course, she mourned the library more; all those books had been burned, and for what?  So Cora could try to kill Henry, and eliminate a rival at the same time?  Belle was hardly the vengeful sort, but she was prepared to make a giant exception for Cora.  The woman had been willing to kill two children, had hurt Rumple for _years_ , and for what?  Power?  Belle knew better than most  how seductive power could be—she was married to a man who sometimes struggled with his own burning need for more and more power—but she also knew that power was nothing without someone to share it with.  Cora had made her own bed, and had made her own choices, and when she faced the consequences for them, Belle would not weep.

“Now _that’s_ being cheerful,” she muttered to herself, picking her way out of the ruins of her old life and heading towards the clock tower.  There was a framework in place already, the barest outline of a new tower to replace the old one.  She thought it seemed like the new one would be a tad taller than the previous tower, but perhaps that was just her imagination.  She climbed the stairs cautiously; they seemed sturdy enough, and Belle was curious.  There wasn’t a roof yet, but the day was bright and clear, with a slight crispness to the air that hinted at spring coming.

Still, the view out on a late afternoon Storybrooke was lovely.  Pausing at the top, Belle looked out across main street, smiling when her eyes landed on the shop where she knew her husband and daughter were.  The rest town was growing more and more lively, too, more likely to change and to grow, as the curse weakened, and Belle loved watching people out and about.  They _were_ becoming themselves, and it was—

A creaking noise made Belle turn her head, and, much to her surprise, she spotted another person coming up the stairs.  She hadn’t thought anyone else was interested in the library, but perhaps the fact that one of Storybrooke’s richer residents seemed curious was a good sign.

“Captain O’Malley,” Belle greeted the newcomer as cheerfully as she could, careful to use his cursed name.  She hadn’t appreciated his trying to pull her away from Rumple the last time they’d talked, and she knew how the pirate hated Rumplestiltskin, but that didn’t mean she had to be rude.

“Miss French,” he replied in that old world fashion that he seemed to think was charming, picking his way across the uneven floor towards her.

“What brings you up here?”

“I thought the view would be lovely,” Hook replied, but Belle caught an undercurrent of something else in his tone.

“I used to love coming up here,” she said instead of mentioning that.  “After hours, of course.  Renee loved watching the clock, even when it didn’t work.”

A slight smile flicked across the pirate’s face, one Belle actually thought was genuine.  Then he asked: “Your daughter isn’t here with you now, is she?”

“Oh, no.  I wouldn’t bring her to a construction site, even if she would think it lots of fun,” Belle chuckled, but the suddenly vicious expression on his face made her freeze.  “Is something…wrong?”

“Oh, no, love.  We just need to have a chat, and I’d hate for your daughter to be hurt.”

Belle’s blood ran cold.  _And what would you say if you knew she was Rumplestiltskin’s daughter?  Would your opinion change then?_ she didn’t ask.  But she had to be careful.  She’d somehow been pulled into a centuries’-old feud, and Rumple had warned her that Hook might try to hurt her.  She hadn’t wanted to believe him at the time, but now, looking at the expression on the pirate’s face…

“What kind of chat?” she asked as calmly as she could, squaring her shoulders and bringing her chin up.  Sometimes she hated being short.  It meant she had to look up to everyone, even in heels.

“There’s a certain object I’m looking for.  It’s an antique dagger, very distinctive.  Kind of wavy and with writing on it,” he replied, clearly trying to sound earnest.  “It was stolen from me some time ago, and I have reason to believe that the thief sold it to Mr. Gold.  Have you seen it?”

“Surely you should ask Mr. Gold about that,” Belle said quietly, her heart pounding in her ears.  How did _Hook_ know about the dagger?  And did he know what it could do?  Obviously, he didn’t think _she_ knew anything about it; Hook thought she was still Lacey French, clueless about the magic that owned her husband’s soul.  But the fact that he was asking about the dagger at all was terrifying.

“I’m asking you.”

“I…I don’t work in the shop these days.  If it’s there, I haven’t noticed it,” she answered carefully.

“And what about elsewhere?” Hook pressed.  “You live with Gold.  Surely you’ve seen _something_.”

“I really think you should ask Mr. Gold if you’re looking for some lost item of yours,” Belle replied more forcefully.  After all, she knew he wouldn’t.  “I’m hardly an expert in antiques, and—”

The backhand caught her completely by surprise, and Belle stumbled back in shock before she could even register the pain in her face.  _Then_ the fire exploded in her right cheek, sharp and stinging, and for a moment, all Belle could to was stare at the pirate.  He’d _hit_ her.  So much for his gentlemanly manners! 

“Does that make you feel better?” she demanded furiously.  “Hitting someone because you don’t like the answers you’ve gotten?”

“I don’t like useless lies, lass,” Hook snarled back.  “So either tell me the truth, or—”

“Or what?” Belle cut him off, stepping closer to him—and also closer to the stairs leading downwards.  She wasn’t a fool, and was bound to lose any physical fight.  But she was willing to bet she could outrun him if she had to.  “You’ll hit me again?”

“I can do far worse than that,” he growled.  “Just tell me what I want to know, and no one needs to get hurt.”

“I don’t _have_ to tell you anything,” Belle shot back.  “And what are you going to do, kill me in the half-finished clock tower with half the town as a witness?  I’ll scream, and people will notice.”

Hook paused, seeming to realize exactly how right she was.  The clock tower only had three of four walls complete; the last one was just a framework, and easy to see through.  If Belle screamed, heads on the street below _would_ turn, and then where would the pirate be?  For a moment, she actually thought that common sense and self-preservation would get through to him, that he’d decide to save his vendetta for another day.  And then Hook lunged towards her.

Belle bolted.

High heels were not the best for running in, particularly over uneven terrain like a construction site.  But she’d waded through worse, and Belle was determined.  Swerving right to dodge around the pirate, she ducked behind a ladder and rushed for the stairs.  Heavy footsteps pounded behind her as Hook twisted around to give chase, but Belle managed to reach the stairs first.  She took them two at a time, knowing that if she could get to the street, he wouldn’t dare continue chasing her.  But it was a long stairway, rickety and temporary, and the stairs themselves started shaking hard when Hook rushed down them behind her.  Belle contemplated screaming, but she feared calling for help would only slow her down, so she concentrated on not tripping on the stairs with her heels, and going as fast as she could.

She didn’t miss a step, but the third step on the second flight gave way when Belle put her foot down.  Flailing for the railing, Belle managed to catch herself for a moment before the fourth step collapsed, too, sending her legs crashing through while she clung to the railing for dear life.  But her grip wasn’t good enough, and although she heard Hook yelling her cursed name, her hands were slipping already.

Belle fell through the stairs with a scream, crashing through the plywood framework of the clock tower to the ground a floor below.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t hate me too much for another cliffhanger! And Hook fans, don’t despair. He’s trying very hard to be a villain here, but he’s no longer very comfortable in the role.
> 
> Next up: Chapter Sixty-Four—“Revelations,” in which Belle is found, David continues to act inexplicably, Emma learns about magic, and Cora formally introduces her daughters to one another. Back in the past, Charming fesses up to Snow about the deal he made and Zelena pays Daniel a visit.
> 
> Also, the winner of the word count contest has been notified, and we'll find out if they want to share their spoiler or not. :)


	64. Revelations

Belle landed with a crash, and for a long moment, the world went black.  She wasn’t sure that she hadn’t hit her head on the way down, and panic started to rise when her vision didn’t immediately clear, but then searing pain captured her attention and Belle cried out.  _Everything_ hurt, and when her eyes finally started working, she was treated to a display of falling dust and wood chips, with a few pieces of plywood crashing down around her to add spice to the display.  Luckily, none of them landed on her, and Belle was able to gather herself—with an effort—and try to take an inventory of what hurt the most.  Her right ankle was throbbing madly, and the right side of her face felt like a thousand needles were sticking into it.  That was where Hook had hit her, Belle remembered vaguely, shaking her head and struggling into a sitting position.

Breathing was harder than usual.  Was that because of all the dust and grime in the air, or had she hurt something vital?  Belle couldn’t tell, but there was an ominous wheeze coming every time she took a breath.  She was so dizzy that it took her a moment to even remember how or why she’d fallen, but when the memory hit her, Belle immediately tried to get up.

Bad idea.  She crumbled back to the ground with a gasp, her ankle folding under her and the world around her doing mad cartwheels.  Belle barely managed to catch herself with both hands before she collapsed completely, somehow staying in an awkward sitting position while her ribs protested madly.  Blinking, she tried to look at her ankle, and finally discovered that half the problem lay in the way the heel had snapped straight off of that shoe.  Desperately, she pulled both shoes off and struggled back to her feet.  This time, her ankle supported her—barely—but at least she could stand. 

A glance upwards told her that Hook was still on the stairs leading down from the clock tower, which meant that the pirate hadn’t fallen, too.  On one hand, that was a good thing; he’d have a hard time climbing down from up there, and Belle would need the time to get away.  On the other hand, however, she half-wished that he’d taken a tumble, too.  Belle wasn’t sure what Hook had meant to do if he’d managed to grab her, but she was certain that it wasn’t good.  After all, she’d refused to give him the information he wanted, playing dumb where the dagger was concerned, and that certainly wasn’t the kind of thing that would make him happy.  Even now, he was looking for a way to climb down, because the stairs were absolutely wrecked and he would either have to jump the huge gap or shimmy down the frame.  Every delay worked in her favor, though, because Belle wasn’t limping anywhere fast.

“Lacey?” a voice called as she took a cautious step forward, hissing in pain when her ankle protested.  “ _Lacey!_ ”

Oh, right.  That was still the name everyone here thought was hers.  Belle was still too dizzy for her mind to work properly, and it took her a moment to recognize her own cursed name and turn to face the person calling her.  When she did turn, she swayed precariously.  Whatever was wrong with her ankle, it really didn’t want to work right, and Belle was starting to wonder if she’d manage to hobble anywhere at all.

Thankfully, Emma Swan rushed up, asking:  “You okay?  What happened?”

“I fell,” she replied thickly, grateful when Emma grabbed her left arm to balance her.  Her mouth was so dry from the dust in the air, and Belle had to cough before she could add: “H— _he_ was chasing me, and I fell.”

She’d almost called Hook by the nickname he’d earned in their world, but Belle managed to catch herself just in time.  But she didn’t have the energy to point Hook’s way, either. 

“O’Malley?” the sheriff said in surprise, obviously having noticed the pirate-turned-marina owner, who was still busy trying to find a way down.  “Why would he be chasing you?”

“Something—” Belle lost the next words in a coughing fit that wasn’t at all feigned, though she honestly had no idea how to explain the ongoing feud between her husband and the pirate. 

“Let’s get you out of here, okay?  The sheriff’s station isn’t far, and we can get you sitting down and call an ambulance if you need one.”

“No ambulance,” Belle muttered, really not wanting to have to deal with the hospital after Rumple’s experiences there.  Whale was a good enough doctor, but she’d made the mistake of asking who had been back in his own world.  Belle was a big believer in taking people as she found them, but even she was a bit wary of letting a man who stitched together dead bodies work on her.  Particularly since Lacey had read _Frankenstein._ More than once, too.

“Let’s get you to the station first, all right?” Emma clearly decided that pressing now wasn’t going to work, but Belle was certainly grateful for her presence.  There was no way in the world that Hook would come after here with the sheriff around, was there?

“All right.”

Leaning on Emma, Belle hobbled forward and found that her ankle would at least support _some_ of her weight.  They made slow progress, barely having crossed the street by the time Hook made it down from the clock tower, but at least the pirate didn’t follow them.  Or if he did, he didn’t do so closely enough that Belle could see him through her dizziness, anyway.  That, she decided, was worth something, at least.

* * *

 

Kathryn Cole didn’t even know why she was here.  She _had_ had a boyfriend, not too long ago, right up until a nasty breakup that had happened for reasons she couldn’t remember.  Then she’d fooled around with Jefferson for a bit, but the manager of Modern Fashions wasn’t nearly as interesting as he seemed to think he was.  That, and he was the father of one of the students at her school, which meant Kathryn had to see his daughter from time to time.  Despite being a school principal, she’d never been great with kids, which just made that awkward as hell.

Now, however, she was on a date with a married man who was supposedly having an affair with one of her own former employees.  Kathryn had immensely disliked taking Mary Margaret Blanchard’s leavings when it came to dating Jefferson, so why was she here with the man Mary Margaret was apparently head over heels in love with?  They didn’t even have much in common, and making small talk was torturous.  Under other circumstances, she would have walked out of Dave’s Fish and Chips right then and there, but something made her stick around.  This had to be the most boring date she’d _ever_ been on, yet here she was, munching on greasy fries and listening to David Nolan blabber on about some cat or another from the animal shelter.

“I don’t like cats,” she finally said, and he looked at her in surprise.

“I thought you said you wanted to come see the animal shelter?” David asked stupidly

“I…” She had said that, hadn’t she?  How stupid was Kathryn today?  “I’m allergic,” she said with a roll of her eyes, but then the next words came out unexpectedly: “But I’d still like to look.  Maybe I’ll learn to like something new.”

What was _wrong_ with her?  Kathryn hadn’t meant to say that, but when she tried to open her mouth to take it back, the words wouldn’t come.  Confusion flickered briefly across David’s face before he smiled a really odd smile.  Maybe he was feeling as weird as she was.

“Great.  How about tomorrow, right after school gets out?”

That same forced smile washed over her face, and Kathryn wanted to scream.  The next sentence escape all on its own, too.  “It’s a date.”

* * *

 

_5 Months Before the Curse_

“Snow!” David called, striding into their chambers with a grin on his face.  He knew that his wife wouldn’t be particularly happy with him dealing with Rumplestiltskin, but he also knew that she’d be delighted to finally get her mother’s necklace back.  Snow had mentioned the fact that Cora had kept it more than once, and David knew what this necklace meant to her.

“In here!” his love called, and David made his way through the labyrinth of rooms to find Snow in the nursery they’d set up, along with his mother. 

_Snow won’t be so angry if Mother is here_ , the shepherd-turned-prince thought.  Of course, neither could officially acknowledge Ruth as David’s mother without giving away the entire charade of him being George’s son, but George  _had_ allowed Ruth to be named as the governess for their unborn child, which gave Ruth plenty of excuses to spend time with the couple now.  That was uncommonly kind of George, but the hard-edged king seemed to be softening slightly as Snow’s pregnancy progressed safely, and David was glad for that.

“Hey,” he said, leaning in to kiss Snow lightly.  Then he stepped over to kiss his mother on the cheek, too, smiling at her.  “Mother.”

No one was listening.  He could call her that every now and then, and Ruth’s face split into a huge smile every time he did.  “Hello, sweetheart,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

“What’s making you grin so happily?” Snow asked curiously, studying him.

“I brought you a gift,” David replied.  “Or rather, I’m returning one to you.”

“And here I thought you’d already given me everything a queen or a princess could desire,” his wife teased him, her eyes sparkling.

“All but this,” he told her, pulling the necklace out from where he’d tucked it away for safekeeping inside his doublet.  David held it out to Snow, and watched her mouth drop open.

“Where did you get this?” she whispered in awe.

“Rumplestiltskin.”  He’d decided to be honest about this, because he knew that Snow wouldn’t expect him to go back on a deal once he’d made it.  She might not agree with him, but she wouldn’t stop him, either.

“Charming, I thought we talked about this.  You weren’t going to make another deal with him, and—”

“It’s all right,” David cut her off.  “He didn’t ask for anything extraordinary.  All I have to do is hide a potion away—one that will also help protect us—and then offer protection to someone for him at some unspecified date in the future.  In return, he gave back _your_ necklace, and it’s enchanted to protect both you and our baby.”

“But…but what if whoever he wants us to protect is someone terrible?” Snow asked quietly, obviously wanting to grab the necklace but not allowing herself to.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.  For now, what matters is the safety of you and our child,” he argued as gently as he could.  “I’m sorry I did this without you, but I knew you’d stop me.”

“Of course I would have!”

Reaching out, David touched her cheek.  “I love you too much to lose you.  _Both_ of you.  So, please. Let me protect you, just a little?”

“Charming…” Snow trailed off with a sigh, and finally took the necklace.  “I can’t stop you now that you’ve made the deal,” she continued, moving in to hug him tightly.  “Just please be careful, all right?”

“Always.  You know I’ll always come back to you,” he replied, hugging her back.  “No matter what.”

“I know,” she said softly.  “And I love you for it.”

David had never known what he’d done to deserve this amazing woman in his life, but he knew that there was nothing in the world that could make him let her go.  Not curses, not evil queens, and certainly not deals with the Dark One.  He would do what he had to in order to keep his family safe, and he would come home to them.  Every time.

* * *

 

Lacey seemed a little more focused when they reached the sheriff’s station, but Emma still took her straight into the back office.  Both ignored Moe French’s sudden exclamations as Emma helped Lacey limp in; as far as Emma was concerned, if Lacey didn’t want to talk to the two prisoners, she didn’t have to.  So, she tuned out the men and got Lacey into a chair, wincing sympathetically when Lacey bit back a whimper of pain as Emma eased her down.  The former librarian was barefoot save for her stockings, which were torn and ragged by now, and her right ankle did seem very swollen.  She was breathing a little unevenly, too, enough that Emma was ready to call an ambulance despite the other woman’s wishes.  Lacey, however, was already fumbling for her own phone.

“Hey,” the brunette said when the other person answered, her voice a little thick but sounding more coherent than it had when Emma had found her amongst dust and rubble.  “Can you come to the sheriff’s station?  I…I fell, and Emma helped me here.”

The voice on the other end said something, but all Emma caught was a bit of digitals-sounding static. 

“Thanks,” Lacey said feelingly, and then hung up a moment later, which gave Emma a chance to speak up.

“I really think we should call the hospital.  We can get Whale to come here, if you don’t want to go in.”

“I’ll be okay, really,” the very-dusty librarian replied with a strained smile.  “Let’s see if the swelling goes down at all first, anyway.”

Sighing, Emma sat down in the chair across from Lacey and threw a level look her way.  “You ready to tell me what happened, then?” she asked.  “You said that O’Malley was chasing you.”

“He was,” she looked away briefly, but Emma didn’t think she was lying.  Just a little concussed and hurting more than she wanted to let on.

“Do you know why?”

“He wanted something that he thinks Mr. Gold has, and he wanted me to find it for him,” Lacey replied, and Emma got the feeling she was choosing her words very carefully.  “I said no.”

“Wait, he wanted you to steal something for him?”  Emma said incredulously.  That didn’t sound too much like Killian, though she did think that the marina owner could be very _focused_ sometimes.  He was definitely a take-what-he-wanted kind of guy, but she couldn’t see him being foolish enough to ask Lacey to steal something from Gold.  _Except for the fact that I don’t think most people in this town realize they’re married,_ the sheriff thought.  _Hell, there’s no knowing how long they would have hid that if Cora hadn’t tried to have someone steal Lacey’s daughter away._

That little incident had made Emma hate Cora more than she thought possible.  Anyone who had shown enough courage to keep their child, to work hard to support her as a single mother, and raise a little girl on their own should damn well be allowed to keep said child.  Particularly when the allegations in support of taking Renee were so ridiculous!  Granted, everyone in town seemed to think that Lacey was Gold’s semi-willing whore, but Emma had seen them together often enough to know that wasn’t true.  Frankly, she still wondered if Gold had been being literal when he’d called Renee ‘their’ child, because Emma was really starting to think that Gold was the mysterious father no one knew about.  That would explain _everything_ , particularly since Graham had told her they’d been together for years.  _And Henry says they’re Beauty and the Beast, too_.  It fit, particularly with Cora’s determination to tear them apart.

“He said that it belonged to him,” Lacey shrugged in response to her question.  “I think he was lying.  But there’s bad blood between O’Malley and Gold, and I’m not going to get in the middle of that.”

“I didn’t know that about them.”  _Then again, I don’t know much about Killian, do I?  I know he likes ships, likes the sea, and he likes feisty women.  Otherwise, he doesn’t share too much at all_ , Emma thought to herself, but alarms were starting to ring in her head.  Was Killian O’Malley the type who was willing to go after a woman for the sake of revenge?  She didn’t want to think so.  Still, she needed the facts, so she continued: “You said he was chasing you.”

“He hit me,” was the blunt response as the other woman gestured at her bruised right cheek.  “Pretty hard.  So, I tried to get around him and ran for the stairs…and then something went wrong.  One of the stairs broke under me, and I fell.”

“He didn’t push you?” Emma liked Killian well enough, even if she found his constant pursuit of her almost as wearying as August’s pestering, but she needed to know.

“I don’t think so,” Lacey answered.  “He tried to grab me before I ran, and he did hit me, but I don’t think he pushed me.”

“Don’t think _who_ pushed you, sweetheart?” a third voice intruded, and Emma twisted to see Gold striding in like an avenging demon.  She’d never seen such a dangerous expression on his face, not even when he’d ordered Cora around over the phone.   Now he looked ready to kill, or at least until he stopped in front of Lacey and dropped into a crouch.  _Then_ his eyes softened remarkably, and he reached out to take her hands gently in his own.

The contrast was spectacular, and the level look Lacey gave him was very sobering.

“Before I answer that, you need to promise me you’ll let the sheriff deal with this.  Please?” she asked.  “I wasn’t pushed, and I’ll be all right.  I fell on my own.”

Gold’s expression took on a supremely constipated air, as if he was struggling with himself.  After a moment of scowling, however, he relented: “I promise that I will not stand in the sheriff’s way.”

“ _Or_ do anything else.  Let the law take care of this,” Lacey replied right away, and damn that woman was made of steel.  Emma couldn’t think of anyone else in town who would dare face Gold down like this.

“Sweetheart…” The word came out as a very affectionate growl, and yes, Emma suddenly _could_ see this man as the Beast.

“Please?”

“Fine.”  Apparently, Gold couldn’t resist those blue eyes, either.  “If you let me heal you.  None of this modern medical nonsense, or you telling me you’ll be fine.  Deal?”

Lacey smiled.  “It’s a deal.”

“Good,” Gold replied, letting go of her hands to turn his attention to her ankle, slowly rolling her knee-high stocking down to look at it.  Emma, however, was still stuck on what he’d just said.

“Heal?” she sputtered.

Gold finally quirked a smile, the lines around his eyes crinkling in what she thought was genuine amusement.  “Well, Regina tried flashing fireballs at you with little success in the believing department, so I thought I would demonstrate something a bit more complicated.”

“Regina…said you have magic,” Emma replied as levelly as she could, which wasn’t very well. 

“Ah, did she, now?” he chuckled.  “Well, then, Sheriff, watch and learn something.”

Watch she did.  Eyes wide, Emma watched Gold’s hands glow a very pale blue, hovering less than an inch over his wife’s ankle and moving gently through the air without touching her.  After a moment, the swelling reduced dramatically, the ankle returning to normal size within a few seconds as cuts closed up and even the dirt and bruises faded away.  Gold shifted slightly to do the same for Lacey’s other foot, even though that was only bruised and cut a tiny bit, before rising and studying Lacey’s midsection.

“You’ve cracked two ribs, sweetheart,” he said quietly, and Lacey looked up at him.

“I was hoping it was only bruises,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Where _did_ you fall from?”

Lacey grimaced.  “Partway down the clock tower stairs.”

“You”—Gold bit the word off with what was obviously an effort, tapping Lacey’s left elbow.  “Never mind that.  Up.”

She seemed to understand him even if Emma wasn’t sure what Gold meant, lifting her left arm out of the way and wincing in pain while she did so.  Had Gold not grasped her hand and done _something_ that obviously quelled the whimper rising on Lacey’s lips, Emma would have objected, but Lacey was watching the pawnbroker with an expression of complete trust.  Again, his spare hand glowed blue and Emma could see Lacey’s breathing ease within seconds.  She hadn’t, however, expected Lacey to lean in briefly so that her head nestled into Gold’s chest, wearing a soft smile.  He didn’t say anything, or even look surprised, merely shifting enough so that his right hand could reach for Lacey’s dark blue and purple cheek.  Within moments, that bruise vanished, too, and then Lacey yawned.

“Can’t the price be something _other_ than me being so sleepy?” she asked, almost but not quite pouting.

“Aside from me behaving myself, you mean?” Gold quipped, and that made Lacey smile again. 

“Point taken,” she replied, rolling her eyes slightly.

“Price?” Emma couldn’t help asking.  If Gold wanted her to see something, he could hardly object to her asking questions, now, could he?

Besides, this was _fascinating_.  Yeah, Regina had shown her a fire ball, and she’d heavily implied that Gold had somehow both healed himself and fiddled with the hospital records to hide the depth of his original injuries.  Maybe with people’s memories, too.  But seeing this, seeing _real_ magic done in front of her face, eliminating injuries Emma had seen for herself…well, it was kind of extraordinary.  More than kind of, really.  This was real.  _Magic_ was 100% real and in this world, and that meant the curse really had to be real, too.  She’d been toying with believing until now, the skeptic inside her insisting that there was some other real-world explanation, but this kind of thing didn’t happen in the real world.  Maybe it was time she told her inner skeptic to take a hike.

“All magic comes with a price,” Gold answered smoothly.  “Think of it as magic’s equivalent of Newton’s Third Law.  Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, and all magic comes with a price.  It’s magic’s way of equalizing things.”

“What are you, some sort of Ph.D. in magic or something?” she snorted.

Lacey snickered; Gold scowled.  Lacey, however, got in first: “If our world had doctorates in magic, he would have had _every_ last one of them,” she replied cheerfully.

“Wait a minute.  You just said ‘our world’,” Emma pointed out, staring at the pair as Gold helped Lacey to her feet.  “You remember _too_?  How the hell is some super evil curse this inefficient?  I thought no one was supposed to remember!”

“The list is getting rather long, isn’t it?” Lacey said with another smile, glancing down as she flexed her ankle experimentally.  Then she looked up, continuing: “But I do remember.  My name is actually Belle, but I’m sure Henry has told you that.  He used to tell me before I remembered everything.  I think he was trying to make me feel better.”

“Henry’s like that,” she replied automatically.  Her head was spinning.  So, Lacey—no, _Belle_ —remembered who she was supposed to be, too.  That at least explained why she was married to Gold, who obviously knew who he was.  “So…Renee is actually your kid.  _Both_ of yours.”

Both Golds tensed, but Lacey got in first.  “Please don’t spread that around.  Cora…things would go very badly if Cora realized that.  She didn’t know we were married in the Enchanted Forest, and it would be dangerous if she knew.”

“What, she didn’t know Beauty and the Beast got together?  Anyone who’s seen the Disney movie can—”

“We need to be going,” Gold interjected, and Lacey threw him a quizzical look.  A moment of silent communication passed between the pair, completely unreadable to Emma, and then Lacey nodded.  “Thank you for your assistance, Sheriff.  I trust you will deal with the situation as required?”

“Yeah, I’ll do my job,” she found herself replying a bit stiffly.  In love with ‘Belle’ or not—thinking of her that way would take some getting used to—Gold could still be really off-putting.  But that wouldn’t change anything as far as Emma’s job as sheriff was concerned.  She already had Lacey’s statement.  She’d look for witnesses next, and find out what in the world had happened.  She’d probably end up arresting O’Malley for assault, too, and wouldn’t that be awkward since she’d gone on a date with him?  Fortunately, it had only been one.  The fact that he was helping them plan a break in to the Basement would be far more awkward, but Emma couldn’t overlook this.

“Thank you,” Lacey said a good deal more kindly than Gold had spoken, and she took Gold by the hand to lead him out of the office.  Emma followed the pair automatically, not expecting any trouble until she heard Moe French shout:

“You get away from my daughter, you monster!”

The florist was at the very front of his cell, clutching desperately at the bars and all but frothing at the mouth.  Gold, for his part, had frozen when Moe started shouting, and didn’t manage to say anything before Tony Rose growled:

“We’ll do far worse to you if you don’t leave her alone.”

“What kind of idiots are you two, saying that when I’m _standing right here_?” Emma demanded before Lacey could say anything to either one—and Lacey sure as hell looked ready to bite both of their heads off.  “That’s _not_ going to help you at your trial, you know.”

“Sheriff, you can’t let him near Lacey.  He’ll hurt her, just like we know he already has,” Moe pleaded, pausing to shoot another glare at Gold.  “He’s all but bought her, and lord only knows what he expects her to do—”

“Don’t push me, dearie,” Gold interjected, his voice quiet and suddenly menacing.  He might have frozen a moment earlier, but now his posture was nothing like that of a man facing two larger men who had beat him almost to death.  Now he radiated danger, and there was _something_ in the air that sent a shiver down Emma’s spine. Gold, however, continued in that same soft voice: “I’ve stayed away from you both for _her_ sake.  Don’t make me forget that.”

“You see, Sheriff?” Moe tried, but Lacey cut in.

“Shut up, Dad.  This my life, and you can stay out of it.”  Then she turned to Gold.  “Let’s go home.”

Gold glared at the two men for another moment before relenting, and again, Emma was intrigued by how much his expression softened when he looked at Lacey.  They left without another word, but Emma didn’t forget the way Gold had looked at Moe French and Tony Rose.  Not for a moment.

* * *

 

The doorbell rang as Regina was helping Henry with his math homework.  Math had always been his worst subject, mostly because he didn’t really care to apply himself there, his mother felt.  But she still treasured the little moments she got to spend with him, because the one thing Regina hated about the idea of the curse breaking was the thought that she was going to lose bits of Henry along the way.  Oh, she already shared him with his grandfather/adopted father, and having Snow step up as his grandmother (odd though it would be, having her sister’s grandson call her ‘Mom’) wouldn’t be terribly different.  But Emma was becoming more and more involved in Henry’s life, and although Regina didn’t begrudge her niece the time Emma spent with their shared son, adjusting was still difficult.  She had a feeling things would only get more complicated once the curse was broken, too.

“I’ll get it!” Henry piped up immediately, bolting for the door before Regina could stop him.  David had called earlier, saying something about working late and not waiting dinner on him, which meant they’d been left alone all evening.  Regina wasn’t expecting anyone, and Emma had long since given up on using the doorbell at all, so she had no idea who might be visiting as she followed in Henry’s wake.

“Um…Mom?”  Suddenly, there was worry in her son’s voice, and Regina rushed to him, only to find her mother and that obnoxious redhead on her doorstep.

“What do you want?” she demanded, remembering how Henry was convinced that Chloe Zephyr was the Wicked Witch of the West.

“Is that any way to greet your mother, darling?” Cora purred, and Regina reached out to pull Henry behind her.

“Go upstairs, Henry.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the redhead smiled, and Regina turned her glare on him.

“You don’t get a say on what my child does in my house,” she snapped, but suddenly the other woman vanished in a cloud of green smoke and appeared behind Henry, grabbing his shoulder.  “Henry!”

She jumped forward, only for a wave of magic to shove her backwards.  Regina lashed out on instinct, but her blow barely seemed to faze Cora, who simply stepped through the door as if she were queen in her own domain, closing it gently behind her.

“Let me take her heart, Mother,” Zephyr said, eagerness dripping from the sugary sweet tone.  “Or better yet, _his_.”

Henry struggled ineffectively against her grip, but Regina was too shocked to use the magic now fizzling uselessly in her hands.  She twisted to look at Cora.  “ ‘Mother’?”

“Oh, dear, I’ve been remiss.  Regina, darling, allow me to introduce you to your elder sister, Zelena.”

“Hello, sis,” Zelena grinned as Regina stared.  “It’s so lovely to have the cat out of the bag, isn’t it?”

“You…you…you _can’t_ be my sister,” she finally managed to stutter.  The Wicked Witch of the West was her _sister_?  There was no way.  Her mother would have mentioned it.  Wouldn’t she have?  Confused, Regina twisted to look for answers from a woman she had not willingly turned to since she was a child.  “Mother?”

“You are half-sisters, of course,” Cora confirmed.  “While you were busy defying me with inappropriate stable boys in the Enchanted Forest, Zelena was ruling Oz.  You can see why I turned to her when you proved inadequate.”

“ _Do_ let me take his heart, Mother.  Please?” Zelena whined before Regina could manage to swallow her shock.

“Let go of me!”  Henry continued to struggle.

“Shut up, brat, or I’ll rip your heart out right now,” the redhead snarled, and that jerked Regina out of her frozen state.

“Good luck with that,” she finally grated out, drawing defensive spells to herself even as she spoke.  “I’ve put protection spells on him to prevent that.  I _have_ met my mother before, you know.”

Her spells might save Henry, Regina knew—or at least save him from having his heart ripped out—but they wouldn’t save her.  She could get Henry away, but there was no way she could beat both her mother and her sister.  Regina was fairly sure she couldn’t beat Cora on her own, since she’d never managed before, and with Zelena there to help, she knew she was well and truly screwed.  She could bluff, though, and pray she got enough time to call on Rumplestiltskin.  He probably didn’t want to have an all-out battle just yet, but Regina knew he was good to his word, and he didn’t want her dead, anyway. 

“Pity,” Zelena  huffed, and then looked back at Cora.  “Then let me take _her_ heart instead.  Please? It would be a fitting punishment for how she betrayed you.”

“Not yet,” Cora smiled, and the coldness in that expression made Regina shiver.  “We will, but first you must wait.  We both know the curse won’t last much longer, but when Regina’s _beloved_ stepsister and her family wake up…well, there will be _so_ much more to lose, won’t there, darling?”

Stepping forward, Cora touched Regina’s cheek lightly, and Regina didn’t dare pull away.  There was nothing about this situation that couldn’t get worse, and she couldn’t risk starting a fight she couldn’t win unless she had no other choice.  Still, her mother’s touch made her skin crawl, made Regina want to yank away and throw every bit of magic she could manage Cora’s way.  Standing still took all of the self-control she’d ever possessed. 

“Mother,  please,” she finally whispered, taking the only tact she thought might work.  “Leave Henry out of this.  He’s only a boy, and—”

“And the Savior’s son, yes,” her mother cut her off lightly.  “I do often wonder how Rumple pulled that one off, but that’s a question for him, not you.  Henry, however, is a part of this, my darling girl, whether you want him to be or not.  Still, he’s safe enough.  For now.”

She would not beg further.  It would do no good, and Zelena wouldn’t be giggling like that if Cora hadn’t told her that she’d be let loose on Henry at some point.  No, Regina wouldn’t beg.  Instead, she’d find a way to beat them.  _Both_ of them, if she had to.

“Won’t this be fun, sis?” Zelena piped up, finally stepping away from Henry to get right in Regina’s face. “I’ve been dying to meet you, and now I get everything you discarded.  You weren’t strong enough to stand on your own like I was, and now _I_ win.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Regina couldn’t help asking.

“You’re foolish if you don’t see it.”

“This isn’t a contest!”

Zelena laughed, and her giggle was possibly the most grating sound Regina had ever heard.  “Of course it is.  Shall we go, Mother?”

“Indeed,” Cora smiled, patting Regina’s shoulder gently.  “I’ll see you again, Regina.  We’re not finished.”

“I didn’t think we were,” Regina managed to growl before the pair disappeared, and then she rushed forward to gather her son into her arms.  She wasn’t going to lose him, not to her power hungry mother and psychopath of a sister.  She would fight for him with everything she had.

* * *

 

_5 Months Before the Curse_

“You really are pitiful, aren’t you?” Zelena said, peering through the bars at the figure huddled up in the back.  “Really, I can’t see what Regina ever saw in you.”

Daniel looked up at her, his face streaked by grime.  He was thin as a rail and his clothes in tatters, yet the stableboy still met Zelena’s eyes levelly.  He had courage; she had to give him that.  But plenty of men had courage.  Some even found it when they had nothing else to recommend them.  _Die bravely all you want,_ Zelena thought behind her smile.  _You’re still dead and useless._

“True Love,” the stableboy replied hoarsely.  “I love her, and she loves me.  Somehow, I doubt you’d understand that.”

“Of course I understand love!” she snapped, not liking those implications at all.  It was probably her green face.  People saw that and always assumed the worst.  Really, they were at fault.  If they couldn’t see Zelena for what she was, and love her the way she was supposed to be loved, well, they deserved what they got, didn’t they?  “I just think she wasted it on you.”

Daniel just smiled sadly, but Zelena burned to extinguish the light still in his eyes.  That light was for _Regina,_ and she would destroy it.  Here and now.

“Besides, she’s abandoned you, anyway.  She’s not coming back,” Zelena giggled.  “So much for your precious True Love.  Regina chose a brat of a princess over you.”

“I know,” he replied serenely.  “I told her to.”

Fury whipped out of Zelena before she could even think of stopping it, magic coming to her fingers and slamming Daniel into the wall like a ragdoll.  She wanted to kill him, but couldn’t; Mother had uses for him.  However, that didn’t mean she couldn’t hurt him, and listening to Daniel scream when the darkness tore into him was music to her ears.

“Regina betrayed our mother!  She doesn’t _deserve_ love!” she snarled, listening to Daniel scream again as her magic attacked him once more.

“It’s not about deserving,” Daniel panted.  “I love her.  I always will.”

This time the darkness almost escaped her control, and her magic hit Daniel so hard that he slumped, unconscious.  Zelena contemplated waking him to hurt him more, but she decided that he wasn’t worth it.  Mother was expecting her, anyway, waiting for her _true_ and loyal daughter to stand at her side.  They were going to visit a sorcerer who had recently arrived from Agrabah, and Zelena wanted to be at her best for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late update! The Sick got me yesterday, and I was down for the count. In better news, however, the winner of the word count contest has decided to share their chosen spoiler with everyone! I’ll be posting the spoiler scene (Gabrielle waking up) on my tumblr today (for those of you who aren’t on tumblr, you can find me at [To See How the Story Ends](http://toseehowthestoryends.tumblr.com/)). 
> 
> Next up: Chapter Sixty-Five—“Irons in the Fire,” where Emma arrests Hook (and meets his smarmy lawyer), Mary Margret goes to Regina for help concerning David, Blue, Neal runs into problems leaving New York, and Regina confronts Rumplestiltskin about Zelena. Back in the past, Charming tracks down the best thief in the Enchanted Forest.


	65. Irons in the Fire

Emma was a fan of doing research before arresting anyone, and she’d discovered two witnesses to Lacey French’s fall.  Or was she Belle Gold, now?  Everyone having two names was so damn confusing, so Emma figured she’d stick with the ones that were legal at the moment.  Regardless, she spoke to both witness and found their stories were the same; Granny had been outside and had actually seen O’Malley hit Lacey, albeit distantly, which really made the entire matter pretty cut and dried.  Fortunately, Granny hadn’t seen O’Malley _push_ the librarian, which at least meant Emma didn’t have to arrest him for more than assault.  That, of course, made things extra awkward since he’d just told her a deep and dark secret about the Basement a few days earlier—and damn it all if Emma hadn’t lost track of that!  Still, she had a job to do, and she was going to do it.

She remembered Lacey’s words to Gold, and Emma _had_ promised to deal with the situation.  She had no doubt that the Golds would want to press charges, even if it only wound up being a civil suit, and that meant she headed to the marina first thing in the morning of February 27th.  She wasn’t exactly looking forward to this, but the job was the job, and Emma hadn’t signed on to be sheriff because she’d thought it would be easy.  _Though I did really think that this town wasn’t full of magic and fairytale characters back then,_ she reflected.  And now she really believed it was.  Wasn’t life insane?

“Swan,” Killian O’Malley looked up in surprise as Emma walked into his office, smiling broadly.  “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this fine morning?”

“I’m afraid this isn’t a social call.”  And damn it if things weren’t a lot harder when she’d gone on a date with this man, even if it had ended in a murder.  _I’m so glad I didn’t go on more than one!_

“Oh?  Why’s that, love?”

“Because you’re under arrest.”  Emma had never been a big believer in beating around the bush, but Killian jerked back in surprise. 

“For what?”

“Assault,” she replied bluntly.  “You attacked Lacey French.”

That seemed to take him aback.  “Emma, I don’t know what you think happened, but—”

“Save it for your lawyer,” she cut him off.  “I saw Lacey fall, and witnesses saw you hit her and try to grab her.  The only real question here is if I have to handcuff you or not.”

“No.” The marina owner shook his head.  “I’ll come quietly.  I’m sure we’ll be able to clear up this misunderstanding soon enough.”

“Call it whatever you want, but you’re still under arrest,” Emma replied, and read him his rights.

Somehow, she did not find it odd that, once they got to the station, Killian chose to use his one phone call to call the mayor.

* * *

 

“I don’t like it,” Rumplestiltskin grumbled for what even he knew was the tenth or twelfth time.  Generally speaking, he wasn’t prone to repeating himself, and the fact that he was doing so meant that he was very unhappy.  Downright furious, in fact.  _Burning_ to kill someone—but only a very specific someone.  Even if his curse was not so picky at the moment and would have settled for anyone at all.  “I _told_ you that damn pirate would go after you.”

“I don’t think he truly meant to push me, Rumple,” Belle replied, starting to sound a little annoyed.  “He hit me, yes, but—”

“ _But_ I’d like to cut his hand off again for that.  Or worse,” he growled.  _Kill him,_ his curse whispered. _Finish what you started.  Do it!_

“Rumple.”

“Sweetheart, I won’t stand for this.  Not him going after you,” he said, sitting up on the couch and turning to face her.  Damn Belle for being so clever as _not_ to tell him who had hit her—and caused her fall!—until after she’d secured his promise to let the sheriff take care of things.  “I won’t lose you to that pirate.”

“You’re not _going_ to,” his wife said forcefully, grabbing his hands.  “I am not Milah.”

“I never said you were!”  That thought had been the furthest from his mind, unless it was to think that Hook would cheerfully destroy this marriage of his, too.

“And I’m fine,” Belle stressed, squeezing his fingers hard.  Her touch served to calm his fury a little.  But only a little.  She continued evenly:  “You saw to that, remember?  And you promised.”

“Belle…”

He _had_ promised, and that was the worst part.  Everything inside him—and his curse, most of all—ached to go exact bloody vengeance on Hook.  The bastard had hurt _Belle_ , had made her fall from a distance that could have killed her, all because he was looking for the dagger.  And yes, while Rumplestiltskin could intellectually understand Hook’s need for revenge (assuming the pirate had actually loved Milah), he wasn’t about to let that get in the way of protecting Belle.  Hook needed to understand that there were consequences to his actions, and that Rumplestiltskin would not, under any circumstances, allow this to go unpunished.

“Look at it this way,” his wife pointed out logically.  “If you go after him, that tells him what I mean to you.  Didn’t you once tell me that the longer he was in the dark, the better?  Particularly since we both know he’s in Cora’s pocket?”

He hated it when she was right, and that must have shown on his expression.  Belle, however, leaned in to kiss him lightly on the lips, which helped erase his mutinous pout.  Some of it.

“If Emma doesn’t deal with this…” he trailed off, trying to rein in the howling of his curse in his mind.  It was still furious, still raging, and he wanted to rage with it.  But Belle was _right._ Damn it.

“She will.  Besides, she knows about this now, and you can’t afford to have the Savoir thinking you’re some cold blooded evil sorcerer.”

“I _am_ a cold blooded evil sorcerer,” Rumplestiltskin retorted petulantly.

“No, you’re a dark sorcerer,” Belle corrected him, kissing the knuckles of his right hand.  “With a good heart.  You need her on your side, Rumple, or at least not hating you.”

A sigh escaped, and he slumped.  “I hate it when you’re right.”

“No you don’t,” Belle grinned.  “Because then I get to thank you for being nice.”

“I’m not nice.”

“Then you _don’t_ want a thank you?” Belle asked, shifting to sit in his lap.  Her arms wrapped around his neck, and Rumplestiltskin knew his cause was utterly lost.

Then again, perhaps forgoing vengeance was not such a terrible thing.  Not right now, anyway.  He had always been good at the long game.  Provided Hook stayed away from Belle from here on out, there would be plenty of time to deal with the pirate when the curse broke.  Then Hook would, predictably, openly align himself with Cora.  The heroes would want him out of the way at that point, and that would give Rumplestiltskin freedom to act without losing the allies he needed.  He didn’t _want_ to need the nauseatingly good heroes, but Belle was right in pointing out that he did.  For now, anyway.  Once they could leave to find Baelfire, that wouldn’t matter, but until then… Well, at least giving in had its advantages, particularly now when Belle was unbuttoning his shirt.

Pleasant advantages they were, too.

* * *

 

Conrad Rivulet really was a shady piece of work.  He was a smooth-talking, too-handsome lawyer who seemed represent all the worst scum, and just watching him walk into the station that morning really made Emma scowl.

“I thought you were done taking statements from those two,” she greeted him, jerking her head at Moe French and Tony Rose.  She’d had to put Gold’s assailants together in one cell now that Killian was locked in the other one, but at least Emma knew those two liked one another.  But, really, why in the world couldn’t this town have more than two jail cells?

“Actually, I’m here to represent Mr. O’Malley,” Conrad replied in his slightly-accented voice.  His smile was just a tad too perfect, and the dark gray suit he wore was just a little too polished.  _Jafar,_ Emma told herself, studying the man.  _Henry says he’s Jafar._

Well, Conrad sure didn’t look like the pointy-headed villain with the awful headpiece from the _Aladdin_ movie, but Emma had long ago realized that the people here in Storybrooke didn’t always look like their Disney counterparts.  Some of them did—Mary Margaret and Lacey came straight to mind on that front, as did Ella—but a lot of them were very different.  Like, apparently, Jafar.  _Though he certainly is smooth and clever enough to fit the bill._

“What, does the mayor have you on speed dial?” Emma asked before she could stop herself. 

Conrad shrugged eloquently.  “Of course not.  But I’ve worked with Mr. O’Malley before on a few minor issues, and I’m always happy to represent a friend.  I did stop by and speak to Judge Herman earlier, and he’s already set bail.  It’s been paid.”

“The D.A. barely had a chance to get over there!”

“Here’s the receipt.”  Another shrug.  “I trust everything is in order and I can escort my client out of here?  Mr. O’Malley is hardly a danger to anyone, after all.”

“He assaulted the librarian,” Emma retorted dryly.

“Allegedly.  And her fall was not his fault,” the lawyer immediately countered.  “No, since the paperwork _is_ in order, Sheriff, I trust I won’t have to file an obstruction-of-justice case against you?”

“Of course not.”  She rolled her eyes and grabbed the keys to the cell Killian was lounging in.  “Just keep out of trouble, will you?”

The last part was directed at the still-too-attractive marina owner, who stood up gracefully.

“I’ve no intention of creating any trouble, love,” he replied immediately.  “And I’m sorry to have put you in this position.  My conduct towards Ms. French was inexcusable, and I’m prepared to make amends in any way I can.”

“Tell her that,” Emma replied, but Tony Rose spoke up before Killian could reply.

“Conrad, man, why can’t you get us out on bail?”

It was a good question; Tony was one of the ten or so richest people in Storybrooke (Conrad Rivulet, Emma had learned a few days earlier, was the fifth), and yet he was still languishing in that cell while Killian waltzed through the now-open door to collect his belongings. Of course, Tony’s crime had been a lot more vicious and definitely pre-meditated, but that didn’t always matter in Storybrooke.

“Probably because you’ve openly admitted to your misdeeds instead of keeping your mouth shut,” Conrad— _Jafar_ —retorted easily.  “Mr. O’Malley had the sense to make a call and resist the urge to brag.”

“We did the town a service.  We—”

“Thank you for proving my point,” the lawyer interjected smoothly, and gestured Killian towards the door.  He shot Emma a smile.  “I’ll be seeing you again, Sherriff.”

“I bet you will,” Emma groaned, and returned to her paperwork as Tony Rose started whining again.  She _really_ would be glad to see the backs of those two, but their trial wasn’t scheduled to take place for another month at the earliest.

* * *

 

_5 Months Before the Curse_

Snow might have relented faster than David had expected, but that didn’t mean finding this legendary outlaw was easy.  However, David finally found the camp of the Merry Men, and promptly found himself set upon by a group of three outlaws, whom he had a heck of a time convincing to take him to see Robin Hood.  Fortunately, although he was a prince (and technically a king) these days, David had been born a plain shepherd and knew how to act like he was neither rich nor important.  He also knew how to hide his valuables from thieves.

“Little John said that a knight wanted to see me,” a deep voice said from behind him, and David turned.

“I’m not a knight,” he replied honestly.  “Merely a man in need of a thief.”

“Well, you certainly found yourself a den of thieves, but we’re not for hire,” Robin Hood replied, giving David an odd look.

“He said you’d say that.”

“Who?” Robin asked.

“Rumplestiltskin,” David answered, reaching into his to doublet to pull out a letter, only to freeze when the outlaw’s bow came up, arrow notched and ready to shoot.  The Merry Men had taken David’s weapons before they allowed him into the camp, but it wasn’t as if he could have easily defended himself from an arrow shot at close range, anyway.  All he could do was take a deep breath, not make any sudden moves, and hope that Robin Hood’s fingers weren’t itching.

“ _He_ sent you,” the outlaw grated out from between gritted teeth. 

“Not exactly,” he said slowly, carefully.  “He did recommend you, though.  Said you’re an excellent thief, even if you don’t always keep your deals.”

“I—that was a different time,” Robin said quickly, and David saw a mix of conflicted emotions crossing his face.  “I was a different man.”

“That’s probably something I understand better than you know,” David replied wryly.  “Look, I’m not here to endanger you.  I need your help, and I have something that I think you’ll want in exchange.”

“What exactly is that?”  The bow didn’t precisely lower, but Robin did relax a little.

“A signed promise from Rumplestiltskin that he’ll forget about the deal you broke, so long as you help me.”

“And how in the _world_ would you get something like that?”

“I made a deal of my own.  I can’t afford to hide in the forest to avoid the Dark One finding me,” David said frankly.  “I have a family to protect, and this is the way to do it—and to get his help.  I need it.”

“There are safer ways to get help, you know,” Robin pointed out, finally lowering his bow and replacing the arrow in his quiver.  “But if you’ve made a deal with him, I can’t help you get out of it.”

“That’s not what I’m looking for.  I’m looking for someone to help me break into Maleficent’s castle,” he replied.  “I hear you’ve done it before, and if you help me, you _can_ be free and clear of that broken deal with Rumplestiltskin.  Look, he’s written this himself, and I can stand surety for it.”

“You?  The knight who isn’t a knight?”

Could an outlaw be more stubborn?  There were moments where David thought that Rumplestiltskin had sent him here as part of some cosmic joke, that the Dark One’s sense of humor had gotten the better of him.  He _had_ intended to keep his identity a secret, but there was definitely no way to do that with Robin Hood.  The man was too clever, and far too unprepared to trust even Rumplestiltskin’s word.  _Yet he survived breaking a deal with him,_ David thought.  _That means he’s very clever or very lucky.  Frankly, I need both.  Otherwise, trying to store this bottle away will be the death of us both._

“Well, I never said that I wasn’t a king,” he finally said with a shrug.  “Will that help?”

Robin stared at him for a moment before bursting out laughing.  “Really?”

“I’m afraid so.”

It was a confusing beginning to a friendship, but a beginning none the same.

* * *

 

She didn’t know where else to go.

Logic said that this was the last place Mary Margaret should go after Francis Scadlock had oh-so-gloatingly just _happened_ to mention that he had seen David out with Kathryn Cole, had seen them holding hands and even _kissing_ outside the animal shelter.  She hadn’t believed him until Granny admitted that David had appeared to bring Kathryn to the diner on a date—not on one of Mary Margaret’s shifts, of course.  Even Jefferson confessed to seeing them together when she pressed him, and _that_ certainly wasn’t what Mary Margaret expected to hear.  Normally, she would have gone home with her confused grief, but Emma was off checking up on Graham, and Mary Margaret knew that the former sheriff needed Emma more than she did right now.  He’d been crippled and he was still living alone.  Mary Margaret had just had her heart broken.  _Again._

So, she went to Regina, the absolute _last_ person she should turn to.  After all, David was Regina’s husband.  He was already cheating on Regina with Mary Margaret.  What right did Mary Margaret have to go crying to the wronged wife when David proved to be a cheater twice over?

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted quietly, after the story had come pouring out to Regina and the pair were sitting on the couch together.  “I _want_ to believe Henry’s theory about a curse, but is that only because I want to believe that David and I are fated to love one another, that we’re really other people who were happily married?  Am I just lying to myself?”

“No, you aren’t,” Regina said softly.  “Look Sn— _Mary Margaret_ , I don’t know what’s going on.  But I’ll get to the bottom of it.  This isn’t like David.”

“I didn’t think it was, but _everyone_ saw him!” she sobbed before she could stop herself.  “If it was just Scadlock, I’d think he was lying, but…”

“Because Scadlock is my mother’s creature, yes,” the older woman agreed with a scowl.  “But I doubt Mother could have gotten Granny to lie for her, even if Jefferson knuckled under.  So, whatever happened, they were definitely in the diner together.  And I’ll find out why.”

Mary Margaret worked hard to swallow back another sob, but she couldn’t not whisper: “Why are you helping me?”

“Because you’re my sister,” Regina replied bluntly.  “Even if you don’t remember it.  I’ll always look out for you.”

“Really?” She’d been alone for so much of her life, and even when she’d tried not to be, she’d always messed it up.  Having Emma as a roommate was a godsend, but Mary Margaret could never forget that _she_ was supposed to be Emma’s mother. That made it hard to lean on the other woman, even though Emma seemed to make that ridiculously easy.  Right now, however, Regina was offering her a shoulder to cry on, a friend and a _sister_. 

“Really,” Regina reassured her, and Mary Margaret didn’t try to pull back when Regina drew her into a hug.  “We’ll find out what David is doing.  I have a feeling that there’s more to this than meets the eye.”

* * *

 

“It won’t work,” August said bluntly, fidgeting uneasily under the Blue Fairy’s stare.  “Me playing Baelfire, I mean.”

Frowning, ‘Mother Superior’ primly folded her hands on the desk in front of her.  “Why not?”

“Because Lacey French—or Lacey Gold now, I guess; I looked up their marriage certificate down at City Records—knows who I am.  She came by my room at Granny’s on Valentine’s Day and kind of, um, cornered me.”

“And you’ve waited this long to tell me why?” Blue demanded.

“I had other things on my mind.” 

Fortunately, Blue wasn’t as good at detecting lies as Emma was, because August really didn’t have any reasons to tell her the truth.  Sure, he knew that she was the epitome of goodness and light in their world, but she had asked him to tell a terrible and dangerous lie.  Maybe August would have done it if he hadn’t been caught; he was selfish enough to admit that the idea of gaining control of the Dark One—and getting the wooden tide turned back!—certainly appealed to him.  But if Lacey/Belle/whoever she really was knew who he was and was willing to tell Gold…well, that idea fell apart around him, and August really was too self-centered to commit suicide like that.

“Pinocchio, child, breaking the curse and protecting the Savior is of the _utmost_ importance!  You cannot allow yourself to be distracted by worldly desires.”

“I’m not,” August snapped before he could stop himself.  _What I am is being puppeteered by the Evil Queen, and if I tell you that, she’ll kill my papa._ “Emma’s difficult, okay?  And she really doesn’t want to trust me anymore.”

“Then you must find a way to make her trust you,” Blue replied oh-so-helpfully.  “Because we are all depending upon you.”

“Well, maybe you picked the wrong guy for that,” he retorted, jumping to his feet and hobbling towards the door.  “Because I’m really not what you’re looking for.”

He left before the chief fairy could say another word, feeling guilty, terrified, and so very alone.

* * *

 

“You weren’t in the shop yesterday,” Regina snapped testily.  Fortunately, Rumplestiltskin was alone today; his former student had a tendency of walking in and starting talking at the same time, all without bothering to notice who might be listening.

“My wife was assaulted,” he replied drily, rolling his eyes.  “Pardon me for closing up for the day after that.”

“I heard.  Emma said you came in and healed her, which means she’s fine.”

“Your compassion warms my heart,” Rumplestiltskin said, laying on the sarcasm a bit more thickly than usual; Regina was apparently a little hard headed today.  But his student-turned-friend (and almost daughter) merely rolled her eyes.

“You wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t, and the pirate wouldn’t be breathing in that case, either,” she pointed out.  “Though I have to say that it probably does you some good to be wrapped around Belle’s little finger, if it stops you from murdering people.”

_That_ made Rumplestiltskin see red, and for a moment, his curse screamed at him to take his frustrations out on Regina.  But he pushed the desire back with an effort.  “Very few would have missed him,” he replied, rolling his eyes.  “Probably only your mother.”

“Except Emma’s the sheriff, and she has a hard time condoning murder,” Regina pointed out.  “You’re the one who wanted the lynch mobs to stay away from you.  Murder’s not the best way to make sure the Savior doesn’t actively  hate you, you know.”

She had a point, though Rumplestiltskin was not about to admit that.  So,  instead he just asked: “What did you come here for, dear?”

“We needed to talk.  Mother’s got her magic back, and I think she’s gathering allies.”

“Well, that was only a matter of time,” he replied automatically, then noticed the hitch in Regina’s voice and the uncertainty in her expression.  “Woke Zelena up, did she?”

“You _knew_?”

“That you had an actual sister? Of course I did.  There’s very little I don’t,” Rumplestiltskin pointed out.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Regina demanded, and for a moment, he thought she might cry.

“Honestly?  I thought that revelation should come from your mother,” he said carefully, realizing just how close to the edge Regina was.  Zelena was off-putting at the best of times, but Regina had always valued family.  She’d _made_ herself a family when the one nature had given her failed, and finding out that she’d had a real sister all along must have been a knife through the gut. 

“But…but you _knew_ ,” his former student whispered, looking broken.  The next question was more accusatory: “Is she yours?”

“No!  Most definitely not.”  Slowly, Rumplestiltskin came around the counter to stand in front of her.  “Regina…I knew about your sister, and I taught her magic, as I did you.  Zelena I taught as a favor to your mother.  You I taught because I wanted to.”

Being so honest was tricky; Rumplestiltskin was rarely comfortable telling complete truths, and although this one certainly left out key elements—like how he had started teaching both sisters as possible curse casters—the important parts were absolutely honest.  He _had_ kept teaching Regina because he wanted to, because she’d become something almost like a daughter to him.  He’d never meant to let her in, but somehow Regina had crept her way into his blackened heart, because Rumplestiltskin had never quite been able to shake the knowledge that she _should_ have been his.  Had he shaped her into the monster he’d originally intended to, he doubted that he would cherish quite so many tender feelings towards her, but he _hadn’t_.  In the end, Cora had been plenty monster to get the job done, and in some ways, Rumplestiltskin was grateful for that.

“Do I have any other mystery siblings out there?” she responded after a moment, sounding slightly mollified by his answer.

“None I know of.”

“Zelena’s crazy,” Regina said next, as if daring him to argue. 

Rumplestiltskin snorted softly.  “Certifiably.” 

“She wanted to rip Henry’s heart out!”

“Did she?”  That would pose a problem, and not only because Regina would do _anything_ to keep her son safe.  Including side with Cora.

“No, thankfully.  Mother said something about how I’ll have much more to lose if the curse breaks, and that they should wait,” was the quiet response.  But there was steel in Regina’s voice, a steel that hadn’t been there in the Enchanted Forest.  She’d been brave enough back then, but now she was stronger.  Harder.  Regina had made a decision to fight her mother, and she was not going to back down.  That much was plain in her eyes when she met his gaze levelly.  “But I’m not letting that happen.  I’ll make whatever deal I need to make with you, right now, to keep him safe.”

“I’m no threat to your son, Regina,” he replied quietly, a little stung that she thought he might endanger a child.  Whatever else Rumplestiltskin had always been, he’d never victimized children.  Traded for, yes, but every child he got in a deal had gone on to a better home. 

“I didn’t think you were.  But I’ll still make a deal with you.”  She squared her shoulders.  “I’ll protect your daughter to the best of my ability if you will do the same for my son.  Against Mother or whomever else threatens them.”

Rumplestiltskin never hesitated: “You have a deal.”

* * *

 

“Look, Tamara, it’s just a visit to a couple of old friends,” Neal found himself saying uneasily, looking at his girlfriend.  She arched an eyebrow in return, standing with her arms crossed and obviously not buying his story.

“Why on such short notice, then?” she asked.

“One of them might be in a little trouble,” he explained evasively.  He _wanted_ to trust Tamara with the story, but how could he explain what Emma had meant to him?  Hell, Neal wasn’t exactly sure what Emma meant to him now, only that he couldn’t leave her in danger.  Of course, he was in love with Tamara.  They’d been dating for months, and Tamara was a great girl.  She was everything Neal Cassidy could have wanted: smart, fun-loving, and with a wicked sense of humor.  She was also completely and utterly normal.  It wasn’t her fault that his memories of Emma had a tendency of making her look inadequate.

“What kind of trouble?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Neal replied, trying to shrug and make it seem unimportant.  “August is just the kind of guy whose lies pile up, and sometimes he needs someone to bail him out,” he added, not quite lying himself. 

Not that he really considered August a _friend_.  August was the man who had convinced him—to his everlasting shame and regret—to leave Emma behind.  He _should_ have stayed with her, or should have gone to jail for her at the very least.  Instead, he’d let his own fears drive him away, and how stupid was that?  He feared someone that he had once loved, someone who _had_ to be dead by now.  And even if his father was alive, it wasn’t like his father had actually ever hurt him.  Rumplestiltskin had been many things: smothering, overprotective, and paranoid included, but he’d never harmed his son.  Just other people.  _Besides, it shouldn’t ever have been about me.  It’s about Emma, and when she needed help, I left her._   Neal wouldn’t make that mistake twice. 

“You promised you’d be here this week,” Tamara said next, and that made Neal blink.

“I did?”

“Yes, silly.  Remember?  My friend Roberta is coming into town on Friday.”  Stepping forward, Tamara put her hands on his chest.  “She’s my oldest friend, and you said that you’d be around to meet her.  She’s like a sister to me.”  Tamara’s voice dropped a bit, and then she said the one thing sure to get him to capitulate:  “I didn’t think you believed in breaking promises.”

“I don’t—I just…ah,” Neal stuttered.  “Did I really promise that?”

Tamara met his gaze levelly, and he couldn’t detect a lie.  “You did.”

And August had said Emma was fine, hadn’t he?  He’d said ‘for now’, but August had also promised to let him know if things went south.  Neal could probably afford a couple more days in New York before he headed to Maine.  After all, he wasn’t sure if there was anything left to salvage between him and Emma, and he was _supposed_ to be in love with Tamara.  And he was.  Most of the time.  So, he did what any sane boyfriend would do: he gave in.

“I’ll put my trip off for a few days,” he promised.  “And meet Roberta like I promised.  I’m sure my friends are fine.  August has always been a bit of a drama queen, anyway.”

“You’re the best!” Tamara darted in for a kiss, and left soon after that, heading to work.  Neal, however, usually worked from home—he was a hacker for hire, though nowadays on the right side of the law.  People paid him to find the flaws in their websites’ security, which actually paid pretty well, all things considered.  Besides, any job he could do while wearing nothing but  his pajama pants had to be a good one, and he loved the flexible hours.

Still, he pulled out his phone and called August again after Tamara left, just to make sure things were okay.  But the call went to voicemail after only a few rings.

“August, man, you really know how to _not_ be there when someone needs you, don’t you?” he grumbled after the beep.  “Look, give me a call back.  I’ve got to spend a few more days here in New York and then I’ll head north, but let me know if anything’s changed, all right?”

What August couldn’t tell him, of course was why  Neal spent a good deal longer thinking of the ex-girlfriend he’d abandoned than he did the girl he was supposed to be dating.  He’d _never_ forgotten Emma and never stopped regretting his own cowardly decisions…and there would always be a part of him that loved her.  Was that something he should tell Tamara?  Should he be honest with her, or even just call it quits?  Tamara had been acting increasingly strange lately, even before he’d started talking about going to Maine, and Neal wasn’t quite sure if he liked this ‘new’ Tamara.  Maybe it was just time to end this before she started talking about marriage again.

* * *

 

“Who _is_ she, Mother?” Zelena asked, trying not to sigh.  They had both noticed, of course, the speed at which Rumplestiltskin had arrived to heal his little maid, and Zelena didn’t like it one bit.  Her mother’s relationship with the Dark One seemed very complicated, and although Zelena knew she _should_ leave him to Mother—particularly since Mother seemed a wee bit possessive where Rumplestiltskin was concerned—she couldn’t help herself. 

“Be patient, darling,” Cora smiled in return.  “We’ll deal with her in time.”

“She’s nothing,” she scoffed.  “I don’t even think she has magic.  His tastes certainly have done downhill.”

A beautifully manicured hand patted her arm, and the slight touch warmed Zelena’s heart.  “There’s no need to rush things.  Revenge is best when well thought out and meticulously planned.  Rumple will pay for betraying _both_ of us.  I promise.”

“Oh, I know you’d never let me down,” Zelena gushed.  “I’m just so… _angry_ at him.”

And jealous, but she wouldn’t say that out loud.  She knew her mother’s plans, and Zelena was absolutely _not_ going to get in the way.  After all, her mother was trusting her!  Cora had told Zelena how she planned to get the dagger, and Zelena would help her execute all of her plans.  Even if that meant she couldn’t have everything she wanted,  Zelena was certain that her mother would make up for that.  Cora always did.

Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t do a bit of research on her own, first.

* * *

 

It didn’t take a genius to realize where Ruby had disappeared to, and Belle was no fool.  She’d asked Rumple to check into it, and he had, calling in a minor favor that Judge Herman owed him to confirm that Lacey’s best friend was indeed in the Basement.  Belle had _almost_ thrown caution to the wind and asked her husband to get Ruby out of there, no matter what the cost, but she’d barely managed to stop herself.  Rumplestiltskin would do it if she asked him, but it also seemed like Emma and Regina were plotting to get _everyone_ out of the Basement, so perhaps it was better if she just found a way to help them.

Not that she wanted to leave Ruby there a second longer than she had to, but Belle understood that sparking a war in Storybrooke now, before everyone was awake, was in no one’s best interests.  Cora had gathered too many allies and had proven that she had the ability to wake up anyone she wanted, whenever she wanted, which was a skill that their side could not replicate.  That meant it would be Rumple and Regina against anyone Cora was able to bring to her side, and Belle _wasn’t_ so reckless that she never noted the odds against them.  So, she swallowed hard and hoped against hope that the sheriff would act soon, accepting the D.A.’s proposal of a plea bargain for Killian “O’Malley” so that Emma didn’t get tied down investigating the way the pirate had assaulted her.

Belle didn’t like the man, and she never would, but if doing that kept Emma’s attention on the Basement, it was a trade she was willing to make.

* * *

 

Emma really had too many irons in the fire right now.  How in the world was she supposed to break a curse when she had an assault case going, two idiot would-be murderers in jail (the fools kept talking themselves into _more_ serious charges), a depressed roommate, and Ruby apparently having been kidnapped and taken to the uber-secret Basement.  She felt horrible for having left it for so long, but Killian really had only given her that information four days earlier.  It felt like a lifetime had passed since then, yet hardly any time had passed at all.

Still, she needed to talk to Regina and find out if Regina’s idea had panned out.

“Emma?  Why are you calling so late?” her friend answered on the second ring.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” she replied guilty, only then noticing that it was past eleven in the evening.

“No, I was trying to talk to your idiot father.  What’s up?”

On other days, Emma might have jumped down that rabbit hole, but right now she didn’t have time.  “We talked a couple days ago about something that you said you might have an idea for.  Any progress?”

“What…oh, _damn_ ,” Regina cursed.  “No.  I haven’t even talked to him  yet.  I’m sorry.  Everything has just been insane.  I had a hell of a day.”

“I get that,” Emma said feelingly.  “Can you, um, try to talk to whoever it is soon? I don’t want to wait any longer than we have to.”

“Yeah, I’ll do it as soon as I can.  Promise.”

“Thanks, Regina.”

* * *

 

They were curled up in bed the next morning, just drowsing in one another’s arms, when the phone rang.  Tucked in against his chest, Belle grumbled something incoherent and frustrated, and then sleepily grabbed a hold of Rumplestiltskin when he started to roll away to answer the annoyingly chirping phone.  Unwilling to twist free of her, and mentally cursing whoever felt the need to call his house at six in the morning, he flicked his wrist and the phone flew into his hand.

“Yes?” he asked gruffly.

“Meet me for dinner at La Tandoor at seven.  Tonight, dear,” the cold voice on the other end told him, and Rumplestiltskin _felt_ the magic wrapping around him even before he could find his voice to reply.

“What?” he snapped, suddenly fully awake and heart pounding.  Cora wasn’t such a fool, was she?  Surely, she didn’t think she could resume her same old games, not when he had magic and could flatten her like a bug.

“Oh, don’t be so frightened,” she laughed softly, and he could have killed her then and there.  “This is just a dinner date, Rumple.  I thought we should catch up.”

“I have no desire to go on a _date_ with you,” Rumplestiltskin snapped, and felt Belle jerk awake.  Wide blue eyes stared at him, and he felt a small hand move to his side, landing comfortingly on his hip.

“I never asked what you wanted, did I?”

“Cora—”

“Tonight, dear,” she repeated, and the magic sank in even deeper.  No, he couldn’t get out of it.  Using a ‘please’ now would only tie the curse in a knot he could ill afford to create, and even then, he’d probably lose.  But he could keep things from spiraling out of control.  Couldn’t he?

“Fine,” he snarled, and turned to slam the phone down.  Doing so let him look away from Belle, gave him a moment to force back the sheer terror that threatened to consume him.

_Kill her tonight.  Shove those caveats down her throat,_ his curse whispered. _Your plans will survive her death.  Kill Cora.  Kill Cora or_ unite _with Cora.  There is no middle—_

With an effort, Rumplestiltskin jerked his mind away from the terrible inner voice, unable to deal with its tempting litany while he fought back his own fears.  Belle, however, seemed to sense his inner conflict, because she snuggled up against his back, arms wrapping around his waist from behind.

“That was Cora, wasn’t it?” she asked gently, and he could only nod, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to push aside the memories of pain and fears of what might come.  Lips touched the back of his shoulder.  “Oh, Rumple.  What does she want?”

“I don’t know.  Dinner,” he replied raggedly.  “I think I can stop it from becoming anything else.”

“You can,” his wife said softly.  “I believe in you.”

“I wish I did,” Rumplestiltskin admitted.  “I wish I wasn’t—” He cut off.

“Afraid?” Belle asked, but her voice held none of the condemnation that Milah’s would have, none of the self-loathing he felt.

“Yeah.”

“Fear doesn’t make you a coward, you know,” she told him.  “There’s a writer in this world who said that ‘there can be no courage unless you’re scared’.  You’re not a coward for being afraid of her, Rumple.  She hurt you terribly.  You’d have to be insane not to fear what she could do.”

“I’m not afraid of _her_ ,” he snapped more viciously than he meant to, but Belle just squeezed him.  Words stuck in his mouth; of course he was terrified of Cora.  He feared her _almost_ much as he hated her.  “I just…”

“I’ll be here no matter what,” Belle promised.  “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered, and let himself cling to her for just a little while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think Cora is up to in regards to this “date” she has come up with? And do you think Emma will successfully manage to break everyone out of the Basement? 
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Sixty-Six—“Cornered,” in which Emma walks in on a magical fight, Mary Margaret finds something precious missing, Rumplestiltskin and Cora go on their ‘date’, and Belle tries to help Emma with the curse.


	66. Cornered

Going to work that day  with a ‘date’ hanging over his head was the last thing Rumplestiltskin wanted to do, but he opened the shop, anyway.  The only thing he wanted less than to go out with Cora was to demonstrate any type of weakness she could prey upon, so he squared his shoulders and kept to his normal schedule.  He had an inventory to do, and that at least would serve as enough of a distraction to keep his mind (mostly) busy for the day.  Of course, he had copies of the endless number of inventories that Gold had conducted under the curse, but _Gold_ hadn’t had any clue which objects belonged to which person.  Rumplestiltskin, however, had a pretty good idea about the origins of most of the items in the shop.  Or he would, once he finished connecting the dots and wrote it all down.

He was an hour into the inventory and thoroughly distracting himself when the ringing of a bell drifted in through the curtain separating the front of the shop from the back.  Given that he didn’t detect the sound of the door slamming open with gusto, he didn’t think it was Regina.  She always stormed in on the winds of fury, like a barely controlled tornado hell-bent on whatever her current fixation was.  Even on her happier days, Regina was a force of nature.  Whoever had arrived today, however, was not.

Rising from his crouch, Rumplestiltskin grabbed his cane and reminded himself to limp as he exited the back room.  Making himself do so was harder than he’d ever expected.  The anticipation of finally being rid of his fake limp was one of many reasons he could not wait for the curse to break, though at least that one was further down the list than others.  _Yet I am still so very ready to drop this façade, along with so many others.  Playing the mildly dangerous pawnbroker is getting old._ Shoving aside the curtain with his left hand, he stepped into the shop proper and stopped cold.

Zelena was standing at the counter, playing with Baelfire’s leather ball.  It took all of Rumplestiltskin’s gargantuan self-control to stop himself from snatching the ball away from her immediately, but his hands still itched to rip it away, either physically or using magic.  However, he forced himself to stop and fold his hands over his cane, greeting his former student mildly:

“Ms. Zephyr, what an unexpected surprise.”

“Hello, Rumple,” Zelena smiled that ingratiating smile of hers.  “I thought we should have a little chat now that the cat’s out of the bag.”

“Did you now?” Rumplestiltskin watched his former student, watched the way her eyes were shining with pride and malice.  Zelena thought she was _winning_ , didn’t she?  Cora had lifted her up out of obscurity and welcomed her into her life, and Zelena was too desperate to realize what that meant.  She was _so_ certain that Cora wanted her above all others, including Regina.  She couldn’t see that Cora was using her like Cora used everyone else.

“Well, we were so close once,” she cooed.  “And I’ve missed you.  I thought often of your…teachings while I was in Oz.”

“It’s a pity you didn’t learn more from them, then,” he replied, ignoring her attempt to imply there had ever been a relationship between them.  Rumplestiltskin knew that look in Zelena’s eye, the one that said she wanted _him_ and was going to drive him insane. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“I told you to strike out on your own and make something of yourself.  Not to put yourself under someone else’s thumb,” Rumplestiltskin said bluntly. 

“She’s my mother!”

“And she’s a consummate manipulator,” he pointed out.  “She’s manipulating you, too, dear.”

“ _I_ am her daughter,” Zelena snapped, obviously trying for imperious and yet still coming off a little whiny.  “ _I_ am involved in all her plans, and she trusts me.”

“Cora doesn’t trust anyone,” Rumplestiltskin scoffed.  Perhaps he could dredge a wedge between them.  That would certainly be useful.  He knew where Regina’s loyalties lay, knew that they would be on the same side against Cora.  Zelena, however…well, she _could_ be useful as a wildcard, assuming he could turn her against Cora.

“And you do?” she asked straightforwardly.

“I trust where trust is earned.”  It was even an honest answer, but Zelena, being Zelena, took everything a step further than Rumplestiltskin meant it to go.

“How exactly might one win such _intimate_ trust from you?” Zelena asked, leaning over the counter towards him.  She was a well-built woman, and leaning forward like that definitely put her best assets on display.  Rumplestiltskin, however, did his best to ignore that.

“Intimacy has nothing to do with my trust,” he replied, deciding to be blunt because Zelena had never been very good at taking a hint. 

“That’s such a pity,” she said, reaching out to stroke his arm.  Pulling away, Rumplestiltskin fought to keep a scowl off of his face, but Zelena’s touch reminded him of Cora’s, and with that evening’s ‘date’ hanging over him, Rumplestiltskin could not abide that.  “We’ve always been so close.”

“Not that kind of close, dearie,” he snapped before he could stop himself.

Scowling, Zelena drew back,  which at least allowed him to rescue Bae’s ball from her grip.  “What, you’d prefer some little maid?” she snarled.  “Some cursed librarian?  I never thought you liked your women _boring_ , Rumple.”

“What I do in my personal life is my own affair.” 

He had to be careful, though.  Cora was bound by his ‘please’ not to harm Belle or Gabrielle, but Zelena was not, or at least not if Cora didn’t put her up to it.  Unfortunately, Zelena was perfectly capable of going after Belle on her own; jealousy was part of her nature, and she was likely to lash out.  The last thing he wanted—or would allow—was for his wife or daughter to become Zelena’s targets.

“She can’t be that good of a bed warmer,” Zelena rolled her eyes.  “So, what is it about her?  Is she someone who owed you something in the old world and you just want to see her face when she wakes up?  I bet that will be _lovely_.”

“I’ll only tell you one more time that it isn’t your business, Zelena,” Rumplestiltskin said quietly, feeling his curse rage inside him, baying for Zelena’s blood.  Strangely enough, his curse was feeling protective—or was it possessive?—over his family today.  Some days, the demon inside Rumplestiltskin wanted nothing more than to be rid of his wife and daughter, but today it wanted them. _Probably because someone else wants them, too,_ he thought cynically. 

“Oh, are we feeling possessive over the little woman?” she cooed, malicious light filling her eyes.  “Perhaps I should go pay her a visit.  I’m sure she’d bleed wonder—”

Power ripped out of Rumplestiltskin before he could form a coherent spell, slamming into Zelena and sending her crashing into the door.  She slid down to the floor, panting and staring at him, wide-eyed and shocked.  _Kill her!_ his curse screamed.  _Make_ her _bleed, make her suffer.  Make her pay for the pain her mother has inflicted upon you!_   With an effort, he reined his magic in, calling up happy memories to drown out the surge of fury.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t lost control like this in years, and a distant part of his mind knew that this was a _bad_ sign; he was already dancing on the knife-edge, and if he couldn’t control his emotions, he might just lose himself to the darkness.  Frantically focusing on the smell of meat pies he remembered so delighting in as a child (because right now, using thoughts of his wife or daughter would only stoke his rage), he slowly throttled his magic back, calming the wind that had started to whip around his shop.

Meanwhile, Zelena had staggered to her feet and called a green ball of fire to her hand, stalking forward with a manic grin on her face.  But Rumplestiltskin came back on balance before she could throw it, twirling a hand in the air to extinguish the flames.

“I’ll destroy that little wench of yours for this!” Zelena snarled, and magic slammed into Rumplestiltskin’s chest.  He managed to absorb most of the blow, but it still stung, and Rumplestiltskin staggered backwards, losing his cane as it clattered to the floor.  “And I’ll make you _pay!_ ”

“You and what army?  You’re no match for the Dark One,” he snorted, flicking the fingers of his right hand and bringing an invisible hand smashing down on Zelena’s head.  She was quick, though, and managed to twirl away from the worst of the blow.

“Mother and I will make you suffer!”

“Oh, your heartless mother who loves you _so_ much?” Rumplestiltskin came around the counter to laugh in her face.   “She’ll use you and discard you, just like she does everyone else.”

Darting forward, Zelena tried to shove a hand in his chest and steal his heart, but Rumplestiltskin teleported away, landing right behind her and landing a magical punch between her shoulder blades.  Zelena staggered forward a few steps before she could spin around, snarling furiously and calling up two green fireballs.  Rumplestiltskin, however, conjured up a miniature tornado, which whipped around Zelena and smothered both fires.  Somehow, Zelena still managed to hit him with a magical blow that sent Rumplestiltskin stumbling back a step, his head snapping back so hard that his neck cracked.  A deep cut sliced open his right cheek, almost all the way down to the bone, and he hissed in pain as she retorted:

“We’ll see what you say about that when you’re groveling before _both_ of us!”

“How in the world do you propose to accomplish that, dearie?” Rumplestiltskin drawled, using the question—to which he was certain he had the answer, much though he was not going to allow _that_ to happen—mask the power he was calling upon.  Killing Zelena might not be the wisest course of action, but she was proving too unpredictable to survive.  He just had to do it quickly and quietly, and then destroy the body so that no one found it.

“When Mother—”

His first blow hit her and knocked Zelena back, but apparently Rumplestiltskin had taught her too well.  Zelena retaliated with a green fireball that came at him too fast to extinguish, forcing Rumplestiltskin to duck as he distantly noticed the tinkling of the bell on the door behind him.  One of the guitars on the wall caught fire, and he barely managed to extinguish that nest of flames before they could spread.  But he did, and then his left hand came up, full of sparkling black power and ready to _end_ Zelena—

“What the hell is going on here?” a new voice demanded, and both combatants spun to face Emma Swan.

That was unexpected, and at any rate, having the Savior witness him in the act of committing murder wasn’t on today’s agenda.  Belle had been right about how he needed Emma on his side.  So, Rumplestiltskin reluctantly allowed the ball of darkness in his hand to sputter out.  Twirling his right hand with a flourish, he called his previously abandoned cane to him, letting Emma see the bit of showy magic.  _Just in case you’re somehow doubting what you already saw, Miss Swan,_ he thought but did not say.   _Let’s make sure you’re believing, shall we?_

“Oh, look.  It’s everyone’s favorite sheriff,” Zelena snarled, obviously miffed at the interruption and having no idea that her life had just been saved.

“And you’re the Wicked Witch of the West.  Big deal,” Emma shot back, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t even try to hold back his snicker.

“Maybe I just should kill you now and save everyone the annoyance of having to deal with you,” Zelena retorted, clearly thrown off by Emma knowing who she was.

“Will you turn green before or after you kill me?” the sheriff inquired, and now Rumplestiltskin laughed out loud even as Zelena lunged forward, obviously ready to rip Emma’s heart out.

Smoothly, he stepped in the way.  Killing Emma would break the curse, but not neatly; her death would _shatter_ it and deprive him (and Regina) of a powerful ally.  No, the Savior needed to live to break the curse, particularly when they were this close.  “Do run back to Mother dearest, Zelena,” he said quietly.  “I’m sure she might be a tad offended if you start killing people she doesn’t want dead.”

“I’m not done with you,” Zelena snapped at him, tossing her hair and glaring.  “Just you wait.”

“I tremble in anticipation,” Rumplestiltskin replied dryly, making Zelena huff in annoyance.  She did, stalk out, shoving past Emma and leaving the shop.  A moment of silence passed between the Savior and the Dark One, while Emma twisted to stare, wide-eyed, at the carnage in the shop.  The place wasn’t _too_ worse for wear, but Rumplestiltskin would still have to spend the day repairing broken items and removing scorch marks from the far wall.

“What the hell were you doing?” Emma demanded.

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “A difference of opinion between sorcerers.  Nothing to be concerned about.”

“That didn’t look like a mere difference of opinion,” the young woman retorted.  “And did you say her _mother_ is here?  I didn’t know the Wicked Witch of the West was supposed to have a mother.”

“Ah, that’s because Regina has apparently not introduced you to the latest wrinkle in her family dynamics.  That was Zelena, her half-sister.”

_That_ made Emma blink, and several seconds ticked by before she finally breathed: “And there I was thinking that Henry’s family tree couldn’t get any more screwed up.  Guess I was wrong.”

* * *

 

“I guess _that_ was a bad idea,” Ruby said to Mirabella through gritted teeth. 

“I could have told you so,” the petite blonde replied.  “In fact, I _did_ tell you.”

“I know,” the former waitress sighed.  “But I had to try.”

“Running _never_ works,” Mirabella said quietly, glancing towards the door that Mr. Horn and the others had disappeared through.  “All they’ll do is hurt you.”

“At least they can’t sell me now,” Ruby snarled, wishing she had an appropriate outlet for her anger.  But, no, all she’d gotten was a beating instead of freedom like she’d wanted, and now her legs _ached_.  She was pretty sure that both her ankles were sprained, but at least that meant she was out of this ridiculous Basement game for now.

Mirabella, however, gave her a sad smile.  “You don’t have to be able to walk to work, you know.”

Ruby could only stare.

* * *

 

Emma left the pawnshop and headed over to Regina’s, using the walk to clear her head.  Seeing magic—first from Regina and then from Gold—had been one thing, but walking into the middle of some damn sorcerers’ duel was another entirely.  She’d started believing, actually believing, and that meant that Emma had to recognize when she was in over her head.  She had a pretty good grip on the real world, but magic was a wildcard she knew nothing about.  Regina, however, knew plenty about it, so Emma went to her.

She’d stopped knocking weeks ago, which was how she wandered in to find Regina reading the paper with a scowl. 

“Anything interesting?” she asked.

“No,” her friend/aunt grumbled.  “Just a whole lot of boredom.  I was _so_ glad to be free of Mother when I quit my job, but somehow I never figured out how _long_ days were when you have nothing to do.”  Regina gestured irritably at the spotless kitchen.  “I could clean, but then what would the maid do?  And I’ve already baked enough goodies to fill up _three_ of Henry’s school bake sales.”

“Well, is me picking your brain entertaining enough?” Emma asked, sliding into the chair across from her.

“ _Anything_ is better than this rubbish comics section,” the older woman replied feelingly.

“I just walked in on Gold and Chloe Zephyr—who is apparently your sister?—trying to kill one another.”

“What?” That made Regina sit up straight.  “Did he do it?”

“Regina!”

“What?  I never knew her before she came here with Mother a few days ago and wanted to rip Henry’s heart out,” was the snappish reply.  “Her real name’s Zelena, by the way.  But if she picked a fight with Gold, she deserves what she gets.”

“She seemed alive enough when she left,” Emma replied, filing the name away.  Gold had called her that, too.  _Zelena._   She’d always thought that the Wicked Witch of the West was supposed to be named Elphaba. 

“Pity.”

“You don’t mean that,” she said, seeing the conflict on Regina’s face.  Regina only shrugged in response, so she continued: “I wanted to ask you about Gold.”

“What, because he’s so good at sharing information about himself?”

Now it was Emma’s turn to shrug.  “Well, I know he’s actually married to Lacey, who says her name is Belle and that she remembers everything, too.  And Henry says he’s the Beast, but even when you read the _Beauty and the Beast_ story in Henry’s book, it doesn’t say much about him and magic.  It says something about some curse taking root in him, but it really doesn’t say that he’s the kind of guy who can go toe to toe with the Wicked Witch of the West.  Henry’s guessing that he’s someone else, too, but he has no idea who.  I think you do.”

“Is there a question in there?” Regina asked, and now she looked wary.

“Yeah, an obvious one.  Who the hell is he?”

Regina looked away.  “I…I can’t tell you that.”

“Why the hell not?” Emma asked.

“Honestly?  I made a deal with him,” was the answer.  “And I’m not going to break that, so you’re going to have to ask him any questions you’ve got yourself.  Though you _should_ be able to figure it out.”

“That’s really helpful,” she said dryly.  If Emma could have figured it out herself, she would have done so already, thank you very much.  And now her reliable source of information seemed to have dried right up.  The look on Regina’s face said that she wasn’t going to volunteer any more information, either, which just made Emma want wanted to reach out and shake her.  How in the world was she going to break this curse if Regina wouldn’t answer her questions?

“Just tell me this,” Emma continued with a sigh when Regina said no more.  “He looked ready to filet this sister of yours.  Is he a danger to the rest of the town?”

Regina blinked thoughtfully.  “Not usually, I would say.  And not right now.  He and my mother have an…odd relationship, but he’s on our side when it comes to breaking the curse.”

“That’s not terribly reassuring.”

“It wasn’t meant to be,” the older woman replied truthfully.  “Just honest.”

* * *

 

One of the other waitresses had been sick, which meant Mary Margaret had worked the _very_ early shift and the lunch shift together.  By the time she got home, Emma had long since gone to work, but Mary Margaret was dead on her feet and ready for a nap.  She _liked_ working for Granny—the old woman was demanding but fair—yet being a waitress was far more exhausting than she ever could have dreamed of.  On the bright side, she knew the loft would be quiet now, without Henry there to visit Emma, so maybe she would be able to get a nice nap in.

She’d crawled halfway into bed when she noticed that her jewelry box was open, and Mary Margaret darted over to take a look.  At first, she thought that maybe she had opened the box early that morning and had forgotten about it—she had been _awfully_ tired when she got up—but after a few minutes panicked searching, she realized that her most beautiful necklace was gone.   Emma had given her that one months ago, saying that a ‘mysterious benefactor’ had passed it on to her.  Had the necklace not seemed so familiar, Mary Margaret never would have accepted it, but there was something about the heavy and old-fashioned necklace that touched a chord within her.  She couldn’t remember when she’d seen it before or how she _knew_ that it belonged to her, but that necklace was her most precious possession.

And now it was gone.

* * *

 

He felt like a right cad.  Apparently, he’d stolen something _again_ , and now Francis was left with a beautiful  necklace sitting on his kitchen counter.  Where the hell it had come from, he couldn’t remember, but he knew that Ana— _Vicky!_ —had never owned anything like that. 

“I really am going insane,” he whispered to himself, and was not at all surprised when the necklace disappeared after his next blackout.  Sometimes, he thought about going to see Dr. Hopper, but then he’d have to explain how he’d come back more than once with blood on his hands and couldn’t always remember crimes he was pretty sure he’d committed.  Francis Scadlock was a lot of things, but he wasn’t an idiot, and that meant he had no intention of finding himself in jail for crimes he couldn’t even remember.

So, he kept his mouth shut and his head down, hoping against hope that something would change.

* * *

 

He hated this restaurant, but given that he felt the same about Cora, Rumplestiltskin supposed that was rather fitting.  La Tandoor was the nicest place to eat in Storybrooke—the ‘new’ Italian place was cheesy and had an overblown reputation—but in his opinion, the food was subpar, and the staff overly full of themselves.  Still, he supposed it was better than going somewhere he actually _liked_ , which would have marred that restaurant forever in his mind. 

Thirty minutes into their ‘date’, Rumplestiltskin was thoroughly sick of making small talk and pretending people were not staring at them.  Cora had been on her best behavior so far, but he could see what she was doing.  He was a manipulator, and a more practiced one than she.  Unfortunately, he could do nothing about this.  Her caveats were still strong enough to bring him here, just as his pleases were still powerful enough to keep Cora from harming his family.  Cora wasn’t foolish enough to try to play her old games with him, because she knew that she probably could not stop him from attacking her if she did, so instead she chose a new game.  This one was physically less painful, but no less infuriating.

Cora was planning for the eventual breaking of the curse, and Rumplestiltskin could not stop her from making people think he was here willingly.  _Just you wait, dearie,_ he thought, sipping his wine.  _Your time will come._ Cora could plan all she wanted; he would still kill her the moment he was able.

“I love this shirt,” Cora said, reaching out and touching his collar.  “Is it new?”

Jerking away, Rumplestiltskin snarled: “It is.”  _And my wife bought it for me, you bitch._

“Let me touch you, now,” the mayor murmured, and Rumplestiltskin felt magic jerking him up short.  Even as he turned to glare at her, she continued in a softly seductive voice: “No pulling away now.”

“Do you _really_ want to play this game, dearie?” he snapped.  There were a hundred things he could do all the while not disobeying her caveats; he could use his magic to rip her into tiny pieces without breaking a sweat.

“We both know you’re not going to make a scene, don’t we?” Cora purred.  “You like working behind the scenes too much for that.  You don’t want to play the monster in public.”

As she spoke, she reached up to touch his lips, ghosting her fingers over his face, tracing his cheekbones and making Rumplestiltskin shiver.  He’d _tried_ to sit across from her when they’d been seated, but Cora had insisted on taking the seat next to him.  Now he was completely within her reach, and even the simplest, lightest touch was enough to make his skin crawl.  He couldn’t forget, would never forget, all those nights spent tied to her bed, unable to fight while she raped him and hurt him.  Those nightmares haunted him still, even with Belle’s gentle presence to hold them back, and Rumplestiltskin shuddered as Cora’s thumb ran along his jawline.

“You might just drive me to forget my better judgment,” he bit out tensely.

“No.  You won’t.”

Damn the woman, she was right.  Using magic now, here in a full restaurant, was utterly foolish.  If he did so, Cora would play the victim, and people would _remember_ that once the curse broke.  He didn’t have time to deal with lynch mobs or fools that thought he was a monster and wanted to play hero by slaying the beast.  Once the curse broke, Rumplestiltskin had a son to find and a family to protect, and that meant he couldn’t afford to let Cora look like his victim.  Enough heads would turn when he killed her later, but at least then she would definitely be the villain of _everyone’s_ story.

Her hand finally left his face, drifting down the front of his suit until it landed in his lap, coming to rest on his upper thigh.  Rumplestiltskin jerked slightly, but the threads of the curse held him tightly, not letting him move very far.  Tension tore through him as Cora’s fingers tightened, and she did not let go even once the waiter approached.

“I think dessert would be lovely, don’t you, Mr. Gold?” Cora purred when the officious looking young waiter asked. 

Rumplestiltskin only grunted, desperately burying his discomfort.  He would not show weakness.  He would not show _anyone_ how afraid he was. 

Cora’s hand tightened.  “Don’t you, dear?”

“Of course,” he snapped, hating the feel of fingers dancing on his inner thigh.  He picked something at random when the waiter rattled off the list of options, trying his best to ignore the parade of images flashing through his mind.

Despite his efforts, he didn’t hear Cora order her own dessert, didn’t notice the waiter walking away.  Instead, memories assaulted him, overriding even the furious howls of his curse. 

_“Cora, don’t—”_

_Crying in pain, shaking in rage and in shame, twisting desperately to get away from her and unable to do so._

_“Stay still now,” she whispered, and Gold’s body went rigidly still, not responding to his commands.  He didn’t understand, didn’t want her, and yet—_

Fingers shifted, brushing against his fly, and Rumplestiltskin jerked free of the memories.  “Cora—”

“Yes?” A sweet smile, but he could see the hunger in her eyes, the desire to hurt him _again._

He couldn’t do this.  He couldn’t take this anymore.  Cora’s _now_ meant he couldn’t move away, but Rumplestiltskin could use a touch of magic to make her fingers burn when she touched him.  It was a warning, one he hoped she would heed.  Because he couldn’t let her do this.  He couldn’t stay still and let Cora abuse him like this anymore.  _I can’t—I can’t—Don’t touch—don’t—_ Then the magic took hold, protecting him like nothing else in his life ever had.

“You’ll pay for that,” Cora hissed, yanking her hand away.

With her touch removed, now he could turn and look her in the eye, smiling coldly and locking his fears deep inside himself where hopefully they would not escape.  “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

She could try to force him; he could find creative ways to stop her.  They were at an impasse, and they finished their desserts without further incident before going their separate ways.

* * *

 

“You’re working late,” Belle said, walking into the sheriff’s office.  She’d ignored Moe and Tony trying to speak to her and strode by them with her head held high.  Belle had nothing to say to them, and didn’t want to hear their excuses anymore.  She would talk to her father when the curse broke, and if he apologized—and _meant it_ —she would see where that led them.  Until then, she was done with both of them.

“Part of the job,” Emma shrugged.

“Have a minute?” she asked after waiting another moment for the sheriff to say something more.  Belle wasn’t entirely sure why she’d come here, or if she could even accomplish anything, but she couldn’t stay at home while Rumplestiltskin was out with Cora.  Not when she was worried sick and couldn’t focus on anything, even their beautiful little daughter.  So, she’d dropped Renee off at Dove and Marie’s, so grateful that the pair were willing to look after her.  Belle had to _do_ something.

“Sure.”  The blonde looked up.  “I hear Gold’s out with Cora.”

Belle grimaced.  “News travels fast.”

“It’s a small town,” Emma replied, and then continued hesitantly.  “You okay?  The two of you seemed…I dunno, happy.  I wouldn’t have figured him for the running around type.”

“It’s not as simple as you think,” she said quietly, knowing that Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t want her airing his dirty secrets to Emma and desperate to change the subject.  So, Belle forced a smile.  “But nothing is in this town is, is it?”

“You can say that again!”

A small laugh escaped Belle despite the heavy feeling of worry in her stomach.  “So, do you want to talk about the curse?”

“How much do you know about it?” Emma asked curiously.

“More than you might think,” she replied casually, and green eyes focused on her contemplatively.

“Well, do you know how to break the damn thing?”

* * *

 

“Hello?”  It had been a horrible day, between working long hours and then finding the necklace gone, and the last thing Mary Margaret needed was for _another_ crank call to wake her up.  She’d been just about to crawl into bed when the phone rang, and if there was no one on the other end, she was _so_ ready to rip into someone.  Anyone.

“Mary Margaret, hey,” David’s familiar voice said, and she hated the way her heart leapt.

“Hi,” she said shortly, pushing back the odd combination of joy at hearing his voice and the heartfelt desire to cry.

“Look, I know you’re probably angry with me, but I had to talk to you.  I needed to say I’m sorry.”

“Francis Scadlock saw you _kissing_ Kathryn Cole, David,” Mary Margaret cut in, her voice flat.

“You believe anything Scadlock has to say?” he countered, and it was a good point.  Granny had only seen the pair together, not any romance, and maybe Scadlock was trying for another scandal.  _I hope._   David continued: “Look, I went out with Kathryn as a friend.  That’s all.  She wanted to look at cats at the shelter, so we went out to lunch and then I took her there.  It wasn’t anything important, not at all.”

She shouldn’t hope.  She shouldn’t.  “Then why are you apologizing?”

“Because I’ve been distant.  I’ve been…thinking a lot, thinking about how—even when Regina’s okay with it—it’s still wrong to be sneaking around behind her back like this,” he said, sounding guilty.  Despite herself, Mary Margaret wanted to reach through the phone to kiss him.  Was _that_ what the problem had been?

“David, if that’s what’s bothering you, why didn’t you just talk to me?” she asked, her heart pounding. 

Scadlock had to be wrong.  Her life wasn’t in shambles, even if the precious necklace was missing.

“That’s kind of what I’m trying to do now,” David replied.  “Can we go out tomorrow?  Talk about this?  Maybe we can figure out a way ahead together.”

“I’d like that.”  She knew she was beaming, but what was wrong with that?  By the time David hung up a few minutes later, Mary Margaret’s terrible day had turned much better, and that night she dreamt of a home with the man she loved and a daughter with long blonde hair.

* * *

 

Sitting back in her comfortable chair, Cora put the heart back into its box.  She didn’t close it, however, instead smiling contentedly to herself and studying the beating heart.  Mary Margaret Blanchard— _Eva’s nauseatingly sweet daughter_ —had not suffered enough.  She had been trying to find a slice of happiness underneath the curse, trying to be with her precious Prince Charming.  But Cora had not cast the Curse to End All Curses because she wanted Snow White to have her happy ending.  Cora had cast it as a final and irrevocable act of vengeance against the woman who had ruined her life, and she would _not_ let her obnoxious little stepdaughter win.

Her initial plan had been to kill the ungrateful prince, who had not been satisfied with Cora’s own daughter and had instead decided to have an affair.  But no, this was much more satisfying.  She could still kill him whenever she wanted, but death was so permanent.  No, she would make them both suffer in the meantime, and then and only then would she kill David.  There would be a lesson for Regina in that as well, one her younger daughter certainly needed to be taught.  _Again._ In the meantime, however, Cora would do what she did best, and she would make her enemies suffer.  Starting with Snow White. 

Tomorrow, David would break Mary Margaret’s heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Sixty-Seven—“Queen of Hearts”, in which the plan for breaking into the Basement begins, Mary Margaret and David try to clear the air (while Cora meddles), Rumplestiltskin makes a startling discovery about his daughter, and Emma meets Cruella’s cursed counterpart. Back in the past, Robin and Charming creep up on Maleficent’s castle and Cruella and Ursula try to keep their friend safe.


	67. Queen of Hearts

Regina had Emma meet her and Errol out in Storybrooke park on the first day of  March.  They sat at a picnic table between rainstorms, which was a wet and miserable location, but at least it was somewhere that would be pretty close to impossible to bug.  Emma, however, was damn curious about why Regina had brought her boyfriend along (if that was what he was) for a meeting about how they were going to break into the Basement.

“Errol has a little experience in breaking and entering,” Regina explained as soon as they sat down.

“My misspent youth,” the man who had rescued Henry replied with a shrug and a smile.  “Though being able to pick any lock is pretty damn useful as a firefighter, too.”

“Don’t you guys usually use axes to break down doors?” Emma couldn’t help asking curiously.

“Assuming the door won’t win, yeah,” Errol said with a grin.  “Sometimes picking the lock is faster, and I’m good at getting in and out of places quickly.”

“I’ve done a bit of lock picking myself, but I was never terribly quick at it,” she admitted. 

“What, you aren’t the great criminal mastermind the mayor would have us believe you are?” he laughed, and then winced when Regina elbowed him.  “Owh!”

“Crybaby,” Regina scolded him fondly, and Errol grinned before looking more seriously at Emma.

“Regina tells me that you’re looking to break into this legendary ‘Basement’ that is underneath Very Merry Escorts,” he said.  “I took a walk around that neighborhood last night with my son, and it seems doable—there’s a back door that probably leads right downwards, at least judging from the plans available in City Records.  Getting in should be the easy part.”

“You went to City Records?” Emma stared at him, starting to wonder if Regina’s boy-toy was going to get them caught before they even started.

Errol shrugged.  “We do it all the time, so that we know what places look like in case they light on fire.  I had my team pull the whole street.”

“Is that normal?”

“Normal enough that no one asks questions,” he answered as Regina beamed.  “Anyway, the problem isn’t getting in, Emma.  Or even getting out.  We can probably do both easily enough.  I’ve got codes to every security system in town, and I’ve never met a door I can’t open.  But even if everything works, where are you going to put the people that are down there?  I’m presuming we’re not just going in for Ruby.”

“No, of course not,” Emma answered automatically, and then abruptly realized she had no idea how many people were down there.  She knew of Ruby and Vicky Scadlock—who claimed to be named Anastasia—but surely there were others.  Killian hadn’t said how many, and given that he was a little irked with her for having arrested him, he probably wasn’t going to volunteer anything else.

“Damnit,” Regina breathed as Emma racked her brain for an idea.  “Errol’s right.  We can’t just send them home—Mother would have them rounded up again immediately.”

“That’s not legal,” Emma protested.

Regina rolled her eyes.  “Mother’s not terribly interested in _legal_ , you know.  I’m going to bet that everyone in there has pissed her off in one way or another, so if she can’t keep them in one convenient spot, she’ll probably just have them killed.”

“Surely she doesn’t have that much power,” Errol objected before Emma could answer, and Regina grimaced.

“Never underestimate the depths of depravity that my mother is willing to dive to,” she said.  “Until someone stops her, she’ll do whatever the hell she wants.”

“Then why the hell do we keep electing her?” he asked, looking bewildered.

_That’s the curse in action,_ Emma realized, and the thought almost sounded like Henry’s voice. _He can’t remember actually voting, but he’s sure he has._ “I think we’re getting a bit far off topic,” she cut in before Regina managed to think of an answer to that.  “Where _do_ we put however many people are down there?”

She looked at Regina, hoping for an answer, but the older woman just shrugged. “I can guarantee you that Mother knows everywhere that I can think of.”

“Out in the woods?” Errol volunteered, and then grimaced.  “No.  There’s no telling if they have any survival skills, and if they don’t have them, March is too cold to leave them out in the woods without help.”

“I didn’t know you had survival skills,” Regina said, looking at him oddly.

Errol seemed confused for a moment, and then shrugged.  “I must have gone camping a few times.”

Later, when Regina told Emma that Errol Forrester was actually Robin Hood, everything started to make sense.  That day, however, all they could do was put their plan on hold until they could find somewhere safe to put an unknown number of people.  Killian had hinted at the Basement being a thoroughly nasty place—as had Gold, months ago, now that Emma thought on it—which meant that those people might also not be in prime physical condition.  They couldn’t afford to screw this up, and although Emma hated the idea of waiting, she knew they had to.  For now.

* * *

 

_4 Months Before the Curse_

“You do realize this is a terrible idea, don’t you?” Robin asked as they approached the castle.

“You’ve only pointed that out about a hundred times,” David retorted dryly, though he still smiled.

“Seven.  I’ve been counting,” the outlaw countered, grinning back.

“Oh, well, if it’s only seven, perhaps I’ll listen when you get to one hundred and one.”

“Oh, it’ll be far too late by then,” Robin laughed, leading the way around the overgrown gardens and onto a narrow path that led along the cliff that the Forbidden Fortress was perched upon.  “I suppose in the meantime, we’ll simply have to rob the Mistress of All Evil.”

“Technically, we’re not robbing her,” the prince pointed out, but Robin only shrugged cheerfully.

David had not expected to _like_ Robin Hood so much when Rumplestiltskin had sent him to team up with the outlaw.  But Robin was smart—far smarter than most thieves David had met—and made a good travelling companion.  It had taken them almost a week to reach Maleficent’s castle, during which time the outlaw had given as good as he’d gotten, and David was already starting to think of Robin as a friend.  Robin had also proven damn useful—David had heard rumors of Maleficent hiding out as a dragon in a cave somewhere, but Robin’s friends had found out that she was back in her castle, which saved them an awful lot of travelling.

_Not like she’s going to be happy to see me,_ the shepherd turned king thought.  _Not after Snow and I refused to ally with her.  But what else were we supposed to do when she burned those guards to death?_   David and Snow had hoped to visit the Tree of Wisdom with Maleficent, who had told them it contained the secret to defeating the curse she claimed Cora was planning to cast.  Yet in the end, they’d not even made it to the tree; Cora’s soldiers had caught up with Snow and David, almost as if Maleficent had betrayed them.  That accusation had created a giant argument with the Queens of Darkness, and Snow and Charming had decided that they would find another way to beat Cora.  However, two months later, David found himself sneaking into Maleficent’s castle.  _As if I need to give her another reason to dislike me!_

Yet, Rumplestiltskin had promised protection for David’s unborn child, and David would walk through fire if that’s what it took.  In fact, he might just have to if—

“You all right, there?” Robin’s voice broke through his musings as they stopped at the bottom of a short cliff face.  They’d have to climb from here, which wasn’t David’s favorite thing to do, but he’d survive.

“Yeah,” he answered slowly.  “Just kind of lost in my thoughts.”

“Well, it’s probably time to focus, given how close we’re getting.  Breaking into a sorceress’ castle isn’t exactly safe, you know.”

“Hey, you’re the one who’s done this before.”

“ _And_ I lived to regret it.  She found us out last time,” Robin pointed out.  “And even if we aren’t exactly _stealing_ anything, I— _look out!_ ”

Robin’s bow came up, and instinct made David duck.  He’d moved just in time; there was a _twang_ very close to his ear, and he swore he could feel the rush of air as an arrow flew by so closely that it almost touched him.  A second arrow followed, and then there was a loud roar, but by the time David twisted around to look, Robin was already notching his third arrow on his bow.  Heart racing, David turned his head to follow along the outlaw’s bow sight, only to see a giant black bear dying on the ground not twenty feet away from them, with one arrow buried in its eye and another in its heart.

“What the hell?” he finally managed to say.

“I don’t know.  It’s not like a bear to come so close without a warning,” Robin replied, striding over to make sure the beast was dead.  “They’re territorial, but I’ve never had one approach so quietly.  It was almost like this one was _trying_ to sneak up on us.”

“I didn’t think Maleficent could control animals,” David said, following Robin’s train of thought.

“Neither did I, but I wasn’t going to take any chances,” was the answer, and David nodded fervently.

Why did he have the feeling that this little trip was only going to get more dangerous from here on out?

* * *

 

They met outside Granny’s.

“Hey,” Mary Margaret said softly, feeling a little out of place and hesitant.  She _wanted_ to believe David’s apologies, desperately wanted to think that his meeting with Kathryn had been innocent and Francis Scadlock was just being a prat and making things up when he said he’d seen them kiss.  It wouldn’t be the first time the reporter had created a whole cloth out of lies out of nothing—like when he’d tried to say she was guilty of murdering her father!—but even Mary Margaret knew that most lies had a grain of truth in them.  What _was_ the truth behind David’s date with Kathryn Cole?  She was almost afraid to find out.

Yet his smile was brilliant when he turned to face her.  “Hey,” David replied, reaching out to take her hand.

Despite her better judgment, Mary Margaret let him.  She couldn’t help it.  She _loved_ him, and if Henry’s curse was real, he was supposed to be her husband.  This was supposed to be something called True Love, and it was supposed to be amazing.  She wanted that so badly, burned to be this Snow White who Henry thought she was.  But if she was Snow White and David was her Prince Charming, could things really be this hard?  Still, Snow White wouldn’t be afraid right now.  _She_ would be strong, so Mary Margaret would try to be like that.  Squaring her shoulders, she forced herself to speak instead of kissing David senseless.

 “You wanted to talk about the future?” she asked, trying to sound calm and not hopeful.

“I did.  I…I feel awful, sneaking around on Regina like this,” David said slowly, as they fell into step together and started walking up Main Street. 

“But she’s given us her blessing,” Mary Margaret objected, confused.  “Why is this coming up now?”

“I guess, well, I guess that my conscience is just harder to quiet than I thought.  It just seems _wrong_.”

“Nothing about this is right,” she agreed, squeezing his hand.  But then David looked away, and some instinct deep within Mary Margaret told her that something was dreadfully wrong.  Just in time, she turned her head—

As the mass of another body slammed into her, clawing and snarling and tearing and _hurting_.

* * *

 

Hearts in hand, tucked up against the front of Atlantic Twine and Net and well out of the way, Cora smiled.  Kathryn had no idea what she was doing or why she was so angry at Mary Margaret, of course; Cora had sent her to attack the schoolteacher-turned-waitress, and had also commanded David to watch and do nothing.  Her control over both was absolute; she could have commanded them to kill one another and they would have done so.  Oh, both would have fought—self-preservation was one of humanity’s strongest instincts—but they would have _lost_.  Her magic was nearly at full strength, and her ability to control others was just as good as ever.

“Oh, that must have hurt,” she whispered into Kathryn’s heart, and listened to the younger woman echo it mockingly.  Mary Margaret had been thrown up against a wall, bleeding from a split lip and a broken nose, and was just now trying to come back on balance.  But Kathryn didn’t let her.  Instead, the school principle swung again, and she was far stronger than she looked. Her blow connected as Mary Margaret yelped for David to help her, and Cora absolutely _treasured_ the sight.  Snow’s precious little True Love was standing by and doing nothing while someone beat her senseless, and there was enough Mary Margaret left to feel helpless and afraid.

“David, help!  I—”

David just stared, and Mary Margaret looked more broken by that than by the attack itself.  Kathryn hit her again, and finally that galvanized Mary Margaret to fight back.  But she was still looking at David, still asking him why he was doing nothing—until suddenly another figure burst into the middle of the fight, shoving the women apart and yanking Kathryn away.  For a moment, all Cora could make out was messy hair and a polo shirt, but then the man turned as he struggled to control Kathryn and the mayor caught sight of his face.

Errol Forrester, whoever the hell he was, had intervened in her plans  _again_ .  Regina’s little lover was busy pulling Kathryn back, and Cora dropped her control of both hearts.  Let the fools deal with the fallout.  She would exact revenge in other ways.

Besides, David had now cheated on Mary Margaret and stood by while she was beaten senseless.  If _that_ didn’t tear them apart, Cora didn’t know what would.

* * *

 

Not particularly caring about Cora’s little games, Rumplestiltskin headed over to the park to pick up Renee.  She was on another playdate with Robin Hood’s child (an ironic situation if he’d ever heard of one, given how Belle had talked him out of killing the outlaw back when Marian had been pregnant), and Robin—otherwise known as Errol Forrester—was watching the pair in the park.  Belle had been supposed to pick their daughter up, but she’d gotten sidetracked by a shipment of books that had shown up for the library.  Given that it had been months since the library burned down, the fact that books had shown up _now_ indicated that the curse meant them to be significant, so Belle dove into the boxes while Rumplestiltskin drove over to get Renee.

Besides, leaving the shop on such a pleasant day was rather, well, _nice_.  He wasn’t the type to usually appreciate good weather, nor was he really a nature person, but Rumplestiltskin must have been going soft.  Perhaps it was fatherhood, or perhaps it was looking—and sometimes even feeling—human again.  He’d been battling against the growing darkness in his heart since before he met Belle, but somehow the dual forces of his wife and daughter seemed to slow that rot to a creep.  Yes, he was still the Dark One, but there were days he could almost entirely push the curse aside.  And today certainly felt like one of those days.

“Papa!” Renee shouted as he climbed out of the car and approached the playground, rushing over to him from the seesaw she had been sharing with Jamie Forrester.  That left the miniature outlaw pouting, and Rumplestiltskin smiling so hard that he forgot his cane in the Cadillac.

“Hey, you,” he said, picking her up and swinging her around.  At first, what his daughter had just called him _in public_ didn’t occur to him; he was too taken by her happy smile.  But when Errol turned to stare, Rumplestiltskin realized this could get dicey.

Then, of course, his little girl promptly made things much worse by saying: “Magic me a rose, Papa!”

“Mah—you want me to do _what_?” he stuttered, his attention now fully on the three year old and ignoring the outlaw.  “Sweetie, what are you saying?”

He had been so careful not to let Renee see him do magic.  Neither he or Belle even discussed it in her presence, or the curse, because their little girl was three.  She couldn’t understand, and the last thing they needed was her blurting things out around people who were under the curse!  Yet here she’d done it anyway, despite his best efforts.  And she was glaring at him the way only a child could when they thought their parent was being stupid.

“Want a rose,” Gabrielle repeated stubbornly.  “Make me one.”

“Not here,” he replied, very aware of the way Errol was wandering their way.

“Jamie says you can’t,” she pouted.  “ _Jamie_ is stupid!”

“Renee! That’s not very nice,” Rumplestiltskin chided her.  “You shouldn’t call people stupid, particularly your friends.”

“Not Renee,” his daughter retorted fiercely.  “ _Gabi_.”

Oh, dear.  Rumplestiltskin was so shocked that he almost dropped her, and he knew his eyes went as wide as doorknobs as he scrambled to keep his grip on his daughter.  On one hand, he’d been wondering if Gabrielle was going to break through the very thin walls holding her back.  She was a child of True Love, after all, and there was indeed a drop of the True Love that created her on the curse itself.  There had always been a possibility that she would wake up, particularly now that there was magic in Storybrooke.  Renee _had_ steadily been becoming more and more like Gabrielle, with only the thinnest veneer present to mark her as Renee French.  Now, however, that seemed to have vanished.

“She’s been saying that all day,” Errol Forrester said, approaching and looking at the pair warily.  “I tried to tell her that this wasn’t the time to play pretend, but she threw a bit of a tantrum.  I thought I’d let Lacey deal with it.”

Ah, of course.  Errol looked so guarded because he hadn’t expected the town monster to pick up this recalcitrant child, and now he was worried about how Mr. Gold would react to Renee insisting she be called by another name.  Whatever else the outlaw had ever been, he’d always been good with children, and he was the man who had saved this little girl—Rumplestiltskin’s _daughter_ —from a fire that Rumplestiltskin could not himself brave.  Errol didn’t know it, but that bought him an awful lot of leeway where the Dark One was concerned.

“She’s at that age,” Rumplestiltskin answered mildly.  “I imagine that you have experienced much the same yourself.”

Errol seemed surprised to find Mr. Gold so tolerant, but after a moment’s confusion, he cracked a smile.  “Yes, Jamie started insisting his name was Roland the moment she started in on being ‘Gabi’, so I do understand.”

“Children will be children,” he managed to say without giving the game away.  Names were Rumplestiltskin’s trade, after all, and he had always known the name of Robin Hood’s son.  _Could it be that the curse is weakening enough that children, whose minds are always more open than adults’, are starting to remember?_ he wondered, feeling a wild kind of hope surge inside him.  Emma Swan was starting to believe—all without him cashing in on that _belief_ she owed him—and things really were starting to change.  Now if he could just get Cora to set up a situation where the Savior truly had to fight her, they’d be right at the curse breaking.

Until then, however, he had to deal with Gabrielle, and Errol had to deal with Roland. 

“If you don’t mind me saying so, I wouldn’t have expected you to pick Renee up today,” the outlaw turned firefighter said after a moment.

“ _Gabrielle_ ,” the three year old in Rumplestiltskin’s arms promptly corrected him, and then glared at Rumplestiltskin.  “Still want rose.  Please?”

“Maybe later, sweetie,” he said, smiling when she pouted.  Obviously she remembered enough to remember him doing magic, but hopefully Errol was just writing that off to a three year old’s imagination.  He turned back to the other man.  “We all have our weaknesses, Mr. Forrester,” he replied in Gold’s best neutral tone.  “One of mine happens to be a little urchin who likes to be called Gabrielle.”

That made Gabi giggle and Errol smile.  Yes, it was indeed a good thing that Belle had stopped him from killing this man, even if the outlaw had been wearing a glamour at the time and thought Rumplestiltskin hadn’t seen right through it.  It had amused him to play along, particularly since he wanted to make a statement for would-be thieves, anyway, but now he truly was glad Belle had convinced him not to leave little Roland without a father.

“I know the feeling,” Errol replied, and for a moment, understanding flashed between the two men.

It wouldn’t last, of course.  The outlaw was a hero type, for all that he’d fallen in love with Regina and been a thief, and that type never wanted to associate with the Dark One.  _Not unless they need something,_ Rumplestiltskin thought cynically.  Of course, his own actions generally guaranteed that; he was honest enough to admit that to himself.  Yet he knew that Belle dreamed of living a relatively normal life once the curse broke, without being the town pariahs.  Rumplestiltskin actually hoped for the same, at least for Belle and Gabi’s sakes, but he knew that the town would never treat him with anything better than disgruntled tolerance.  If that.

Still, that was a problem for another day.  Today, he would take his newly awakened daughter back to the shop and tell her mother than they would have to watch what Gabi said more carefully than ever.  _And get the damn curse broken.  Fast._

* * *

 

Henry was waiting for Emma outside Kathryn Cole’s hospital room, with an intent look on his face that made the sheriff sigh.  This case was a weird one: on one hand, it was a clear-cut case of assault.  On the other, Kathryn claimed not to remember _anything_ about having attacked Mary Margaret.  Under other circumstances, Emma would have written that off to trying for the easiest way out of assault charges, but Kathryn seemed to be something of a blank slate.  She didn’t remember going out with David several days earlier, didn’t remember leaving her apartment that morning, and she didn’t remember attacking Mary Margaret.  The poor woman was beyond confused.  By the time Emma had arrived at the scene, Kathryn had even stopped fighting Errol’s grip, just standing there and staring blankly.  She hadn’t come back to herself until a few minutes earlier, over an hour after they got both her and Mary Margaret to the hospital.

Archie was with her, now, but Emma had to figure out what the hell had happened.

“This one’s a crazy one, kid,” she said as Henry fell into step beside her.

“Not really.  The Evil Queen has Kathryn’s heart,” her boy replied bluntly.  “She has to.”

Emma stopped cold.  “What do you mean, that Cora ‘has her heart’?”

“I thought Mom explained this to you,” Henry said impatiently, looking up at Emma with a huge ten-year-old sigh.  “If you rip someone’s heart out with magic, you can control them with it.  Grandma does that a lot. That’s why she was _also_ known as the Queen of Hearts.”

“Regina mentioned it, but…” Emma gulped.  “That’s sick.”

“Well, yeah.  Why do you think they call her the Evil Queen?  It isn’t _just_ because of the curse,” he pointed out.  “She did plenty of awful things before she even thought about casting a huge curse.”

“Right,” she replied slowly, thinking about the stories in the book she had re-read not too long ago.  Things like tearing someone’s heart out without them dying seemed absolutely ludicrous, but then again, so did a lot of the magic Regina had shown her.  Or the fact that Gold had healed Belle the way he had.  Was believing in the curse so different from believing that Cora could control anyone if she had their heart?  “That just sounds so crazy.”

“Except you believe it,” Henry grinned as they climbed in the bug.  “You really do.”

“Yeah, well, don’t rub it in,” Emma grumbled, and they headed towards the sheriff’s station together.

* * *

 

_4 Months Before the Curse_

Cruella swore under her breath, which made Ursula look up from studying her hand of cards.  Her lover’s face was pinched with annoyance, but not alarm, so she looked back down as she asked: “What now?”

“One of my bears just slipped his leash,” Cruella scowled.

“Can they do that?”

“Of course they can, assuming they can get far enough away.  My power isn’t infallible over distances, darling, and I _did_ enchant this one days ago,” was the reply.  “I’ll just have to find another one.”

“Now?” she asked.

“No, of course not.  I’m busy bleeding you of every gold piece you own,” was the immediate response, and now it was Ursula’s turn to grimace.  Cruella _was_ winning, and she had a terrible hand.  Again.

“Can’t Mal just get _on_ with this whole baby business?” she grumbled, leaning back in her chair and slapping her cards down on the table with more force than was probably required.  “We’ve been guarding her for _weeks_.”

“At least we’re not at the cave anymore,” her companion pointed out, and that made Ursula nod feelingly.  Mal had been keeping her egg warm as a dragon, but now that the egg was ready to hatch—which was an exceedingly odd way to birth a human-looking child if you asked Ursula—she was human again and busy cooing over the egg upstairs.  Meanwhile, Cruella and Ursula cooled their heels in the great hall of the Forbidden Fortress, standing guard over their friend and making sure no one tried to take advantage of Mal’s weakened state.

_Or steal the dragon egg she promised us,_ Ursula thought with satisfaction.  When Cruella had complained about standing guard duty _again_ , Maleficent had promised the two of them the eggshell, provided they swore never to try to use it against her.  Which of course they wouldn’t.  Villains they might be, but both Ursula and Cruella understood the meaning of friendship.  They would help guard Maleficent and her unborn daughter, become aunts for young Lily as she grew up, and be rewarded with one of the most magical items in existence along with Mal’s gratitude and friendship.

“You can say that again,” she agreed, tasting the air.  Mal hadn’t given birth yet, but she had to be close.  “If I had to spend one more night in that cave with  your _useless_ fire building skills, I was going to—”

“Don’t cast too many stones, love,” Cruella cut in.  “At least _I’m_ being useful here.  My animals are prowling around and guarding us while you just sit there.”

“Very funny,” she grumbled.  “As if _I_ didn’t put all kinds of interesting creatures in the water around us to keep intruders out.”

“Most thieves don’t swim,” Cruella shot back, and Ursula rolled her eyes.

“Most thieves don’t come _here_ ,” she countered.  After all, only one thief had ever managed, and no one expected ‘Robin Hood’ to be dumb enough to try again.  Mal was just being paranoid.

* * *

 

She’d just sent Henry home when Emma ran smack into a woman with black and white hair.  Both swearing, they bounced off one another, leaving Emma blinking and staring at the smartly dressed woman.  “Who the hell are you, Cruella de Vil?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“Excuse me?” the other snapped, and Emma shook herself.

“Sorry.  Bad joke,” she said, trying to recover.  _This curse stuff really is going to my head!_   Then again, Pongo was in town.  Why wouldn’t the crazy fur lady be here?  Emma was only surprised that she hadn’t seen her before.  “I, uh, don’t think we’ve met.  I’m Emma Swan, the sheriff.”

“I know who you are, darling,” was the arch response.  “Everyone does.  _I_ am Ms. Dodie Bankhead.  I own the Storybrooke Investment Bank and Bad Dog Financials.”

“Oh.”  Emma actually had opened an account with the Storybrooke Investment Bank; the internet here absolutely sucked, and trying to do her banking online with Bank of America had been such a pain, so she’d swapped to the local option.  But she’d never imagined it would be owned by a crazy woman who killed puppies!  “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Too bad I can’t say the same,” Dodie snapped, just as the cell phone she’d dropped on the ground started to squawk.  Quickly, she bent to pick it up.  “Yes, yes, darling, I dropped you.  What were you saying?”

Wasn’t  _that_ useless?  Without saying another word to her—or even acknowledging Emma’s existence, Dodie Bankhead (a ridiculous name if Emma had ever heard one), stalked down the street and away from the sheriff.    _At least she didn’t do anything evil?_ Emma thought to herself, chuckling.  Yeah, she had it bad.  Apparently, believing meant being something near crazy, because she kept looking at people like Dodie Bankhead like she expected them to do something horrible.

Emma was still shaking her head when she walked into the Sheriff’s Station to find Tony Rose lying on the floor and a cloaked figure busy ripping Moe French’s heart out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, who do you think the culprit is? Who might want to rip out Moe and Tony’s hearts? 
> 
> Next up: Chapter Sixty-Eight—“Darkness Rising”, where Emma tries to figure out who assaulted her prisoners, Belle deals with the fallout of what’s happened to her father, Errol starts asking questions, and Neal calls August at the worst possible moment. Back in the past, Charming and Robin break into Maleficent’s castle.


	68. Darkness Rising

“What the _hell_?” Emma gasped before she could stop herself, and the cloaked figure whirled to face her.  Unfortunately, whoever it was wore a hood big enough to obscure their face, but that didn’t keep Emma from drawing her gun.  Neither did the fact that that _really_ was a glowing heart pulsing in a gloved hand.  “Drop it!” she shouted.

That turned out to be a bad choice of words.  Moe French’s assailant did just that, letting the heart bounce off the floor, and then vanished in a cloud of green smoke.  Emma hadn’t realized that magic could _do_ that, but she didn’t have time to worry.  Moe was gasping for air and flailing, slipping down the wall and clearly having a heart attack.  So Emma rushed to his side, staring at the heart that had landed next to where Moe was slumped against the wall, half-sitting and half lying down, glassy-eyed and struggling to breathe.  Tony, in the next cell over, seemed not to be breathing at all, and there was a weird little pile of dust to his right. 

“Help me,” Moe wheezed, and for a moment, Emma could only stare at him.  Could you have a heart attack when your heart was _lying on the floor_?  She had no idea, but apparently Moe thought you could, because he was sure as hell having one.  “My—my heart—”

“I’ve got you,” Emma said quickly, holstering her gun and grabbing the heart.  But what the hell was she supposed to do with it?  Emma didn’t know magic, and she had never seen this before.  Frantically, her other hand dug for her cell phone, and she hit Regina on speed dial.

Three agonizingly long rings passed before Henry’s other mom answered the phone.  “Emma?  What is it?”

“How do I put a heart back in someone?” she asked without preamble.  Moe looked like he was passing out, and maybe Emma should have called 9-1-1, but there was no way Doctor Whale knew what to do with a torn out heart, either!

“ _What_?”

“I walked into the station to find someone ripping out Moe French’s heart!  I’ve got it in my hand, but he’s having a heart attack, and how the _hell_ do I put it back in?” Emma demanded.  Moe’s gasps were becoming more strained, and she knew she didn’t much time.

“What the—oh, hell.  Just line it up and push,” Regina replied.  “Hard.”

“Is that it?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

Eyes wide and heart pounding, Emma followed those instructions: she lined the heart up on the left side of Moe’s chest and _pushed_.  The florist gasped, his glassy eyes going as huge as doorknobs, but the heart did pop back into his chest.  Heaving a sigh of relief, Emma spent several moments staring stupidly, full of relief and disbelief, utterly unable to believe what had just happened.  _Someone_ had ripped Moe’s heart out, and _Emma_ had just pushed it back in.  Had she saved him?  Was she too late?  Moe’s breathing was still labored and strained and—

“Emma?  _Emma_!” Regina’s voice crackled through the phone and finally started to register.  How long had Regina been calling her name?

“Yeah,” she blinked, still staring at Moe and _willing_ him to get better. 

“Did it work?”

“The heart’s in, but I think he’s having a heart attack,” Emma replied, thinking back to some first responder training she’d had many lifetimes earlier.  She’d finished the course like any bail bondsperson, but man, it had been forever ago.  Was this what a heart attack looked like?  “Is there something magic can do to stop that?”

“It’s faster to call 9-1-1,” Regina replied, so Emma hung up and did just that.  A few minutes later, sirens shrieked outside and paramedics rushed in.

That left Emma standing with a dead body and staring at the pile of dust sitting next to Tony Rose.  She didn’t need a doctor to tell her that Tony was dead, but how?  Kneeling at his side to look at his expression, Emma noticed that his features were slack, as if he’d been more surprised than anything else when he died.  Tony looked vaguely confused, too, as if someone had done something that he could not understand at all.  Emma didn’t know how long she stared at the dead body, only that minutes ticked by while she tried to wrap her mind around what had just happened.

Who had done this?  Who had the motive and the magic to appear, rip a heart—or two—out and then disappear?  According to Regina there were few people who had magic in Storybrooke, or at least few who remembered they had it.  Would Cora have done this?  Probably not.  She was perfectly happy to leave these two in here to rot, even if they had done her bidding, as Emma suspected.  Regina’s wicked sister was a wildcard, but so far as Emma knew, Zephyr, or whatever her actual name was, didn’t even know Moe and Tony.  That left Regina, who obviously wasn’t guilty, and Gold.

And Gold, of course, was the only one with any motive at all.  _Any motive?  Hell, he’s got a_ huge _motive to kill these two,_ Emma thought.  Moe and Tony had nearly killed Gold, after all, and what was it that Gold had said to them just a few days ago?  _“I’ve stayed away from you both for her sake.  Don’t make me forget that.”_   Yeah, that really made him sound innocent now.  Yet Emma was no fool.  He was the only one who had any reason to do this, but why the hell would the normally meticulous pawnbroker risk indulging in revenge now?   It didn’t make any sense.  Emma didn’t exactly know him well, but she had been around Gold long enough to know that he was anything but stupid.  If he’d done this, he certainly had not expected to get caught…or for anyone to be able to do a damn thing to him if he was.

_After all, it’s not like I can bring him up on charges for ripping out someone’s heart,_ she thought wryly.  _Not until after the curse breaks, anyway._ Sighing, Emma rose and moved away from Tony’s body.  First things first; she’d call the hospital and get them to take the body in, see if they could determine a cause of death other than heart crushing.  Then, Emma needed to figure out who Gold actually was.

* * *

 

“The stupid sheriff walked in,” Zelena complained, and Cora fought back a sigh.  Really, did she have to do _everything_ herself?  Zelena was more careless than Regina in almost every respect; although her dark magic was far stronger, Zelena was also far less controlled.  Cora put that down to bad parenting.  Clearly, Zelena had been spoiled by her adoptive parents, given her way too often and was now prone to whining when she didn’t get it. 

That would have to stop.  Cora would not permit Zelena to go off half-cocked and just do whatever she wanted.  Oh, she was happy to handle her elder daughter when she needed to.  Grant her a little approval, and Zelena would walk through fire to get more.  Cora understood that about her needy daughter, and she would indulge her so long as Zelena remained useful.  Eventually, she hoped to re-shape this eldest of her offspring into something better, but that might require encouraging Zelena to tear out her own heart and thus forcibly shed her weaknesses.

“Were you _seen_?” Cora asked pointedly when Zelena said no more.

“Of course not,” was the response as Zelena tossed her head, red curls bouncing.  “I did wear a hooded cloak, just in case.  “Little Miss Swan never saw my face, though I didn’t get to kill the fat florist.”

Cora waved a hand.  “That hardly matters.  One death is enough.  What did you do with French’s heart?”

“Left it,” Zelena giggled.  “He was already having a heart attack, anyway.  In fact, he might already be dead.”

“Either will serve our purposes.  The curse will cloud his memories of you ripping his heart out, anyway,” she replied thoughtfully.  Yes, Tony Rose being dead and Moe having been assaulted was _more_ than enough to make the Savior-turned-sheriff suspicious. 

That, of course, was exactly what Cora needed.

* * *

 

Belle stood with the phone in her hand, looking like she had seen a ghost.  They’d barely walked in the front door when the house phone had started ringing, and Belle had rushed to get it while Rumplestiltskin brought Gabrielle—no longer Renee, according to the rapid-fire bunch of memories their daughter was voicing—into the house.  By the time he walked into the kitchen after depositing Gabi on the floor with her dolls and promising her a snack—and a rose to come later—Belle had finished with her phone call and was now staring blankly at the wall.

“Sweetheart?” he asked quietly, stepping forward to touch her arm.  “Are you all right?”

Blue eyes turned to him, full of confusion and worry.  “My father had a heart attack.”

“Oh.”  For a moment, that was all Rumplestiltskin could say; while he didn’t mourn for anything that had happened to Moe French, the man _was_ Belle’s father.  Belle had chosen her husband and her daughter over the narrow-minded oaf, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t care for her father.  Belle was the sort that would _always_ care.  Rumplestiltskin might have held grudges for an eternity, but Belle never would.

“I’m his only relative,” his wife said softly.  “They want me to come to the hospital.”

“Do you want to?”  A better man would have asked if Moe was all right, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t really care.  He was more worried about Belle.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, sorrow filling her eyes.  “Does that make me a bad person?”

“No, of course not,” he reassured her, gently taking the phone out of her hand and wrapping an arm around her.  “You’re human, Belle.  And your father rejected you.  It’s a natural reaction.”

“I should still go,” Belle said resolutely, and even if Rumplestiltskin admired her strength—which he always had—he almost wished she was not so brave. 

“If you want to, you should,” he forced himself to say, not liking the idea of leaving Belle alone with her father, but if Moe really _had_ had a heart attack, he’d hardly be any danger to Belle.  _Too bad the bastard didn’t just die of it,_ he couldn’t help thinking.  Rumplestiltskin might not harm Moe French (or Maurice) out of deference to Belle’s wishes, but that didn’t mean he would ever forgive the man for what he had done.  There were some things Rumplestiltskin could not forget, and being beaten while utterly helpless was one of them.  Even when he knew Cora was truly behind that.

“I won’t be long,” Belle promised, turning to kiss him absently on the cheek.  “I promise.”

“Take however long you need, sweetheart,” Rumplestiltskin told her, and meant it.  After all, he understood conflicting feelings towards one’s own parent, even the fact that his feelings for his own father were pure, _un-_ conflicted hate.

Belle left shortly after that, and Rumplestiltskin just headed into the living room to spend time with their daughter. 

* * *

 

“Someone wants to see you, mate,” Killian told the author as he cornered him on his way from the diner to the room he still had at Granny’s.  At this point, the pirate would have thought it would be smarter—and cheaper—for August to simply rent an apartment, but apparently the puppet wasn’t so bright.

“Excuse me?” August stopped cold, watching him suspiciously.

“The mayor would like a word,” he replied, hating being used as an errand boy.  But it wasn’t worth refusing; Cora would always be Cora, and she thought like a queen.  She was used to having people to order about, and it was far smarter for Killian to stay on her good side.  Even if it did mean playing enforcer from time to time.

Besides, August was competition for Emma, and although Killian’s heart wasn’t really into that seduction, taking the other man down a peg or two couldn’t hurt.  Sooner or later, Cora would want to know why the Savior was the _one_ woman in Storybrooke (or the second, if one counted Lacey French) who hadn’t fallen for his charms.  When that day came, he fully intended to blame August.  _Let him suffer her wrath.  I want nothing to do with it,_ Killian thought _._   Not for the first time, he started wondering if the time to change course was rapidly approaching.

“I’m busy,” the author tried to object.

Killian snorted.  “You want to tell her that, or shall I?” he asked with a nasty grin meant to frighten.  “I’m sure Marco would be glad to hear that you can’t spare Cora a moment or two.”

“You can’t—” August went stark white, gulping back the protest. “Okay.  Fine.  I’m coming.”

“I thought you’d see things my way.”

* * *

 

Belle nearly bumped into Mary Margaret on her way into the hospital, rushing in from the parking lot and telling herself that she was doing the right thing.  Part of her really didn’t _want_ to visit her father—she was still unbelievably angry with him—but he was her father.  So, she would come, but only to make sure he was all right.  She wouldn’t stay long.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, dodging around the former schoolteacher, who was busy talking to the sheriff.

“It’s all right,” Mary Margaret replied with a smile, despite the bruises on her pretty face.  Belle remembered hearing that Mary Margaret had been attacked that morning, and Rumple had called it proof that Cora was busy collecting hearts once more.  Distasteful as the thought was, Belle had to agree; there was nothing else that could make Kathryn attack someone so violently, even someone she disliked.

“Are you doing all right?” Belle paused to ask, taking in the bruises and the sling wrapped around Mary Margaret’s left arm.

“Better than I was, thanks.”  A tired smile.  “I think I just need some sleep.”

“Let me know if I can do anything,” she replied impulsively, but she meant it.  Belle couldn’t ask Rumple to heal Mary Margaret—because doing so would only draw attention they didn’t need—but maybe she could help in other ways.

“Thank you,” the other woman said again, and Belle reached out to briefly squeeze her good arm before she continued on her way, nodding a greeting to Emma as she did.  While she headed into the hospital’s entryway, she heard Emma ask:

“Are you sure you don’t want to press charges?”

“Emma, if Kathryn doesn’t remember it at all, and Henry is right…well, no, I don’t want to.  I don’t think it’s Kathryn’s fault,” Mary Margaret replied promptly, and Belle found her strides slowing so she could listen.  _She said ‘if Henry is right’.  Does that mean she believes, too?  Even when cursed?_ Belle wondered as she stopped in front of the elevator. 

Emma groaned and said: “Just keep your options open, okay?  I didn’t think she was lying, but she might be drugged up enough to believe that story herself.”

“I will,” Mary Margaret promised, and then continued: “But I’m not seeing David anymore.  Please tell Henry that I’m sorry for that, but I can’t stay with a man who just _stands_ there and does nothing.”

“I can’t blame you for that,” the sheriff replied, but then the elevator doors dinged open and Belle had to head inside.  A short trip took her to the second floor, and then she hung a right to head to her father’s hospital room.  The nurse on duty had kindly texted her the room  number after she’d gotten the call, so Belle headed straight there, pausing in the doorway.

Her father lay pale against the white sheets, hooked up to several machines but looking mostly all right.  Belle waited a few moments, almost hoping that he didn’t notice her, but then his eyes drifted to the doorway and Moe’s entire face lit up.  “Lacey!”

“Hi, Dad.”

Oh, she wanted her real father back.  Maurice had been short-sighted and had hated the idea that she’d fallen in love with Rumplestiltskin—which he’d never believed—but he hadn’t been as cruel as her memories told her Moe had been.  Moe didn’t even have the excuse that his daughter had married and claimed to love the Dark One; no, he just threw Lacey out when she refused to give up her child.  Part of Belle knew that the curse had driven him to do that, had made up the memories, and that he hadn’t actually _made_ those decisions, but Lacey’s memories of pain and abandonment still felt so very real.

Slowly, Belle made her way into the room, keeping her distance from her father and wrapping her arms around herself for security.  She had _burned_ to ask Rumple to come with her, but she wouldn’t force him to do that, not when her father had hurt him so badly.  But she really wanted her husband there now, wanted to feel his reassuring presence by her side when she faced the fact that her father was hospitalized but she was still so angry with him.  It was hard to reconcile her fury with her worry, and Belle felt like she was stuck on a ship in a stormy sea, whipping back and forth without any respite in sight.  She _loved_ her father—even Lacey had, as hurt and as angry as she had been—but sometimes he was downright impossible to live with.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Moe said next, sounding as awkward as she felt.

Maybe that was a good thing.  Maybe they could start afresh.  She didn’t want to lose him, after all.  She just wanted him to let her live her life and accept her for who she was.

“You were hurt.  Of course I came.”

A tired smile split Moe’s face, and Belle felt an answering one touch her lips.  But it was a small smile.  She still hadn’t forgiven him.

“Then come in, my girl,” he replied, waving a hand to her.  “Come sit with me for a while?”

“I’m still angry with you,” Belle said bluntly, stepping into the room without sitting down.  “That doesn’t mean I don’t love you, but I’m still furious.  And I’m not coming home, even if they let you after you get out of here, instead of sending you back to jail.”

“Lacey, how can you say that?  Tony is dead, and—”

“Tony is dead?” she echoed, feeling like the wind had been punched out of her.  Belle had never loved Gaston, but she’d known him most of her life, and even if she was angry with him, too, well, that didn’t mean that she wanted him _dead_.  “How?”

“Someone killed him,” her father replied, looking stubborn.  “They tell me it was a heart attack, but I _saw_ someone there.  And then that same someone came to me and everything kind of went dark.  I don’t…I don’t remember what happened after that.  I woke up here.”  Moe swallowed, looking thoughtful, and then added: “Maybe they tased me?  And Tony.  Whoever it was held something against his chest, and maybe mine, too.”

_Oh, no._   Belle was no fool, and she’d lived with the Dark One for more than four years in the Enchanted Forest.  She knew exactly what this sounded like, and knew that someone must have ripped Tony’s heart out of his chest and crushed it.  And then they’d tried to do the same to her father.  _Rumple was with me,_ she thought frantically.  _Wasn’t he?_   Quickly, Belle ran through their day in her mind.  Rumplestiltskin had gone to pick up Gabrielle at the park because Belle had been sorting through the new books, and he certainly wouldn’t have brought her along to hurt someone.  He could have done it before that, but…no.  Belle didn’t think so.  Her husband was a meticulous man once his rage cooled, and he’d had weeks to plan something smarter than bursting into the sheriff’s station in broad daylight to rip hearts out, assuming he even intended to.  Also, Belle believed him when he said that he wouldn’t harm her father or Tony, because—as difficult as Rumplestiltskin could be—he’d never broken such a promise to her.

Now she felt guilty for even thinking he might have done it, but she _was_ married to the Dark One.  No one knew that better than Belle, and she knew how hard it was for her husband to fight back the darkness.  But not this time.  This time, she was certain someone else was at fault.

The only question was who.

* * *

 

“I’m really starting to wonder what the hell is going on,” Errol said bluntly, walking into the kitchen on Regina’s heels. 

He’d come straight to the house after making the required statements to Emma and ensuring Mary Margaret made it safely to the hospital.  Regina was so grateful to him for that, because David had wandered off after the attack, without even stopping to make sure Regina’s beloved sister was all right.  It had been Errol who called Regina to let her knew what had happened, and Errol who had gone to the hospital to check in on a very depressed Mary Margaret.  That should have been David’s job, but David was nowhere to be found.  Instead, Errol had stepped into the gap and done what needed to be done, and she wanted to kiss him for that.  But now wasn’t the time.

“What the hell is _wrong_ with David?” Errol demanded when Regina couldn’t find a response, making Henry’s head jerk up out of the Book.  As far as Regina knew, her son was still trying to ferret out who Rumplestiltskin was in Storybrooke, but now his attention was on Errol as well.

“I…I’m not entirely sure,” she answered carefully. After all, Errol was still cursed.  As helpful as he was, and as much as Robin Hood was starting to come out from behind the persona of Errol Forrester, he _wasn’t_ acting entirely of his own free will.  He didn’t understand exactly what was going on, and even if she told him the complete and unvarnished truth, there was no way he could believe her.

“C’mon, Regina, you live with the man,” he pressed, and she caught sight of Henry’s nervous smile out of the corner of her eye. 

“He hasn’t exactly been himself lately,” Regina said slowly, thinking through her options.  She didn’t want to lie to Errol, but what could she say?  He wouldn’t understand the truth, and that left Regina with exactly zero options.

“Yeah, any idiot can see that.”

“I know,” she sighed.  “You’re right.”

More importantly, Regina knew what this had to be.  Her mother would _always_ be someone who believed in ripping people’s hearts out if she needed control or power.  There was only one thing that could make Kathryn attack so blindly, and that was if someone was controlling the woman who used to be Princess Abigail by using her heart.  And David _had_ gone on a date with Kathryn, for absolutely inexplicable reasons.  _If Mother has Kathryn’s heart, what would stop her from having David’s, too?  I’d started to suspect this earlier, but… How many hearts does Mother_ have _?_

“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on, love?” Errol asked directly. “I know you know more than you’re letting on.”

Helplessly, Regina looked at Henry.  He was so good at reading people, this remarkable eleven-year-old boy she and David had raised, and his instincts were often better than her own.  Henry shrugged.

“Might as well tell him, Mom.  The curse has _got_ to be broken soon, anyway.”

A frown marred Errol’s handsome face.  “Curse?  What curse?”

“You might as well do the honors, Henry,” Regina said with another sigh, and her boyfriend turned to look at her son in confusion.

“You’re probably gonna want to sit down,” Henry started.  “It started when Mary Margaret gave me this book…”

* * *

 

_4  Months Before the Curse_

Leaving the dead bear behind, David and Robin snuck into the Forbidden Fortress, creeping across the front entryway and into the castle proper.  There didn’t seem to be anyone out and about, although they could hear a distant sound that was almost like a baby crying. 

“What in the world is that?” Robin asked in an undertone, looking concerned.

The truth hit David like a ton of bricks.  “Maleficent told my wife she was pregnant,” he realized aloud.  “She must…she must have had her baby already.”

“Well, I guess that means she’ll be distracted?” the outlaw suggested with a shrug, and despite the danger of the situation, David had to smile.

“We can only hope,” he agreed, leading the way around a corner.  Rumplestiltskin had implied that they would be able to find Maleficent’s staff in the gallery off of the great hall; apparently, the dragon sorceress kept it there when she was not using it.  Unfortunately, exactly _where_ that gallery was located hadn’t been something the Dark One could or would tell him, which meant the pair was left bumbling about, opening doors and looking into rooms at random. 

Fortunately, they found the right room on the third try, and it was Robin who spotted the tall black staff leaning against the far wall.  “Is that it?” the outlaw asked quietly.

“Looks like,” David replied, and they moved forward together.

A few minutes later, they had wrestled the globe out of the staff—an interesting job that Robin proved entirely suited to accomplish—and replaced it with the identical one Rumplestiltskin had provided.  There was no way of telling what was _inside_ this orb, but David already knew.  Inside was a small vial, the one that the Dark One had shown him.   _“A potion made of the True Love shared between you and your dear wife,”_ the sorcerer had said.  _“Hiding it will ensure that this potion is available, even should Cora cast the most terrible of curses.”_   Apparently, putting the vial in Maleficent’s staff was the best way to make sure it was safe—though David had no idea why Rumplestiltskin couldn’t just _ask_ Maleficent, since he was certain they had to know one another, and Maleficent wasn’t keen on Cora casting the curse, either.  Still, the job was done, his family was protected, and Robin had now paid back the deal he had broken.

All in all, it seemed like a win until a trio of dogs came rushing around the corner when they were on their way out of the Forbidden Fortress.  A tall woman, dressed in black and white, was right behind them.

“Don’t kill them yet, darlings,” she said with a wave of one hand.  “First, I want to know why they are here.”

David and Robin exchanged glances, but there was no choice to be made and nothing to be said.  They ran.

* * *

 

His phone could not have rung at a _worse_ possible time.  There August was, cornered by a pirate, the Wicked Witch, and the Evil Queen, and then his cell phone started to play the Imperial March.  Not that he expected anyone in the room to appreciate the ringtone, but he really could have done without the interruption.

“Don’t let us distract you from your important calls,” Zelena cooed, her teeth flashing in a mocking smile.  “Answer it.”

“I—it can wait.  It’s probably Emma, and you don’t want me talking to Emma here, do you?  She might suspect something,” August said quickly, and felt his nose twitch.

Emma was still angry with him, of course, which meant she wasn’t going to call anytime soon.  But they didn’t know that, did they?

“Pinocchio, dear, I do believe your nose just twitched,” Cora said mildly.  “Why don’t you answer the phone?”

“Don’t you want to finish our conversation first?” he asked helplessly, hoping there was a way around this.  After all, he was only expecting one phone call, based on the message he’d received two days earlier, and if who he thought was calling was calling, this could be an absolute disaster.

“It sounds like he doesn’t want us to know who he’s talking to, Mother,”  Zelena piped up immediately, and August could have hit himself.  _I should have just answered the damn phone and played it off like it was nothing!_

“Indeed it does,” the Evil Queen purred, and August started to reach for the phone to answer it before it could go to voicemail when the pirate simply stepped forward, reached a hand into his pocket, and pulled the phone out.

The Imperial March abruptly ended, and the irrational (and nervous) part of August’s mind decided that Darth Vader did not like Captain Hook.  Unfortunately, the pirate was apparently well-versed in 21st century technology, because he immediately pulled up the missed calls screen. _I really should password protect my iPhone,_ the former puppet thought desperately, swallowing hard.

“Neal Cassidy,” Hook read aloud, throwing Cora a glance.  “That’s not anyone who lives in town, is it?”

“No, it isn’t,” Cora replied, stepping forward to look at the phone, and his call log.  “He’s calling you quite often, isn’t he, Pinocchio?”

August gulped.  “He’s just an old friend.  We, uh, kind of met over stolen watches and a stolen car, to be honest.”

And since that _was_ true, he was in the clear.  He hoped.

“Well, then, why don’t you call him back?” she suggested all-too-innocently.  “But do put it on speaker.  I’m terribly curious about Mr. Cassidy by now.  He keeps wandering into your life at the most _interesting_ times.”

“He’s really not very interesting—”

“Mother, look!  There his nose goes again!” Zelena interrupted, laughing. 

August’s nose _had_ twitched hard enough to make him hiss in pain, and Cora’s amusement vanished even as her psycho daughter’s increased. 

“Call your friend,” she ordered, and he knew that tone of voice.  “ _Now._ ”

“Right.  Sure,” August said quickly.  “I’m not sure what the big deal is, but sure, I’ll call him.”

“Good boy,” Cora smiled coldly.  “I wouldn’t want to have to take your heart out, after all.  Then I’d have no reason to keep your dear papa alive and well.”

That selfsame heart skipped a beat, and August snatched his phone back quickly.  He hoped like crazy that Neal didn’t say anything too revealing, or mention that he was planning on coming to Storybrooke sometime after Friday (which was tomorrow, and now _all_ too close at hand), but in the end, that didn’t matter as much as keeping his father safe did.  August would do whatever it took to keep Cora from killing his papa.  He _had_ to.

Unfortunately, Neal picked up on the second ring, and August already had him on speaker.

“August, man, you really need to start actually being around when you say people are in trouble,” Emma’s ex-boyfriend said immediately.  “Could you even _bother_ to answer my last voicemail?”

“Sorry, I’ve been busy,” he replied, trying not to look at Cora or Zelena’s suddenly fascinated expressions.  Even Hook looked mildly interested, which was certainly new.  He wanted to end the call then and there, tell Neal to call him back, but he knew he couldn’t.  “I’m here now.  What’s up?”

“Look, I’ve got to meet my girlfriend’s best friend tomorrow—assuming I don’t break up with Tamara first for being really weird lately—but I’m heading north on Saturday.  You said you’d give me directions, so how about them?  Since apparently I can’t find your weird little town without them.”

“Um, you know, a lot of stuff has come up lately, and—”

“Don’t even think about it,” Neal cut him off.  “I’m coming whether you want me to or not, so just give me the damn directions.”

August gulped.  This was _so_ not going well, but what could he do?  Cora was flexing her fingers in an obvious hint, and he _couldn’t_ endanger his father.  But maybe he could buy a little time.  “Look, remember what I said before?  When you get off 95 North at the Kennebunk exit, give me a call.  I’ll direct you in.”

“You gonna answer when I call?  I’m not really eager to drive around the back roads of Maine for hours while I wait for you to remember you own a cell phone.”

“I’ll answer,” he said helplessly.  “I promise.”

“All right.  I’ll talk to you then,” Neal replied, and then there was a _click_.

Shoving his phone spastically in his pocket, August forced himself to look up at Cora.  “Neal’s just a friend who wants to see the town.  He’s not a danger to anyone”— _not that I know of, anyway_ —“and I just promised him some vacation time.”

Yeah, his nose twitched again, and Cora saw it.  This time, however, she didn’t bother to ask questions; she just stepped forward and plunged her hand right into his chest.  Searing pain tore through August, and then his emotions went curiously numb.  His father had told him stories about how the Evil Queen tore hearts out, but he’d never expected to feel it himself.  Suddenly, all of his worries and his cares were strangely muted, and he stared at the glowing red heart slack-jawed.  It was flecked with little spots of darkness here and there, but wasn’t made of wood at all.  Surprisingly.

“I’m done playing games,” Cora told him bluntly.  “Now you’re going to answer all of my questions, and if you’re a good boy, you’ll get your heart back.  Otherwise, I’ll just keep it.  Understood?”

Still staring at his own beating heart, August nodded.  She could crush it, he knew.  She could crush it or hurt him or even make him kill his own father—

“Pay attention,” the Evil Queen snapped, and August finally managed to look at her face, terror making him feel like he was moving underwater.

“I understand,” he whispered, and his eyes found his heart once more.  How long could he live with it out?  Indefinitely, or something less than that?  He’d never been so afraid, more of what she could make him do than of the thought of dying.

“God.  Now, tell me: who is Neal Cassidy?”

Had she phrased the question any other way, August might have been able to get around the question.  Cora undoubtedly wanted him to explain how he actually knew Neal, or what kind of things Neal did or why he would matter to Storybrooke, but she hadn’t asked _that_.  No, she’d asked _who_ he was, and August’s traitorous lips started to form the answer before he even realized that he could not fight the compulsion to answer truthfully.

“Baelfire,” he whispered dejectedly.  “He’s Baelfire.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, dear. Cora’s got some valuable information, now—what do you think she’ll do with it? 
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Sixty-Nine—“Suspicion and Secrets”, in which Emma accuses Gold of murder, David realizes the depth of what he has done, August tries to play innocent with Emma, and Regina brings Henry along for a visit to Rumplestiltskin’s shop. Back in the past, Charming returns home and faces a tough decision.


	69. Suspicion and Secrets

The Savior burst into the shop the morning after Tony Rose was killed, her green eyes narrowed and her very presence radiating power and suspicion.  As the door slammed shut behind her, images flashed before Rumplestiltskin’s eyes.  This was his first vision of the future here in the Land Without Magic; he had started to think that his Seer powers would not work with the different way magic worked in this world. Obviously he was wrong.  Emma’s face flashed across his mind, and then her hands, full of power and white light.  She was facing off with someone, but he couldn’t tell who, and—

“Gold! Emma snapped and obviously  not for the first time, bringing him back to the present.  Blinking, Rumplestiltskin forced himself to push aside the future and focus.  They would come back later—probably—but for now, he needed to focus on the present.

“Is there something I can do for you, dear?” he asked, bringing himself back on balance with an effort.  Long  years as Gold gave him the control to keep his expression impassive.  The imp inside him would have been flamboyantly taunting the Savior by now, but his time under the curse had changed him as much as it had changed everyone else.  _Kill her,_ his curse goaded him.  _Kill her and break the curse.  You are impatient, so why wait?  She annoys you—kill her!_   With an effort, he shoved the voices away along with the visions; Rumplestiltskin did not have time for this.

“Yeah, where were you around four o’clock yesterday afternoon?” the sheriff asked right away, and there was something in her eyes that set his instincts to chirping as she strode up to the counter. 

“I beg  your pardon?” Rumplestiltskin said, half to buy himself time and half because he wasn’t sure why she would ask him that question at all. 

“I asked where the hell you were at four o’clock yesterday afternoon,” Emma repeated hostilely, crossing her arms.  

“I was at Storybrooke Park picking up my daughter, if you must know,” he said as coolly as he could manage, disliking her tone but still choosing his phrasing very carefully.  Emma knew he had adopted Gabrielle, of course—or Renee, as the Savior still thought of his daughter—but the time would come in which he needed all of the Savior’s goodwill.  Those days were rapidly approaching, and Rumplestiltskin would not ruin that now.

“You sure about that?” she demanded.

“Quite.  You can ask Errol Forrester or one of the other half dozen parents who were present if you like.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed ominously.  “Because that would be right about when someone was busy ripping the hearts out of Tony Rose and Moe French.  I understand that’s a magic thing, and you seem pretty damn magical to me.  Not to mention the fact that you kind of have every reason to hate those two.”

“Of course I do,” Rumplestiltskin replied easily, feeling his curse encouraging his temper, feeling its familiar call for vengeance echoing deep within his soul.  _Finish the job.  Whatever incompetent tried to kill them failed.  But you will not.  Do it!_ His curse howled, and a large part of Rumplestiltskin agreed with it.  But he pushed those desires aside, knowing that he couldn’t afford to indulge his darker nature right now.  “But if motive alone makes one guilty, there are many people in this town.”

“Not many of them have magic,” Emma countered.

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “More than you might think.”

“I’m gonna check on that alibi of yours, you know,” she shot back.  “And if it doesn’t check out…”

“As well you should.”  He shrugged again.  “But if you’re only here to throw accusations around, I’m not sure how I can help you.”

“Why should I believe a word you say?  I don’t even know who the hell you’re supposed to be!”

“Is the Savior suddenly embracing the curse, now?” he chuckled, far more interested in Emma’s sudden interest in his identity than the fact that she was accusing him of murder.   Firstly, after so many centuries as the Dark One, murder held very little meaning for him.  Lives were lost every day, and he did what needed to be done.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t kill without reason, but he was hardly the type to shrink away from the thought in fear, either. 

“You keep mocking me like that, Gold, and I’m going to punch you in the face,” she retorted.

“Once, not too many months ago, you promised me _belief_ ,” Rumplestiltskin reminded the Savior quietly, reining in the imp’s dark sense of humor.  “I think I’m going to cash in on that promise now.”

Emma looked ready to snarl.  “Belief in _what_?”

“I could ask for belief in my innocence, but that might be a bridge too far, don’t you think?” he asked lightly, and watching fury in her eyes war with doubt.  Still, her response was immediate:

“You can say that again.”

“Then, let’s go with this,” Rumplestiltskin replied as he heard the back door to the shop open.  “The belief I want from you is  you to understand that I am not your enemy.  I didn’t murder Tony Rose—had I wanted to, you wouldn’t have found the job botched in broad daylight.  If nothing else, believe _that_.”

Emma’s eyes cut right, looking at Belle as she slipped out of the back room.  “You believe that?” she asked bluntly.  “You married this man—twice, if this curse is real—and you should know him better than anyone.”

“I do,” Belle replied immediately, stepping up to his side.  Her presence alone was soothing, helped push back the darkness coiling in his mind and soul.  Some days were easier than others, but Belle always made it better.  Learning to trust her to help push the darkness aside had been so hard, but even the steady darkening of his heart had slowed once he’d decided to truly let her love in.   “My husband is many things, but I know he did not murder Tony, or hurt my father.  Whoever did that is still out there.”

Emma studied Belle for a long moment, but apparently Belle passed her much-vaunted ‘lie-detector’, and the Savior nodded slowly. 

“I’m not going to trust you blindly,” she said bluntly.  “But I’ll look elsewhere for my suspects.  For now.”

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Rumplestiltskin said as cordially as he could, and felt Belle take his hand as Emma turned and left the shop.  Fortunately, she forgot to repeat her original question—and he successfully escaped allowing the Savior to find out he was the Dark One.

She would find out eventually, of course, but Rumplestiltskin needed every day he could get to earn her trust before she realized what he was.  Once that happened, of course the heroes would suspect him of everything, but he needed all the time he could get.  His wife and daughter were so vulnerable in this world, and he could not afford to have too many enemies targeting them.  _Particularly when I have to find Bae.  Somehow._

* * *

 

David didn’t show up until the next morning, and Regina half-wondered if her mother had forgotten about him.  He looked disheveled and confused by the time he walked in the house, and part of Regina—the part that had been married to David while cursed—just wanted to reach out and hug him and soothe the bewilderment away.  The rest of her, however, was far too aware of what was happening.

So, she stepped forward to meet him in the front hall, waving a hand over his chest quickly and not caring when he flinched away.

“Regina? What are you doing?” David asked as her fingers glowed blue.

“You might want to sit down,” she replied, the spell feeding her all the information she needed.  Regina felt cold.

“Why?  What’s happened?  Is Henry all right?”

“Henry is fine,” Regina said shortly, leading her brother-in-law to the living room and shoving him gently onto the couch.  “Do you remember Henry’s book, how magic existed in the Enchanted Forest?”

David frowned.  “Yeah…”

“Well, there’s magic here now, too, and my mother’s used it to control you,” she told him bluntly, not bothering to tell David that his heart had been ripped out to accomplish that.  _That_ little tidbit would only confuse him more, poor cursed man that he was, and it was more important that David understand what was happening than the details.

“How?” he asked immediately, his brow crinkling in confusion.  “I mean, I haven’t—oh, God.  Mary Margaret.”

“Yeah.  You’ve been cheating on her, and now you stood by and let Kathryn Cole attack her while you did nothing,” Regina confirmed. 

“How—how could I _do_ that?”

“Mother,” she said simply, sitting down across from him.  “You can’t stop her until the curse is broken, and even then, it’ll be hard.  But you need to know,” she whispered.  “Even if Mother makes you forget.”

“Why would she do that?” David asked, sounding like he felt helpless.

Regina definitely understood that feeling . “Because she hates Snow, and she hates you,” she answered honestly.  “Mother…well, she holds a grudge like no one else I’ve ever met.  And she wants to hurt you both.”

There was nothing else she could say, really, no way to make things better.  All Regina could do was weather the storm and try to help David do the same.  But while Cora held his heart, anything could happen.  She might even decide to kill David if things didn’t go her way, particularly as they came closer to breaking the curse…

 _I have to get it back,_ Regina decided.  _It’s the only way to make sure Snow and Charming get their happy ending._   She had hurt her sister enough times at her mother’s command . Perhaps this time she could give them something back.

* * *

 

_4 Months Before the Curse_

“Charming!” Snow called his name even as he strode into what used to be Leopold’s castle, and David stopped cold.  King George was back in his own realm, leaving David and Snow to rule Snow’s kingdom, but he had not expected to find his wife so near the entryway to the castle.  Snow, however, rushed up before he could say a word.

“Hey,” he finally managed, even as her arms wrapped around his neck.  Snow kissed him, and David eagerly kissed her back.  He had been gone for less than a month, and yet he’d missed her so very much.  Being away from Snow as like a missing limb, and coming home to her was always utterly magical. 

“Hey yourself,” his pregnant white smiled back, but then her happy expression faltered.  “Thomas is here.”

“Thomas?  Ella’s Thomas?” David echoed, blinking and pulling back a bit to stare at his wife.

“Yes,” Snow said quietly, taking his hands.  “He said that Ella kept a secret from him.  In order to go to the ball where they  met, she made a deal with Rumplestiltskin…and now Rumplestiltskin has called that in.”

A pit of coldness settled in David’s gut, and he asked warily: “What did she promise him?”

“Her first born child, it turns out.  And now she’s pregnant, too.”

“She promised him her _child_?” he stuttered, thinking back to the deal his own parents had made, the way he and his brother had been separated at birth.  Now that he was about to be a father himself, David couldn’t imagine the agony his parents had gone through when they chose to give James up—even though they _knew_ their other son was becoming a prince.  When Snow nodded, he couldn’t help adding: “Did Rumplestiltskin say where the child would go?”

“No,” his wife shook her head, one hand hovering protectively over her stomach.  “Not that Ella mentioned, anyway.”

David felt like the room had turned freezing, and he shivered.  _How can he make a deal with me to protect_ our _child on one hand, and on the other, bargain for another child?_ he wondered.  David had thought he understood Rumplestiltskin, had thought they were honest with one another.  But this… this was not what he had expected.  Not when he’d just risked life and limb to fulfill his end of a deal with the Dark One, the results of said deal being right there around his True Love’s neck.  He had expected better out of Rumplestiltskin. 

“Thomas wants our help imprisoning him so that he can’t take their child,” Snow said when David remained silent.  “The fairies have already agreed to help.”

“Thomas wants to imprison _Rumplestiltskin_?” He couldn’t help it; his mouth dropped open.  “Snow, even if the fairies help, if this goes wrong—”

“Ella didn’t know what she was agreeing to, David,” Snow cut him off, using his true name as she did so very rarely.  “She told him that she’d give anything, and never expected him to demand her _child_.  We have to help her.  You know he’ll never alter a deal once it’s made.”

“Yeah, that’s not very likely,” he had to agree, but doubt was already gnawing at his insides.  Rumplestiltskin had dealt with them openly enough; they’d made deals with him and had always known the risk of breaking their end.  Saying that Ella should not have been so foolish as to promise _anything_ was on the tip of his tongue, but the new princess was their friend.  She was a good person, if somewhat naive, and Ella didn’t deserve to lose her child because she had made a mistake.  Neither did Thomas, all because of a deal Ella had made.

“I can’t imagine losing another child,” Snow whispered.  “We need to help them.”

Breaking a deal with Rumplestiltskin was more than foolish; it was downright dangerous.  But Snow was right.  What choice did they have?  A child was at stake, and David would do anything to keep his own unborn child safe.  He couldn’t blame Thomas or Ella for wanting to do the same.  So, David nodded.

“You’re right,” he said slowly, swallowing back his concerns.  “We should help.”

* * *

 

The morning after Henry had shown him that strange storybook, Errol still wasn’t sure what to think.  He’d kissed Regina goodbye and gone home to his son, having only read what Henry claimed was _his_ story.  That story was of an outlaw who stole from the rich and gave to the poor, the story of _Robin Hood_.  That was who he was supposed to be, according to Henry.  But he was supposedly cursed, along with Jamie and everyone else in this town.  The entire idea was ludicrous, but unless Regina had had that entire book typed up after learning the name he had almost called his son, how could she have known?  Errol vividly recalled almost calling Jamie Roland, more than once, and there the name was in print.

 _And the picture of ‘Marian’ looks like Olivia,_ he thought to himself, pacing across his bedroom again and again.  It made no sense, and yet it made perfect sense.  It _couldn’t_ be true, and yet he felt like it was.

Perhaps he was going mad. 

All he knew was that he needed a little space, a little time to think.  The fact that Regina’s ten-year-old believed in this curse wasn’t all that abnormal, but _Regina_ seemed to buy into it, too.  And that was more than a little weird.  Regina was a grown woman.  She was incredibly intelligent, a woman of the world, and she believed this.  That was enough to make Errol’s head spin, and he hadn’t even had the guts to ask her who _she_ was supposed to be in the book.  If he was Robin, and Olivia had been Marian, how did Regina fit into his so-called story?  Errol wasn’t a particularly big fan of Robin Hood—he’d always felt there were better ways to make oneself a hero than by breaking the law—but he couldn’t remember the name of any second love.  Maybe he’d look that up online and see what he could find.

Either way, he needed time to swallow this before he could face Regina again.  Because he either had to believe her or think she was crazy, and Errol wasn’t ready to go down either of those roads.  Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

* * *

 

Cora had wormed the story out of him, or at least most of it, but the worst part was that she _already knew who Baelfire was._   The Blue Fairy had assured August that _no one_ else knew that name other than her, Neal, August, and the Dark One himself, but apparently the Evil Queen was way ahead of them on that front.  She knew exactly who Baelfire was, and now, as a consequence, she knew he was on his way to Storybrooke.

There went August’s precious hole card.  Cora _knew_ , which meant he couldn’t risk going to Gold.  If he did, and Rumplestiltskin intervened, Cora would know exactly who had spilled the beans, and his papa would _die_.  August had hoped to use bringing Neal to Storybrooke to convince the Dark One to help him turn back from wood, but now he would have to hope that Cora would help him after Neal arrived.  She’d implied that she was willing, and able, but August had never wanted to trust in her goodwill.  Now, however, he had no choice.

“Hey, August!” a voice called his name as he stalked out of Granny’s Bed and Breakfast.  He’d thought of eating breakfast but had not been hungry; now he desperately needed to drop by Marco’s shop and make sure his father was all right.  But it was Emma, so August stopped cold.

 _I can’t tell her that the Evil Queen is about to use her ex-boyfriend as a bargaining chip,_ he thought desperately.  _I can’t tell her that Henry’s father is coming and will be in danger when he does!_

“Yeah?” he snapped, not caring if he sounded short and tense.

“What’s crawled up your behind?” the Savior asked curiously, strolling up.  She looked so damn confident, Emma did.  How could she look like that when everything was going straight to hell, his left leg was dragging painfully, and the curse was still strong?

“I’m tired of waiting for things to happen,” August replied honestly, his voice a growl.

“Whoa there, slugger.  What’d I do to you?”

“You didn’t break the curse!”  The words tore out of him before he could stop them, but August caught himself with an effort.  “You know what?  Never mind.  Yelling at you isn’t going to help.  I’m sorry.”

Emma’s pretty face twisted up in concern.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”  _I’m turning to wood, but you won’t believe that, now, will you?_ August wanted to say, but didn’t.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be.”

“Sure,” she said dubiously.  “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah.  I’m sure you will.”

Desperately needing to make sure Geppetto was all right, August made a beeline for his shop, not caring who saw him.  Unfortunately for him, Zelena did.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin’s second visitor that day was at least _slightly_ more polite than the first.

“Your little wife here today?” Regina demanded by way of greeting, and Rumplestiltskin felt himself smile slightly despite the derogatory phrasing.  Regina was often abrasive, after all, and he knew she didn’t mean that in a bad way.  Belle _was_ rather tiny, after all.

“No, we do have a daughter to take care of,” he replied wryly.  Much though he wished Belle could spend all day, every day, with him, Rumplestiltskin knew Cora would certainly notice if she did.  Cora hadn’t seemed to have realized they were married in Storybrooke—or she hadn’t commented on it, yet, anyway—and he’d removed her ability to spy on him through the mirror in the shop, but one could never be too careful.

“The thought of you as a parent still nauseates me.”

 _You have no idea, dearie,_ he thought behind a mildly bored expression.   Before he could open his mouth to respond, however, the door opened again and young Henry charged into the shop, a particular book held tightly against his chest. 

“Sorry I’m late, Mom.  I got caught up talking to Grace,” the boy said with a smile.  “Hi, Mr. Gold.”

“Hello, Henry.”  Despite himself, Rumplestiltskin found himself smiling at the lad.  There were times when Regina’s boy reminded him very strongly of Bae, and even Mr. Gold had had a weak spot for children.  Much though he’d tried to hide it.  Still, he managed to get his impassive expression back as he turned to Regina.  “Do you want something, dear, or are you just here for good conversation now that dear Charming’s heart is missing?”

“You _knew_?” his old student demanded.

“His antics with Ms. Cole—and his inability to defend his True Love—made it rather glaringly obvious,” Rumplestiltskin replied dryly.  He wasn’t surprised, of course; Cora’s passion for ripping out hearts was rather legendary.  Not to mention something he’d learned from painful personal experience.

“Wait, Dad’s heart is gone?  For sure?” Henry cut in, and Rumplestiltskin threw Regina  a look.

“You really want your boy here for this?”

“He figured out the curse on his own,” she retorted.  “I think he’s earned a little trust.”

Henry beamed, Rumplestiltskin resisted the urge to sigh.  The boy was smart; there was no doubt about that.  But he _was_ ten, and Rumplestiltskin knew from very recent experience that children did say the damnedest things.  “Thanks, Mom!”

Regina waved away Rumplestiltskin’s doubting look.  “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about where we’re going from here.  If Mother took David’s heart, she’s probably done it to more than just him, and _that_ means we’re going to need allies.  Assuming you’re still on our side when the curse breaks.”

It was all he could do to not roll his eyes.  “I think I made my position remarkably clear last time we spoke of this.”

“I just had to be sure.”

“Do stop wasting my time and let’s get down to business, then,” Rumplestiltskin replied.  “You are correct.  Building an alliance of those who will oppose your mother is wise, though we will have to choose carefully.”

“Obviously.  There are some easy ones.  Snow, Charming, and Emma will undoubtedly be with us.  So will the other repulsively-good royals,” Regina said.  “Graham will want to help us, too, particularly if we can heal his—”

And she had been doing so well.

“Your mother has the Huntsman’s heart as well,” Rumplestiltskin reminded her.   “She owns him as surely as she owns the pirate who pays her fealty—probably more, since she doesn’t seem to have Hook’s heart.  The Huntsman is out, unless you can steal his heart back.  As is anyone else your mother can control.”

Regina scowled, but didn’t argue.  “How about Maleficent and her friends, then?  Mal is going to be _furious_ with Mother when she wakes up, between being ‘given’ the Basement and losing her daughter.”

“Maleficent has a _daughter_?” Henry broke in, and Rumplestiltskin sighed.

“She did.  No one has seen the baby since the curse was cast, though,” Regina answered, and Rumplestiltskin got in before the lad could ask another question.

“Yes, Maleficent should be simple, provided your mother doesn’t steal her heart while she’s cursed.  Ursula may come over with her, but Cruella was flirting with Cora in the old world, and where one goes, the other will follow,” he mused, running through the list of sorcerers in Storybrooke in his mind.  “Jafar seems tentatively allied with your mother as well, and Zelena is obviously on her side.  Ingrid—”

“Who?” Regina and Henry asked together.

“Any Given Sundae,” he supplied, remembering how very surprised he had been to find the former heir to Arendelle in Storybrooke.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t seen her since he’d offered her the urn containing her niece in exchange for the Sorcerer’s Hat (a device he knew his wife would hate, but he’d not so much as met Belle when he’d been searching for that), and Gold’s memories indicated that Ingrid had wandered into Storybrooke mid-curse.  How she’d done that, he still didn’t know, but that hardly mattered now.  “The owner.”

“Right.  What in the world can she do?  I don’t know her,” Regina wondered.

“Ice magic.  She’s rather potent, though more in search of family and peace than power,” Rumplestiltskin remembered.  _I told her she had everything she needed with her sisters,_ he thought, remembering how he’d marveled at the love between them.  But Ingrid’s own insecurities had led her to want the urn she’d eventually been trapped inside, and hadn’t that become a self-fulfilling prophecy?  “Definitely a wildcard.  I’m not sure what she’ll want.  She may merely want to be left alone.”

“Well, left alone is better than on Mother’s side.  What about the Hatter?”

“If we can keep his daughter safe, he’ll help.  Otherwise, consider him a non-player,” Rumplestiltskin answered immediately, knowing that to be the truth.

Regina shrugged.  “She’s friends with Henry here.  That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Then it appears we have a small but distinctive list,” he replied, committing it to memory.  Of those who’d chosen to be Cora’s allies, Jafar would likely be the easiest to pry away; he would choose the winning side, regardless, and that would bring the power of two sorcerers (Jafar’s staff being the inanimate form and power of his former teacher) to their cause.  _And who would have thought that the Dark One would be conspiring to prop the heroes up?_ Rumplestiltskin thought behind a slight smile.  _Not I._

 _But needs must, and I_ must _keep my family safe._

“This is going to be ugly,” Regina commented, and he couldn’t help nodding.  Henry, of course, piped up immediately:

“It’s gonna be okay, Mom.  Things _always_ look darkest before they get better.  That’s how these things work.”

Bless the boy’s heart, he really was the product of a line of heroes, wasn’t he?  _And he thinks I’m nothing but the Beast,_ Rumplestiltskin realized. _Otherwise, he’d probably be asking Regina why she’s even talking to me._   He exchanged another short look with Regina, and gave her a slight nod when she shrugged.  Yes, they were in this together, and they’d do the heavy lifting and the dirty work when the ‘ true’ heroes balked.  Neither was perfect, but that was who they were.

* * *

 

She was in his chair again, and that drove Killian _mad_.  It was one thing to serve a cold-blooded and demanding mayor.  Loyalty to a sorceress who teleported herself into his private office was another annoyance entirely. _Just be glad she’s not showing up in your bedroom, mate,_ he told himself.  _Fortunately, she has the hearts of several men to accomplish_ that _, so you’ve not been called upon to provide that service._   _Lately, anyway._

Cora was a handsome enough older woman, and Killian would go to her bed if he had to—and had done so, in the past—but she really wasn’t his type.  Oh, there were advantages to  using his wiles on her, because even Cora wasn’t immune, but those advantages tended to shrink with time.  He’d been far happier to watch her abuse Gold than bed her himself, particularly since it made the (cursed) Crocodile so damn miserable.  Unfortunately, now that Cora lacked that outlet, she was probably in the market for a new boy-toy, and he found himself devoutly wishing that she hadn’t broken the former sheriff’s body so thoroughly.

“Your Majesty,” he greeted her a bit stiffly.  “What can I do for you this afternoon?”

“You can take Emma Swan and leave Storybrooke,” Cora said bluntly, rising from his leather desk chair.  “And take the boy, too, if you want.  She’ll probably insist.”

Blinking, Killian turned that over in his head a few times.  “Why would I do that?”

“Because you care about her,” the Evil Queen replied.  “You might not have bedded her yet, but you like her well enough, and you want her to stay alive.”

“Aye, I do, but—”

“And if you don’t, both she and the boy might die.  I grow sick of their meddling, but the boy _is_ my adopted grandson, so I would like to give him a chance at survival.”

 _You’re about as maternal as a tiger shark who eats her young,_ he thought, but was too wise to say it.  Instead, Killian forced a casual smile.

“There’s a small matter of your curse keeping me inside the borders, love,” he pointed out.  Not to mention the fact that he really didn’t want to leave Storybrooke.  Not with Mirabella here.

Mentioning that, however, would probably be a death sentence for Mirabella, so Killian kept his mouth shut.  Again.

Cora waved a hand.  “Already fixed.  You can leave, so long as you take the Savior with you.”

“That’s a, uh, generous offer.”

“It is, Captain.”  Stepping forward, Cora stopped in front of him, and Killian hated feeling dwarfed by this older woman.  But her power was undeniable.  “And it’s one you should take.  You care about Emma, and you’ve tried to play hero to keep her safe.  Now here’s your chance.  I’ve made you a rich man, and now you can go play house with the Savior and her brat.  And, by doing so, you can save their lives.  Understood?”

“What if she doesn’t want to go?” he had to ask.

“Well, then, I suppose you aren’t to be held responsible for whatever tragedies befall Emma and her son, now, are you?”

The cold reply sent a chill down Killian’s spine, and despite his feelings for Mirabella, he knew that he had to try his best to convince Emma to leave with him.  Because Killian _did_ care for her—at the very least, he liked her, and her boy—and he couldn’t let them die while he could stop it.

* * *

 

Regina started dialing for the fourth time, and then slammed the phone down before she could finish, staring dejectedly at it and trying to figure out why she was bothering.  _I should have known it was too good to be true,_ she thought brokenly.  Even when she tried to do things right, tried to tell the truth, it backfired on her, and wasn’t _that_ just the story of her life?  Errol obviously didn’t want to talk to her; he’d said he’d call after he had a chance to swallow everything, and yet he’d walked out of the house yesterday without a word since.  Now over thirty hours had passed, and he clearly didn’t want anything to do with the crazy woman.

“Regina?” David’s voice drifted into the home office she’d used as Cora’s assistant and now served as her refuge away from the world.  “Everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine, David,” she snapped without meaning to, and watched his face fall.  But there was enough honest emotion in his features that she immediately knew her mother wasn’t controlling him, and Regina felt bad for greeting him so hostilely.  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly.  “It’s just…been a hell of a day.”

“Can I help?” he asked, coming into the room slowly.  Save for his hesitance, he reminded Regina so very strongly of Charming right now; for a moment, she could almost remember being back in the Enchanted Forest, when her sister and her brother-in-law were the only things keeping her from going mad while her mother dangled Daniel’s life over her head.

“Not really,” she sighed.  “I’m just contemplating the ironies of life, and how everything seems to work out the same way every time, no matter how hard I try to change things.”

“Henry said that you told Errol about the curse.  Did he take it badly?”

Regina smiled wryly.  “That’s one way to describe it.  He said he’d call, and he hasn’t.”

“You know, it _is_ an awful lot to swallow,” David pointed out reasonably.  “It took me quite a while to wrap my mind around it, and I live here.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” she replied sadly.  “My life always works out like this.”

“Don’t say that,” he said immediately, and surprised Regina by putting a hand on her arm.  “Have you called him?”

“No.”

“Then talk to him.   Give it a chance.  Don’t just admit defeat without fighting.”  She opened her mouth to argue, but David asked briskly: “Is he worth fighting for?”

The answer was automatic.  “Of course!”

“Then call him,” he advised, and Regina found herself looking helplessly to a man she both knew very well and knew not at all.

“Do you think he’ll even want to talk to me?”

“I think that he loves you enough that a little crazy isn’t going to get in the way,” David smiled, and then headed out of the room, adding over his shoulder: “So, go on.  Give him the chance to tell you what he wants.”

“Thanks,” Regina whispered, and David just gave her another smile before closing the door behind himself.  Steeling herself, she lifted the phone for a fifth time, and finally managed to dial Errol’s entire number before chickening out.  He answered on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Regina said awkwardly, almost wishing she hadn’t called.  What if he hung up?  What if he—

“Regina,” Errol breathed on the other end, and he didn’t _sound_ angry.  “Hi.  I meant to call you earlier, I just—”

“It’s all right,” she cut in, not wanting to listen to him say that he didn’t want to talk to her yet. 

“No, it isn’t.  I _did_ want to call, Regina. It’s just that Jamie has been acting strange all day, claiming he’s not Jamie and instead he’s this Roland out of Henry’s book.  He’s talking about magic and living in the forest, and all kinds of things we’ve _never_ done.  Do you think  Henry might have told him about it?”

That made her blink.  “Not that I know of.”

“I didn’t want to believe you, you know,” Errol admitted, but there was something in his voice that made Regina pause before trying to reply.  “But it all makes too much sense.”

“You…you _believe_ me?” she asked incredulously.

“Well, the alternative is thinking you’re utterly insane, and I’d rather not go there.”

Relief made Regina slump in her chair, her heart on fire with love and the sudden—and unexpected—influx of hope.  She almost didn’t notice when Errol continued:

“There is one thing, though, Regina,” he said quietly, sounding regretful.  “If this is real, I’m not really me, am I?  And you’re not really you?”

“That is how it works,” she said slowly, not sure how to tell him that she had been awake for months now.  But perhaps she should ask Rumplestiltskin how he’d woken Belle up so early.  Maybe that would work for Errol—and she _did_ want that, didn’t she?  Even if a desperate and terrified corner of Regina’s mind was so very afraid that _Robin_ wouldn’t want her when he realized who Regina truly was.

“Right.”  A heartbeat passed in silence.  “Then, well, I was thinking that we should maybe take this thing slow.  You and me, I mean.  If I’m not who I’m going to be when this thing ends, well, I don’t want to make promises the later me—the real me?—won’t keep.”

“Errol, I…” She didn’t know what to say.

“I’m not saying that I don’t want to see you, because that would be a lie,” he cut in.  “But we should be careful, right.  I mean, what if there’s someone out there the other you loves?  Or the other me?  I don’t think there was anyone, but I wouldn’t know, would I?”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Regina whispered.  She knew that Daniel was dead, of course, but what if Robin had some other lover?  Could she deal with losing him again?

For one absolutely selfish moment, Regina started to wonder if she wanted the curse broken at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the awesome comments and kudos! I am so grateful for them that there are not words to express. Cora’s last ditch effort to protect the curse is about to kick off—do you think it will work? 
> 
> One note for everyone who wonders if Rumple's "please" will protect Neal, remember that he specified 'Lacey' and her daughter in that. He didn't specify his family because he didn't want Cora to know they were his family, so his son--who he thinks is safely outside Storybrooke--isn't included in that.
> 
> Next up: Chapter Seventy—“Breakout”, in which Regina asks Belle for help, Killian tries to get Emma to leave with him, Rumplestiltskin turns the tables on Cora, and the breakout from the Basement finally gets underway. Back in the past, Cora plans for the future.


	70. Breakout

Regina went straight to the shop the next morning, thinking: _I’m spending way too much time in this place_.  Yet Rumple remained her best ally, not to mention the only friend who really understood her.  Oh, he could drive her crazy sometimes, particularly with his penchant for secret keeping, but she could at least—usually—be certain that he hated her mother with a passion.  He had, after all, flat-out told Regina that he wanted to kill Cora, which probably meant he wasn’t going to ally with her any time soon.  Rumplestiltskin was the king of being unpredictable, but Regina was pretty sure she understood what he wanted.  For now.

Unfortunately, the petite brunette was behind the counter in the shop instead of the Dark One.

“Where’s Rumple?” Regina asked curiously.

“Renee has a cold, and it’s his turn to deal with that,” Belle replied with a smile.  “He’ll be in this afternoon.”

The thought of Rumplestiltskin caring for a sick child—regardless of the fact that Regina _did_ vaguely remember playing with him as a toddler—still made her blink.  “Well, you _are_ married to the man, so maybe you can help me.”

“I’ll do my best,” Belle replied, and she really was _earnest,_ wasn’t she?  Regina studied the other woman for a moment, actually glad for the chance to get her measure when Rumplestiltskin wasn’t around.  She’d already seen that Belle seemed to have the Dark One wrapped around her little finger—even if he was still very much _Rumple_ —but what kind of person was Belle by herself?  Regina wasn’t stupid enough to think that she was cut from the same mold as Cora; Rumple seemed to have decided to go for Cora’s opposite this time around.

 _So, she’s sweet instead of nasty, and probably loving instead of heartless,_ Regina decided via process of elimination.  _And… stubborn instead of calculating?_

“How much do you know about the Basement?” she asked bluntly. 

“I know what it is, and where it is,” Belle replied, looking Regina straight in the eye.  “And I know it’s a terrible place where your mother puts people she hates.”

“Just be glad that your husband’s a bit too old to be stuck in there,” Regina said without thinking, and noticed the very interesting manner in which Belle’s eyes flicked to the counter.

“I think your mother had other plans for him,” she said quietly, and Regina just shrugged.  Leave it to Rumple to tell her nothing—and probably tell nothing to his little wife, as well.

“Anyway.  We—Emma and I—are working with a couple of people to just break the place open and get the people out.  But we have to _put_ them somewhere where Mother can’t find them, otherwise she’ll just kill them or find somewhere new to lock them up,” she replied, getting to why she’d originally come to the shop.  “And Rumple owns more than half the damn town.  He’s got to have _somewhere_.  Assuming he’s willing to let us use it.”

“To keep people safe from Cora?  I can talk him into that,” Belle answered immediately, which took Regina aback.

“You can?”

Belle smiled.  “Leave that to me.  Rumple has a cabin out in the woods that should work.  It’s near the lake—do you need me to give you a map?”

This was moving faster than Regina anticipated—and faster than she possibly could have _hoped_ .  Was Belle so certain that she could convince Rumplestiltskin to help so overtly?  The brunette’s expression was calm and confident; she certainly seemed to take her ability to get Rumple to agree as a pre-ordained conclusion.  Should Regina allow herself to hope that? _Well, if she can’t, I lose nothing,_ she decided.

“A map would be excellent,” Regina said decisively.  It didn’t mean she wouldn’t ask Rumple later—just to make sure his wife wasn’t working behind his back—but she’d take what she could get.  They needed somewhere to put those people, and a secluded cabin in the woods would be the _perfect_ place.  Particularly because Cora certainly wouldn’t think that Rumple—self-serving, dark and dangerous, Rumplestiltskin—would ever help with this.

Belle rummaged through drawers until she found what she was looking for, a map of Storybrooke and the surrounding forests.  She promptly marked the location of the cabin and showed Regina the best way to get there, and then quirked a smile.  “You’re wondering if Rumple will actually agree to this.”

“Partially,” she admitted.  “It’s not that I don’t trust whatever methods of persuasion you have with your, uh, husband, but…”  _Or that I even want to_ think _of how you’ll talk Rumple into this,_ Regina added mentally as she trailed off.

Belle snickered.  “Rumple knows he’ll need all the brownie points he can get with the Savior when the curse is broken,” she pointed out, and Regina’s respect for her intelligence increased tenfold.  “Besides, I _prefer_ to use logic to convince him of things, particularly when they’re easy ones.”

It took all of Regina’s self-control not to gag at the thought of what other methods Belle might use, so she grabbed the map, thanked the former librarian, and headed out of the shop as quickly as her legs could carry her. 

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin had just finished brewing the potion to cure his sick daughter when his phone rang.  Focusing on pouring the bright blue liquid into a sippy cup, he didn’t even bother to look at who would be calling his cell shortly before lunch, and just flipped it open to answer.  “Gold.”

“Rumple, it’s been too long,” Cora’s voice came through the speaker, and he almost dropped the phone.

“What do _you_ want?” he snapped, not even bothering to pretend to be nice.  He’d spent the morning dealing with a sick and cranky three year old, and did _not_ want to add a bitchy and arrogant Evil Queen to his day.

“Dinner.  _Tonight_ , dear,” was the response, and Rumplestiltskin slammed the (now-empty) beaker down on the counter of his cellar workroom.

“You’ve got to be joking,” he growled.  _Kill her tonight!  You’re close enough to the curse breaking that it won’t matter.  People might even_ thank _you,_ his curse sang, and Rumplestiltskin tried not to snarl out loud.  The thought was getting more and more tempting.

“Not at all.  Meet me at the new Italian place,” Cora purred.

“What _is_ your game?” Rumplestiltskin asked, forcing himself back on balance and keeping his voice softly dangerous.  “Trying to make it look like we’re on the same side before the curse breaks, and hoping that people will misinterpret?  If you’re thinking that’ll force me to help you out of the _unfortunate_ predicament you’ll find yourself in, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Can’t I want to spend time with an old friend?” she countered, but he could hear the slight edge in her voice.  Yes, that was what Cora wanted, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t avoid her damned caveat, either.  _Soon,_ he promised himself.  _Soon the curse will break and those little commands_ will not _matter._

“Enjoy it while you can, dearie,” he spat, and hung up the phone before she could say anything else.

Yes, he would have to go, but Rumplestiltskin suspected Cora would not be so stupid as to touch him again.  He’d even use a _please_ to prevent it if he had to; all he had to do was get in before she could _now_ him on something.  He hated to waste his pleases like that, but there was only so much he could take.  Besides, they were getting so damned close.  Soon enough, his pleases wouldn’t matter, either, and he might as well get his money’s worth out of them while they did.

* * *

 

“Do you have a moment, Swan?”

Killian felt like the asked that question entirely too often, but lately he’d found himself chasing Emma Swan around far more than any self-respecting pirate would chase _any_ woman.  It wasn’t that she wasn’t worth the chase—because she undoubtedly was worth pursing—but it really did start to get old when the lady in question did not reciprocate his feelings.  Particularly when he had someone else to care about, and Emma seemed to be focused on everything but her own love life.

“Sure, Killian.  What’s up?” she asked, looking up from the cabinet she’d been organizing in the back of the sheriff’s station.  Both cells were empty, now, of course; Moe French was still in the hospital and Tony Rose was in the cemetery.  That meant that they’d at least have a little privacy for this conversation, even if Cora was magically eavesdropping.

Not like Cora didn’t know what he was going to say, anyway.

“I…well, there’s no easy way to say this, love, so I’ll just be blunt, shall I?” Killian started, wishing that he’d managed to build a romantic relationship with this extremely difficult woman.  _That_ , at least, would have made this conversation so much simpler.  “We both know that Storybrooke is getting dangerous for you.  Cora wants you dead, and with magic here, she’s likely to succeed when she tries to kill you.”

“Wait, what?  You know about magic being here?” Emma asked, looking stunned.

“Aye,” he confirmed.  “How or why isn’t important.  It’s a long story, anyway.  But I think you know enough to know that Cora plays for keeps.”

Emma grimaced.  “Yeah, I’ve seen that.”

“No, you haven’t,” Killian disagreed, thinking of the lives Cora _literally_ held in her hands and the killing spree she was likely to go on if the tide turned against her.  “Trust me, things can and _will_ get worse.  And she’ll go after your boy, too.”

“Henry is her grandson!” the sheriff objected, but he noticed that she didn’t look terribly surprised. 

“And if you believe that library fire happened _accidentally_ while young Henry was inside, Swan, you’re much more foolish than I thought,” he retorted bluntly, leaving out his own regrettable role in that affair.  “Cora will stop at nothing to get what she wants, and what she wants is you dead.  The only way to avoid that is to leave Storybrooke.”

That made Emma blink.  “What?  Leave Storybrooke?  Are you serious?”

“As the grave,” Killian said solemnly.  “You’ve got to get out of here, and I can help with that.  Say the word, and we can leave tonight.  I’ve already arranged everything—for you and Henry both.”

“Killian, I can’t just leave.  I’ve got responsibilities, and—”

“You can’t fulfill your responsibilities if you’re dead, love,” he cut her off.  “Believe me, I know Cora better than you’ll ever want to, and you’re living on borrowed time.  Trust me, and we can beat her.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Emma repeated, and then something cunning flashed across her face.  “Besides, if you know about magic, you know about the curse.  If Cora kills me, the curse breaks, doesn’t it?”

Now it was his turn to be taken aback.  “I’ve…I’ve never heard anything about that.”

“Well, Regina has,” she replied firmly.  “That means I’m safe, or at least safe enough.  And I’m not backing down from a fight, either.”

“Emma—”

“I’m grateful for your concern, Killian, but I’m not going anywhere,” she interrupted, and that was that.  Then she smiled.  “Besides, _you’re_ still up on assault charges, and you can’t skip town while you’re waiting for that plea bargain to work out.”

“Are you _really_ going to bring those up now?” he asked plaintively.

“I’m still the sheriff,” Emma replied calmly.  “And I’m damn well going to do my job.”

* * *

 

Barely an hour after Killian left her office, Emma met with Regina and Errol in Regina’s home office.  Regina had apparently warded the place so that Cora couldn’t spy on them, so it was the safest place they could talk and plan. 

“We’ve got a place to put everyone,” Regina said after they settled in.  “Gold’s got a cabin out in the woods he’ll let us use.  I gave Belle—err, Lacey” that last bit was definitely for Errol’s benefit—“a call, and she said she can get it stocked with the necessities by tonight.  She’s sending Dove out.”

“Gold’s henchman?” Errol asked in surprise, and Emma had to agree.  She knew that Regina was friends with Gold, but she hadn’t really expected the cold-blooded pawnbroker to _help_.

“The very same,” Regina replied with a crooked smile.  “I talked to Gold, too, and he said that he’ll ‘loan’ us Dove for the next couple weeks.  Dove will keep an eye on the cabin and make sure no one goes wandering in that direction.”

“That’s…oddly helpful of him,” Emma said slowly, and then looked suspiciously at Henry’s other mother.  “What’d you have to give him?”

Now Regina smirked.  “Nothing.  I got Belle to do the convincing for me.”

Well, Emma _had_ seen Gold go all quiet and nice around his wife, so she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that Belle could talk him into helping.  Still, it was better than she’d expected, so she figured they shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.  Instead, she glanced at Errol.

“So, you’re sure you can get in?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’ve got the security codes.  If you two can have a van there and ready to take everyone away, I can be in and out in as much time as it takes to wake the people downstairs up and sneak them out.  It would also help if you could somehow make sure that the folks _upstairs_ —like Merryweather and Carroll—don’t know what we’re doing.”

“I can handle that,” Regina volunteered.  “A simple silencing spell should do it nicely.  They won’t hear a thing.”

“Can’t you, you know, put them to sleep or something?” Emma couldn’t help but wonder.  Errol, meanwhile, seemed to swallow the fact that they were talking about _magic_ fairly well.  All things considered.

“No, that’s always been Maleficent’s specialty, and we’re trying to keep her from noticing us.”

“Wait a minute, Merryweather is _Maleficent_?” Emma gaped.  “Like, out of _Sleeping Beauty_ ,  Maleficent?  Is that why you wouldn’t ever tell me who she was?”

“She’s an old friend,” Regina said defensively.  “And it’s not _her_ fault that mother gave her a brothel.  She’ll be furious when she wakes up.”

“Maleficent—the crazy evil sorceress—is your friend?” Errol got in, looking stupefied.

“She’s really not that crazy,” Regina objected, but she seemed a little worried.  And Emma couldn’t blame her.  Poor Errol was trying to swallow everything, having just found out about the curse, and finding out that Regina was friends with the Mistress of All Evil (Emma remembered that name from the movie) was kind of rocky.  Still, she spoke up to save Regina from this little faux pas.

“I guess who she is doesn’t really matter if we can get everyone out.  So, Regina will do the spell and drive the van, and I’ll go in with you in case you need help,” she told Errol.

“No offense, but I’m not used to breaking into places with the sheriff on my heels,” he said dryly, and Emma grinned.

“I guess I never mentioned that my car started off as stolen, did I?” she countered.  “I’ve broken into more than a couple of places and stolen stuff myself.  I won’t get in your way, and I’ll be a second set of hands if you need one.  Okay?”

The firefighter—who Regina had told her was Robin Hood back in the other world—shrugged.  “Sounds good to me.”

“Then we’ll do this tonight,” Regina spoke up to seal the deal, and the three exchanged nods.

* * *

 

Even as the threesome planned, Rumplestiltskin found himself sitting in Storybrooke’s not-as-upscale-as-advertised Italian restaurant.  Cora, of course, had her chair entirely too close to his, but at least she had not tried to touch him—yet.  If her hand so much as twitched in his direction, Rumplestiltskin was already prepared to _please_ her out of it, and perhaps even get himself out of this entire date while he was at it.  Because he really did know exactly what Cora was up to: she was planning for the future, something she was almost as good at as he was.

Yet she didn’t know that he was ahead of her on that front, too.  Even as they ate, Belle and Dove were stocking the cabin with enough food and medical supplies to care for Cora’s ‘special cases’ kept in the Basement, and he was neck deep in helping the heroes, even if it _did_ go against his darker nature.  _But if it helps me find my son, I will ally with whomever I must,_ Rumplestiltskin thought behind an expressionless face.  _Particularly when it’s against this toxic woman who I was once foolish enough to fall in love with_.  His formerly lingering affection for Cora was all but gone, now.  She’d made sure of that, just like she did now, smiling at him so knowingly and pretending that she didn’t know how his skin crawled when she leaned close.

“Tell me about  your little ‘wife’,” Cora said unexpectedly, and Rumplestiltskin shoved down the suddenly cold feeling in his heart to smirk at her.

“Finally heard about that, did you?” he taunted his former student lightly.

“Yes, Tollak was quite put out when your legal maneuverings took away his chance to save poor little Renee.  Did you _really_ adopt the brat, Rumple?”

His temper reared up so suddenly that the glasses on the table started to vibrate before Rumplestiltskin could slam a lid down on both the fury that wanted to rise and the darkness egging it on.  But it took him a few crucial seconds to do so, and Cora was already giggling softly.

“You even _like_ the little girl,” she marveled.  “Well, I shouldn’t be surprised.  You’ve always had a soft spot for children.  Are you still missing dear Baelfire?”

“Don’t push me, dear,” he said quietly, his temper firmly in check even as his curse howled for release.  “You won’t like what will happen if I decide to go against my better judgment and end you here and now.”

“You won’t,” Cora replied confidently, folding her hands on the table.

Had she tried to touch him right then, Rumplestiltskin would not have been so sure. 

“You’re counting on that, but you of all people should remember what I can do when provoked,” Rumplestiltskin reminded her conversationally. 

“Really, Rumple, you’re getting dramatic for no reason,” she smiled.  “I merely asked as a friend concerned for your well-being, of course.”

He snorted.  “Of course.”

“I _do_ still wonder what you see in her, though.  She’s smart enough, I suppose—if you can pry her head out of a book—but there’s no power behind the pretty face.  She was a mere _knight’s_ daughter back in our world.  I would have thought you’d want someone better.”

“Like a miller’s daughter?” he shot back, regaining his sly smile and watching the point slide home.  Cora snarled inaudibly.

“ _I_ am a queen,” she snapped.

“Technically, right now you’re merely a mayor.  And that’s rather a step down in the world, isn’t it?” Rumplestiltskin taunted her back.  “Still, that’s a promotion for a girl who used to carry the sacks of flour to market because her father was too drunk to bother.”

Now the silverware did a little dance, and Rumplestiltskin found himself smiling at _her_ display of temper.  Heartless or not, it took Cora more than a few seconds to calm down.

“Don’t mock me, Rumple.  You’ll regret it.”

“Oh, will I?” he snorted again, this time far more derisively.  The next words came out quietly, their sing-songy  manner disguising the inner turmoil he still felt when faced by her threats. “What are you going to do to me, _Your Majesty_ , tie me down and hurt me until I give in?” 

His laugh was closer to the imp’s high-pitched giggle than anything he had uttered in a long, long time.  Cora, however, faced him with her eyes narrowed and her back straight.

“Of course not,” she replied coolly.  “I’d do far worse.”

Back in the Enchanted Forest, he would have grabbed her by the throat and squeezed her life out.  Had they not been in a busy restaurant, Rumplestiltskin would have done that, here, too.  But no.  Subtlety was in order, so he just reached out and took her by the right wrist, clasping it tightly in his left hand.  Magic flowed through his body as he channeled his curse’s strength into his very human hand, squeezing until he felt bones grind against one another, stressed _almost_ to the point of breaking.  Cora flinched a little at first, and then shifted uncomfortably, despite her obvious attempts not to react.

“I wouldn’t advise that, dearie,” he warned her softly.  Dangerously.  “I may _look_ human here, but I am nothing of the sort.”

Another squeeze, and then he let go, rising while Cora tried all too hard not to pant in relief and pain. 

“Good night, Madam Mayor,” Rumplestiltskin said politely.  “I do believe our dinner is done.”

He strode out without bothering to look at the infuriated expression on her face.

* * *

 

One moment, Ruby had been sleeping semi-peacefully, aided by painkillers that Mirabella had snuck her from somewhere.  The pills weren’t enough to really knock her out, but they did make the pain of two cracked ribs and a very sprained ankle livable, so she was very grateful for the help.  The next moment, however, a hand was on her shoulder and shaking her, which meant Ruby woke up to Mirabelle’s face entirely too close to hers.

“Shh!” the petite blonde whispered.   “There are some people here to get us out.  Can you walk?”

“For that?” she asked, sitting up too quickly and wincing in pain.  “Anywhere.”

The next person Ruby saw was Emma Swan, and she damn near hugged the sheriff.  Emma just gave her a grin and grabbed her right arm while Mirabella grabbed her left, and they helped Ruby to her feet.  Meanwhile, the firefighter who had saved Lacey in the library fire helped Ana wake up Paris, Talia, and Magnolia.  Ruby would have expected escape to be a lot harder, but Emma just gave her a wink and led the group outside.  There was a truck waiting, with Regina Nolan—of all people!—in the driver’s seat.  Ruby had to do a double take, because sure enough, that was ‘Game of Thorns’ painted on the side, and apparently their getaway vehicle was the _florist’s_ truck.  Soon enough, they were all inside, huddling together in the back on a bunch of blankets someone had put down for them.  The interior still smelled faintly like roses, but there weren’t any flowers in sight.  Her ribs ached from sitting on the floor, but Ruby gritted her teeth and refused to complain.

Somehow, they managed to drive away without anyone noticing them, though Ruby did notice Errol resetting the alarm system on the way out.  That alarm had caught everyone who had ever tried to escape, but apparently the fire chief defeated it easily enough, because he jumped in next to Regina with a huge grin on his face.  The mayor’s daughter quickly put the truck into gear and headed away from the town center while the former residents of the Basement exchanged incredulous glances.  Sneaking a look over her shoulder told Ruby that Emma’s yellow bug was following them, which meant things were probably going to be okay, but could escaping really be that easy?

“Where are we going?” Mirabella spoke up first, directing the question at Errol.  _She probably doesn’t even know who he is,_ Ruby realized.  Mirabella had told her more than once that she barely remembered any life outside the Basement.  In fact, it seemed like only Ruby and Ana (or Vicky, as Madam Merryweather liked calling her) remembered _ever_ having lived anywhere else.  Best Ruby could guess, the others had had the memories drugged out of them.  Talia certainly looked frightened enough to be in a moving vehicle to prove that theory.

“A safe place,” Errol replied.  “It’s a cabin in the woods.  You won’t be able to leave, yet, but it’ll be away from the Basement and no one will hurt you.”

That was all well and good, but Ruby really didn’t like the sound of not being able to leave.  “So, we’re trading one prison for another?” she demanded.

Errol looked shocked; Regina was the one who snorted.  “Don’t be ridiculous.  You’re welcome to wander away if you want, but do you _really_ fancy a return trip to the Basement, or someplace worse?  My mother will happily snap you back up if hiding is too good for you, Ruby.”

“That’s not very nice,” Mirabella retorted, and Regina suddenly seemed to notice her in the mirror.  Regina’s eyes went wide, and she almost swerved off the road.

“Tink?” she stuttered, and Mirabella just stared at her.

“If that was an apology, it’s the strangest one I’ve ever gotten,” Ruby’s friend replied, and Ruby tried very hard not to laugh.  Laughing hurt.

“No—well, maybe it is,” Regina said, looking like she was trying to get over some shock or another.  “Look, I’m not here to be nice.  Emma can do that all you want.  _I’m_ trying to take you someplace safe.  It shouldn’t be for long.”

“How long?” Ana spoke up, and at least she didn’t seem to startle Regina so much.

“Hopefully, not more than a few weeks,” was the answer.  “Maybe less.”

“We’ve got food and medical supplies there,” Errol piped up.  “And Doctor Hopper is going to come out in a few days, after you get settled in.  Everyone should be comfortable, and if you need anything else, all you have to do is ask.”

“Why are you helping us?” Mirabella asked when no one else wanted to say anything.

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Errol answered, and Ruby noticed that Regina’s eyes were firmly on the road now, as they took a left off of the road leading out of town and headed deep into the woods.

“That doesn’t seem to happen much in this town,” Ana said, and Ruby had to agree with that.

“Well, it does now,” Regina replied firmly, and they spent the rest of the ride in silence.

* * *

 

She had _not_ been expecting a phone call from Keith Law a few minutes after she returned home from her ‘date’ with Rumplestiltskin.  “Yes?” Cora snapped.  The Sheriff of Nottingham had his uses, but he was really one of her more despicable tools.

“I just…jus’ watched a truck full of peeps pull away from your special place,” he slurred, obviously drunk.

“What are you talking about?” she demanded.  Deciphering a drunk’s words was _not_ anywhere in her plans for the rest of the evening.  Cora had been about to turn in for the night, after spending a few enjoyable minutes contemplating how she would punish Rumple for his defiance, but this fool had ruined that.

“The crypt.  No.  Not that.”  She could hear Keith thinking hard.  “Cellar.  No.  _Basement!_   That’s it.  Basement.”

“Wait a minute,” Cora said slowly, suddenly feeling like a tornado was whipping around her.  The curse was _weakening._   The feeling was almost imperceptible, but it was there.  She could feel the edges fraying, could sense things starting to go wrong.  Emma Swan’s presence had made time start moving, and little by slowly, the Savior had influenced events, but not in any major way.  Cora had still possessed all the power…until now.  Something had changed.

“Still waitin’,” Keith slurred after a minute.  “Pretty mayor lady.”

“You are disgusting,” she snapped before she could stop herself, and then checked her temper with an effort.  “Are you certain that you saw people leaving the Basement?”

“Was it a party?” he asked drunkenly.  “‘Cause I woulda wanna go.”

Not teleporting herself straight to the fool to rip his heart out took a gargantuan amount of self-control. 

“No, it wasn’t,” Cora snarled.  “Thank you for the information, Deputy.  I’ll see that you’re rewarded.  Did you see anything else?”

“I dun think so.  But it’s kind of blurry, and my truck’s in a…in a bitch.  _Ditch._ ”

 _Oh, great._   Someone else could call the sheriff about Keith driving drunk again.  Cora certainly wasn’t going to put herself out for his sake.  So, she just hung up the phone and stopped to think.

Yes, the curse was going to break.  There was no use denying that; the Savior had been here since October, and the tide had finally turned in her favor.  Cora knew she could prolong things—and she would, out of spite, if nothing else—but she was no fool.  She knew what was coming, and even though she had prepared for that eventuality since the beginning, the thought _burned_.  Oh, she had always known that any curse she received from the Dark One was bound to have a loophole, all but guaranteed to have some hidden way to be broken.  Fury, however, would not avail her now, so Cora put her righteous anger aside.

She needed insurance.

Picking up the phone, she called her daughter.  Zelena picked up on the first ring.  “Mother!”

“Hello, darling,” she replied, forcing her voice to convey affection instead of the anger boiling in her veins.  “I need a favor.”

“Of course I’ll be _happy_ to help,” her eldest said eagerly, and Cora finally allowed herself a smile.  At least Zelena was loyal, and she would always be able to count on that so long as she treated her well. 

Honestly, Cora was glad to treat a daughter well.  Regina could have had everything she wanted—even love—if only Regina had been obedient and loyal.  Of course, Regina had chosen Eva’s disgusting daughter instead of her own mother, but Cora had a new daughter, now, and Zelena would never make that mistake.

“I knew you’d say that,” she responded proudly.  “We need some insurance now that things are changing.  Fetch the carpenter and bring him to the house at the edge of town.”

“Your summer house?” Zelena asked quickly.

“Yes.  There are cages in the cellar.  Put old Marco in one of those.”

* * *

 

_One Month Before the Curse_

Cora had always been a believer in making lists, in planning every  move out meticulously.  Being driven by emotion was a surefire way to fail, and she knew that she had to cast this curse with a clear and determined mind.  And she _would_ cast it; Rumplestiltskin had made sure of that in his own twisted way by using Regina’s blood to ensure she could not hurt Snow or her little prince.  Oh, but _she_ would use Regina, too; in the new world, if not before.  Her precocious traitor of a daughter had chosen the losing side, and Cora would prove that to her.  One way or another.

Yet there were many others who needed to be punished.  Regina would be taken care of because she was her daughter, and Cora would marry her heir to the prince who never should have rejected her.  The others, however…oh, they would pay.  She had plans for Snow already—a sordid past, a broken heart, emptiness in her life that she could never overcome—but Rumplestiltskin was next on her list.  _He_ was as much responsible for her defeat as anyone else, even if a part of Cora didn’t want to admit that he’d gone over to the heroes quite so completely.  _It’s always about his son,_ she reminded herself.   _He wants this curse to get to the Land Without Magic, so I shall give him_ that _.  But he will also be what_ I _want, and give me that which he has refused me._

Yes, Rumplestiltskin would suffer.  So would everyone else who had dared to get in the way, who had supported Snow, and the other royals who had once spat upon Cora for not being ‘good enough’ to be one of them.  She knew their type, of course, and it was time that the royals discovered what it was like to suffer.  That thought made her make another note on her list—now she knew what to do with the little princess who had infuriated Maleficent so.  And she would give Maleficent power over Aurora, too, in payment for the deal Cruella had made with her to ensure the security and happiness of her fellow ‘Queens of Darkness’.

That was such a ridiculous little title, but Cora heard worse.  She would give Maleficent _exactly_ what Cruella had asked for, and no more.  But she would not forget that Maleficent had offered _Snow_ an alliance, either.  Nor would she forgive that little act of idiocy.  But Cruella had slipped up when she bargained for friendship, security, and material wealth for herself and her fellows.  Cruella had forgotten to include Maleficent’s _daughter_ in that deal, and there lay the insurance Cora needed against any rebellions on the part of the so-called Mistress of All Evil.

She _would_ win.  And this curse would be the first step.

* * *

 

“I didn’t expect you to be here,” Regina said by way of greeting, climbing out of the truck and eyeing Belle.

Belle bit back the urge to ask her why she _wouldn’t_ be there and instead shrugged as casually as she could.  “I do have to take the truck back, you know.”

“It’s not like anyone will notice it’s missing,” the older woman countered, and Belle barely  managed not to roll her eyes.  “Where’s Rumple?”

“Busy.”  Belle was _not_ going to tell Regina that Rumple had been _tonight_ ed into another date with Cora, or that she was worried sick about her husband.  She didn’t think Cora would be foolish enough to try to hurt him, but last time Rumple had come back shaken from just her _touching_ him.  Belle needed something to do other than sit there and fret, and she could help people here.  It wasn’t just a good distraction; it was what heroes were supposed to do.

“Right.”  Regina rolled her eyes.  “Anyway, this lot’s in kind of rough shape, so be careful around them.  They’re not terribly trust—”

“Lacey?” a voice interrupted, calling her cursed name, and Belle turned to face Ruby.

“Ruby!” she gasped, shoving past Regina to approach her friend.  Mindful of what Regina had said, Belle allowed Ruby to reach out to hug her.  “I’m so glad to see you’re all right.”

“A little banged up, but yeah, I’ll be fine,” Ruby replied immediately.  “Are you involved in this?”

“The cabin belongs to Gold,” she admitted.  “And I might have, uh, borrowed my dad’s truck for this one.”

“They should have had you drive.  We’d have been nice to _you_ ,” the taller woman replied, and Belle couldn’t help smiling when she saw Regina scowl.  Regina meant well, of course, but she could be very abrasive—even in Belle’s limited experience with her—and Ruby and the others had clearly not been happy to find the mayor’s daughter playing chauffer. 

“Well, we’re all here now,” she said brightly.  “And we’ll keep you safe until we can get you back home.”

“Can you let Granny know I’m all right?” Ruby whispered all of a sudden.  “I get it if you can’t tell her where I am, but she’s got to be worried.  She probably thinks I ran away or something…”

“I’ll tell her,” Belle promised, squeezing Ruby’s shoulders once more.  That got her a grateful smile, and then Ruby seemed to notice the short blonde who was standing not far away from them, looking uncomfortable.

“Oh!  Lacey, this is Mirabella.  She’s been in the Basement a long time, but she’s a friend now.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Belle said.  The other woman eyed her suspiciously, but after a moment, she took it.

“Any friend of Ruby’s is a friend of mine,” Mirabella replied, and Belle gave her an encouraging smile.

“Let’s get you both inside,” she said.  “I promise it’s a lot more comfortable than the truck, even with the blankets we put on the floor.  And there’s plenty of food, too, for anyone who is hungry.”

“Sounds like paradise,” Mirabella quipped, and Belle decided then and there that she was going to like this woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any errors—I spent the afternoon at the doctor, and I’m a bit out of it! Thank you all for the awesome reviews, particularly the anons that I can’t reply!
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Seventy-One—“Promises Given,” in which Regina plots to save David, Cora wakes Jefferson up for a special job, Henry and Emma try to figure out who Gold really is, and Neal arrives in Storybrooke. Back in the past, Cora baits a trap for her favorite daughter.


	71. Promises Given

“It’s done, Mother,” Zelena reported over the phone less than an hour later.

“Did anyone see you?”

“One of the munchkins did, but I hit him with a forgetful spell, so he won’t remember,” her daughter replied with a smile Cora could hear.

“Excellent.  Though you must remember that they’re _dwarves_ , darling.  Not munchkins.”

Zelena giggled.  “They’re useless either way.”

“Of course they are.  Now, get some rest.  There are other things we must do in the morning, and I have an important trip for you to go on.”

Cora listened to Zelena’s gushing goodbyes and then refocused on the curse scroll she held in her hands.  Her next step would take a little more preparation than locking Geppetto away, but she had all night to do just that.  And now her control over young Pinocchio was complete enough that she could ignore the writer—she might have given him back his heart, but now she had far better leverage.

* * *

 

Belle hadn’t expected Rumplestiltskin to beat her home that evening—usually, Cora kept him until very late hours, even if she _wasn’t_ able to force herself upon him.  But she found him in the living room with a glass of scotch in his hand, staring blankly at the television.

“Rumple?” she asked quietly.  “Are you all right?”

Alarmed, his head snapped up, eyes wide until he finally seemed to notice her.  A wan smile crossed his face.  “Better than I might be,” her husband answered with more honesty than he would have before the curse. 

Moving slowly—and making sure not to startle him—Belle slipped into the spot on the couch next to him.  The glass of scotch was nearly empty, but at least the bottle wasn’t on the table.  Gold had gotten himself stone drunk to try to wipe away the memory of what Cora did to him on more than one occasion, but Belle was very glad to see that Rumplestiltskin wasn’t climbing into a bottle to cope.  He didn’t smell like alcohol, either, which meant this probably wasn’t more than a second drink.  Maybe his first.  Still, she would have been there for him regardless, even if he had been drunk and stupid, so Belle put a gentle hand on his arm.

“Did she…?”

“No.”  Rumplestiltskin shook his head.  “She’s not that stupid.  It’s just…being near her, and acting like I don’t—like I’m not…” he trailed off.

Relief coursed through her; Belle knew better than anyone that Rumplestiltskin still suffered from the repeated rapes and pain Cora had subjected him to for twenty-eight years.  In truth, she probably understood how damaged he was better than _Rumplestiltskin_ did, since they both knew that he didn’t want to admit that to himself.  Leaning in, Belle wrapped an arm around his shoulders, letting her hand drift to his neck.  He loved it when she played with his hair, her fingers ghosting gently over his neck, and it never failed to help Rumple relax.  Even now, she could see some of the tension bleeding out of him as he leaned into her touch.

“I love you,” Belle said softly, leaning in to kiss his cheek, and then staying close to him.  “And whatever you need, I’ll be here.”

“I love you, too.”  If his whisper was a little ragged, well, Belle pretended not to notice.  They both remained silent for several moments, their heads pressed together and with Belle still rubbing gently, before Rumplestiltskin asked: “How did the little breakout go?”

“Surprisingly easy.  It probably helped that Cora was—well, wasn’t around.”

“Well, I’m glad to have been of assistance,” he replied dryly, and Belle had to laugh softly at the irony in his voice.

“Thank you,” she said playfully, and this time the hint of a smile on his face was genuine.  “My hero.”

 Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, sweetheart.  I’m still a monster.”

“Well, then you’re _my_ monster,” Belle said, hating—as always—to hear him call himself that, but not willing to get in an argument when he was out of sorts.  And her possessive slant did the trick; Rumplestiltskin chuckled quietly.

“I can feel it, you know,” he said after a moment.  “The curse is straining, stretching.  It’s so very close, so ready to give.  All it will take is one small push.”

“Then what do we need to do?”

“I wish I knew.  That’s up to Miss Swan, unfortunately,” he grumbled.

Belle frowned.  “It’s not like you to leave things to chance like that, Rumple.”

“When  you create—or modify, in this case—a curse, you can specify one thing: _how_ it is broken, _when_ it is broken, or _who_ breaks it,” her husband explained.  “If you’re very good, you can choose two.  But never all three.”

“And you, of course, are very good,” she smiled.

“Always.”

“Speaking of good things, I think it’s time you finished your scotch and came to bed,” Belle suggested, rising from the couch.  “If we’re as close as you think, we’re going to need all the rest we can get.”

“So we are.”  Rumplestiltskin followed her up the stairs without complaint, downing the last gulp of scotch and leaving the glass in the kitchen.  He’d have nightmares tonight, Belle knew, but they would face them together.

* * *

 

“Well, that’s done,” Regina breathed as she and Errol squeezed into the back of Emma’s car.  Dove—Gold’s surprisingly intelligent henchman—would stay at the cabin tonight to help out if needed, so the three of them were finally done with the job of rescuing everyone from the Basement.

“And not a moment too soon,” Emma agreed. 

Next to Regina, Errol grunted in agreement.  Regina wasn’t sure why they’d both gotten in the back, particularly after their recent decision to take things slowly until the curse broke, but she couldn’t argue about being this close to him.  Regina hadn’t felt this way in a lifetime, hadn’t _ever_ thought she would feel her heart warm and quicken like this again.  Now that she’d found love, she wasn’t going to let it go, no matter what.  Even if that meant taking things slowly for Errol’s sake.

“You want me to drop you at home or the station, Errol?” Emma asked after a moment.

“Home is fine.  Mel will cover for me and swear I’ve been there all night,” he replied, and Regina smiled.

“Well, I’m glad one of us has an alibi,” she replied.

“You could ask David—” he started to suggest, but cut off when she shook her head.

“David would do it if I asked, but Mother…well, let’s just say she’s got a magical hold on him right now.  I can’t risk it.”

“Can someone else fix that?” Errol wondered.

_Can I?_ Regina asked herself.  Back home, she’d known where her mother kept all of her hearts, but Regina had never been brave enough to break into that vault.  Here, however, the same vault existed in Cora’s ‘family’ mausoleum, and Regina was willing to bet there were a lot _fewer_ magical defenses on the place. _They’re probably based in blood magic, too, and that means I can get in!_

“That would probably be a good idea,” Emma spoke up.  “David can’t be the only one.”

“No, he can’t,” she sighed, but now the thought was in her mind and would not let go.  Perhaps there _was_ something she could do.  And wouldn’t that undermine her mother’s power base rather beautifully?  Regina could almost taste the victory already.

* * *

 

_One Week Before the Curse_

_“They say that the hearts of two True Loves are shared…”_ Rumplestiltskin had told her several days earlier, and Cora had turned that answer over again and again in her mind, just to make sure that she knew _exactly_ what he meant.  After all, when one was preparing—again—to cast the Curse to End All Curses, one could not afford guesswork.  Unfortunately, the list of ingredients was very specific, and at first she had thought that Rumplestiltskin had included the one specific line just to aim another jab at her heartless state.  Now, however, she was quite certain that he had not.

No, such a potent and powerful curse _should_ require such a great loss, should it not?  Otherwise, any moderately powerful sorcerer could have cast the curse, and that simply would not do.  Even having to figure out the loophole inherent in the requirement to _sacrifice the heart of the one you love most_ was worth paying the price for.  So what if she’d given Rumple a good life?  He was welcome to it.  She had no desire to put him in poverty, after all.  Besting him would not be _nearly_ so enticing if he was nothing.  Cora planned on giving him everything he wanted, and then more.  She would simply exact a high price for it.

Just as he had exacted a high price for the little hint he had given her.  But now Cora knew what he meant.  The wording was _just_ loose enough that she could interpret it in one particular manner and keep her daughter—Regina, not Zelena, for Zelena would never matter to her the way the daughter she had raised did—alive.  So, she put pen to paper, writing slowly and meticulously.

_My dearest Regina,_

_I hope this finds you well.  I would have delivered this missive with magic, but I fear you would have rejected any letter I send in such a fashion.  Oh, I do hope that the messenger reaches you in time—otherwise this will all have been for naught._

_Your beloved Daniel has fallen dreadfully ill.  As you know, I have never been a master of the healing arts, and our mutual teacher is regretfully detained at the moment.  By your stepsister, I understand?  Perhaps you should have some words with Snow on that front.  But that is of little consequence.  I truly do fear for Daniel’s life; he is suffering and his only wish is to see you one last time before he dies._

_I know you do not trust me, darling, and I cannot blame you.  But I give you my solemn word that I will not try to capture, detain, or in any way harm you when you come.  I understand what Daniel means to you, and I would not have you separated from him in his hour of need.  Please hurry.  I do not know how long he will last._

_Your loving mother,_

_Cora_

The letter would probably a week to reach Regina, holed up in Snow’s castle as she was.  That would give Cora plenty of time to prepare.

* * *

 

The next morning, Cora sent Zelena after the girl while she invited the hatter to her office.  Of course, Jefferson was a little confused as to why the mayor would want to see the mere manager of Modern Fashions, but he arrived promptly enough.  As well he should have, given how he was cursed to be a polite and well-mannered stalker for Mary Margaret.   He’d drifted unfortunately far away from frightening and annoying Snow’s alter ego, but Cora supposed that was her fault.  She’d become distracted by all the other ways in which she wanted to make Snow suffer, and had allowed Emma Swan to scare Jefferson away.

Still, that hardly mattered for what she had in mind today.

“Jefferson,” she greeted him smoothly.  “Won’t you sit down?”

“Thank you, Madam Mayor,” he replied with a winning smile, and seated himself across from her desk, looking trim and well-put together in slacks and a nice collared shirt.  Cora paused for a moment to appreciate the view—she always enjoyed pretty male faces, after all—and waited for him to settle in.  She wasn’t being kind, of course. 

She just didn’t want him collapsing when she woke him up.

“I require your services, Hatter,” the mayor said coolly, and _watched_ the magic work.

The spell had been difficult to craft, more so than the one to wake Zelena since Cora had _not_ prepared for this eventuality ahead of time.  But using the curse scroll and her own control over the Dark Curse, Cora had been able to insert a loophole with which to wake up the portal jumper.  Doing so weakened the curse just a little, but at this point, that didn’t really matter.  The curse was going to break eventually.  She needed Jefferson to prepare for what came _after_ that inevitable event.  _And perhaps to stop it entirely,_ she added silently, knowing that her last effort to force Emma Swan out of town had been ill-conceived and careless.  This time would be different.

The magic hit Jefferson like a freight train, making him rock back violently in his chair as decades’ worth of memories warred for control of his mind.  Cora watched with amused interest; Zelena was a sorceress, and had been prepared for this.  The Hatter’s magic was a specialty, and only worked on his hat, which meant that he _wasn’t_ ready for this at all.  For a few moments, he shook and jerked spastically, twitching and wide-eyed and oh so confused.  Cora, however, was content to wait until the Hatter’s personality asserted itself over the mild-mannered stalker’s.  Several minutes passed before he seemed able to breathe properly, and she did not start speaking until his eyes focused on her and registered fear.

“Are you awake now, Hatter?” she asked very specifically.

Jefferson swallowed.  “Unfortunately.”

“Oh, why unfortunately?  Are you unhappy to be working with me again?” Cora cooed, resisting the urge to laugh at the panic in his eyes.

“Of course not,” he said quickly, glancing around the office nervously.

“Don’t worry so much.  Your daughter is perfectly safe.”

“My--!” Jefferson came halfway out of his chair before he seemed to remember to stop himself, but the man still looked ready to do murder.  Cora just folded her hands and spoke calmly.

“Zelena’s gone to fetch her heart.  You do remember my daughter Zelena, don’t you?”

After all, Jefferson had been sent to Oz once to fetch information on the Wicked Witch, and he’d also met Zelena in the months leading up to the curse.  He hadn’t _liked_ Cora’s eldest daughter, but Cora really didn’t care about that.  She wanted his allegiance, not his affection.

“I do,” he replied through gritted teeth.  “You don’t—Your Majesty, please.  Whatever you want, I will do it.  Just please leave my daughter alone.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” Cora smiled.  “So, I will offer you a deal.  You will take Zelena to Wonderland via your little hat.  When you return—with the person of my choosing—I will return Grace’s heart.”

“You don’t have to take it at all!” Jefferson objected, looking worried.  “I’ll do what you want, I swear.”

“It’s a little late for that now,” Zelena giggled, walking into the room with a child-sized heart in her hand.  It glowed brightly, as almost every child’s did, and the look on Jefferson’s face when he saw it was utterly priceless.

The Hatter looked between the two women, clearly torn between heartbreak and fury.  But heartbreak won.

“We have a deal,” he whispered.  “Please don’t hurt her.”

“I treat my allies well,” Cora told him, rising from behind her desk.  “Remember that, and you and your _dear_ daughter will be just fine.  You’ll leave immediately.”

“My hat…?”

“Is in the next room.”  Cora was very glad that was one of the items she had specifically told the curse to leave in her possession; otherwise, it might have wound up in Gold’s shop along with so many other magical objects.  However, she had the hat, and she now owned the Hatter as well.

“Take care while I’m away, Mother,” Zelena said, handing over the heart.

Cora kissed her on the cheek.  “I will, darling.  And do be careful.  The Jabberwocky is a dangerous foe.”

“I will,” Zelena promised as Jefferson blanched.  _Good. I thought the man would be well educated on the dangers in each land he has visited,_ Cora thought, satisfied.  _His fear for his daughter will make him cautious, and that will balance out Zelena’s more reckless nature._   “I’ve read everything I can find on the Jabberwocky, and I promise I’ll bring her—and the Vorpal Blade—back to you.”

“I have every confidence in you,” she assured her daughter, turning to place Grace’s heart in the box waiting on her desk.  “Now, go so that you can return quickly.  We have much work to do.”

And Cora had a Nightmare Curse to brew.

* * *

 

Sheriff Swan had kept her word and let him know about the breakout from the Basement, giving him details on the poor women—and one man—who’d been kept captive there.  Despite Francis’ best efforts, she wouldn’t tell him where they were now, which burned more than a little.  He owed Vicky— _Ana_ —an apology, and how was he supposed to give that to her if he couldn’t see her?  But Swan was understandably paranoid, and Francis figured that writing a huge exposé on the place would get him a little bit of credit.  Maybe then he could ask her again.

So, he wrote the article, a damned good one, if he said so himself.  It had taken all night, but that was a worthy endeavor.  was one of his best pieces of work, and unlike a lot of the others, it was chock full of facts instead of whatever crap Cora sold him.  Why _had_ he always been her man?  Francis didn’t even like the woman, and even if she sometimes gave him information he couldn’t get elsewhere, exciting news articles didn’t seem worth selling his soul over.  Somehow or another, she’d made him send Ana to that horrible place, and as far as Francis was concerned, he was done with her.  _This article ought to bloody well prove that to her,_ he thought, grinning at his computer screen in satisfaction.  It was about damn time someone took Cora down a peg, and Francis was only too happy to help the Sheriff do it.

Why then, did his hand suddenly reach out, grasp his mouse, and delete the file he had worked so hard to create?  And _then_ his stupidly insane self went on and deleted _every_ backup copy of the article he’d saved, along with his notes and everything else even related to the Basement.  Soon enough, Francis found himself _burning_ his handwritten notes, too, despite having no desire at all to do that.  He meticulously destroyed everything, all the while marveling and why he’d done so and wondering what the hell was wrong with himself.

Two hours later, already late for work, Francis Scadlock woke up thinking that he’d changed his mind, and that the article was best left unpublished, anyway.

* * *

 

“So, are you ready to talk about the curse?” Henry asked, plopping down in the chair across from Emma’s desk that morning.  It was a Sunday, but Emma was covering the shift because Keith was probably in a gutter somewhere and Gary had become an absolutely useless sycophant of Cora’s.  He was even more trouble than Keith, who could at least be relied upon to be drunk and selfish.  Gary, however, seemed willing to do nothing without the mayor’s express permission, which meant Emma usually just tried to ignore him.

“You gonna tell me how to break it?” she countered, looking at her son with raised eyebrows.

“The Book doesn’t say,” Henry admitted, looking a little chagrined.  “I kinda thought you’d figure it out.”

“Kid, I thought that was your job,” she chuckled.  Tellingly enough, Emma no longer contemplated how odd it was that she believed in the curse: she just believed.  And now that things had calmed down, that her giant to-do list was shrinking down, she could turn her attention to the very matter Henry so wanted her to focus on.

After all, her biggest problem had just been solved now that the people in the Basement were free.  The ‘big’ assault case still lingered, of course, but Moe French was going to be in the hospital for weeks yet, particularly now that Whale was talking about him needing a heart transplant.  And D.A. Spencer had just called to talk about a plea bargain for Killian O’Malley; apparently, ‘Lacey’ Gold was willing to let him take one, even if her lawyer/husband did not agree.  Emma was even leaning towards actually believing that Gold hadn’t killed Tony Rose, though that case was still open.

Still, the Basement breakout had lifted a giant weight off her shoulders.  Emma was even starting to think that she was ready to break this thing, however that needed to be done.

“I can talk to Mom again.  She might even ask Mr. Gold.  I’m still not sure who he is, but he really seems to know a lot,” Henry replied thoughtfully.

“Well, are you missing anyone with magic that’s in the Book?” Emma asked curiously, thinking back to her conversation with Gold.  He’d been cagey—as usual—and avoided telling her who the hell he was supposed to be.  Granted, Emma was grateful that he’d helped them out by providing his cabin, along with the money to feed and care for the escaped prisoners, but that didn’t mean she was prepared to give him a free pass.

Just some brownie points.

“Only the Dark One,” Henry shrugged.  “And _he_ isn’t human, so that kind of knocks Mr. Gold out.  Besides, Mr. Gold has always been kinda nice to kids, and the Dark One is supposed to steal babies.”

Memory hit Emma like a ton of bricks.  “He made a deal for Ashley’s baby!”

“Just like Rumplestiltskin did in the Enchanted Forest,” Henry gasped, eyes wide and catching on right away.  “Why didn’t I notice that?  That would explain why Mom knows him, too—he taught her!”

“Regina learned from this uber-evil bad guy?” Emma was having a hard time wrapping her mind around that one.  Regina’s story in the Book seemed more tragic than evil, despite what August said about her, but then why had she learned from Rumplestiltskin?

“He’s more unpredictable than evil,” her son explained with a shrug.  “At least in the Book, anyway.  You can never tell what side he’s going to be on.  He helped the Evil Queen with the curse at the end,  but he _also_ helped Snow White and Prince Charming beat her.  He’s kind of more of a consensual villain—he’ll make almost any deal, but he always keeps it when he does.”

“Then why’s he called the Dark One?”

“Because he’s under a curse.  There’s not much about it in here, but it makes him into something inhuman in the Enchanted Forest.  I _think_ he was human before that, though.”

“Would that make him human here?” Emma wondered, turning the idea over in her mind.  Gold as some uber-powerful, maybe-sometimes-evil, mastermind?  Yeah, she could see that.  

“Well, it is the Land Without Magic, but there’s magic now,” Henry pointed out.  “Though maybe he’s using magic to keep looking human?”

“You mom also keeps saying that magic is different here,” she shrugged.  “But that doesn’t really matter, does it?  Do you really think Gold might be the Dark One?”

“I dunno.  I mean, he _has_ to be the Beast because of Belle and all…”

“You’re the one who said that people could have more than one story in the Book.”

Henry frowned.  “I know.  I just…how can the Beast be the Dark One?” he asked plaintively.  “He’s supposed to be a good guy!”

“I don’t know, kiddo.  But I think we might want to figure that out before we break this thing, huh?”

“Yeah.”

* * *

 

The Imperial March belted out of August’s phone right after he got Cora’s _friendly_ little note telling him that his father had been ‘relocated’ for his safety and that August would see him again if he behaved himself and gave Cora what she wanted.  It didn’t matter _who_ was calling; they couldn’t have chosen a worse moment to do it, and he almost broke the screen on his iPhone because he smacked it so hard to unlock it.

“Yeah?” he barked, thinking of his papa, wondering where Cora might have hidden him.  Had he burned too many bridges with Emma to get her help saving Marco? 

“Don’t bite my head off,” Neal Cassidy’s voice came from the other end.  “You’re the one who wanted me to call you when I was at the Kennebunk exit on 95 North.”

“What?” August asked stupidly, his brain refusing to compute.

“It’s Sunday,” the other man reminded him.  “I’m on my way to Storybrooke.  You gonna give me directions, or what?”

“You really couldn’t have picked a worse time, could you?” he growled before he could stop himself.  His leg was aching, his other foot had turned to wood, his papa had been kidnapped, and now Baelfire was coming.  _And Cora knows.  Damn it all, I am_ so _screwed!_

“I’ve been yelled at enough today, man.  You’re the one who invited me.  If you want to change your mind, I’ll find my own way,” Neal retorted.

“No, I haven’t.  I’m sorry; it’s just been a bad day,” he made himself say, and then sighed.  “Head east on 9A until you hit 35, then take that to Route 9.  It’ll be the town right after Kennebunkport.  I’ll meet you at the town line.”

Neal repeated the directions back at him, and then asked: “They got a hotel I can stay at there?”

“Yeah, there’s a bed and breakfast.  I’m staying there, too.  I’ll make sure they have a room for you.”  _Assuming you need it,_ August thought guiltily.  Then he added, just to distract himself: “Why’d you get yelled at today, anyway?”

“I broke up with my girlfriend.  She was getting really weird, and insisted I stay in town to meet her ‘oldest’ friend, but there was nothing about that friendship that passed the smell test,” was the response.  “I can’t figure out if they’re sleeping together or barely know each other,  and besides, if I’m coming to help Emma, well…I can’t really do that when I’m dating some other chick.  Even if Emma wants nothing to do with me, I owe her that much.”

August didn’t know what to say to that.  “I’ll…uh, meet you at the exit, then.  It should take you about forty-five minutes.”

“Sure.  See you then.” 

Neal hung up, and August struggled with his conscience again for several minutes.  The _right_ thing to do, the _good_ thing to do would be to meet Neal at the town line and tell him what was going on.  But if he did that, his father might die.  And he _couldn’t_ let that happen.  He hadn’t sacrificed so much and fought so hard to let Cora hurt his father now.

Even if it meant sacrificing someone else.

So, he dialed Cora’s number, hating himself as he did so, but having no other choice.  She answered on the third ring.

“Do you have some news, dear?” the Evil Queen purred.  “Or are you worried about your dear papa?”

“You can’t hurt him!” August gasped, hearing the threat.  His next words were a desperate plea: “I’ve done _everything_ you’ve asked.”

“Have you?” she asked casually. 

“Neal—Baelfire—is on his way,” he told her miserably.  “He’ll be at the town line in about forty minutes.”

“Well done, Pinocchio,” Cora praised him.  “I guess you _do_ want your father to survive.  I’ll send someone to meet him with you.  Don’t try anything foolish.”

Closing his eyes, August whispered: “I won’t.”

“Good.”

* * *

 

They’d run into one another completely by accident outside of Storybrooke Coffee, and it was like some magnetic force kept Regina from walking away when Errol smiled at her.  So, somehow she wound up taking a seat across from him outside the coffee shop, enjoying the crisp March air and the opportunity to spend time together without the added stress of rescuing seven people from the Basement.   They talked about everything and nothing, mostly about how Henry was doing in school and how good the kindergarten teachers in Storybrooke were, since Errol was already thinking ahead on that front.

Eventually, however, something awkward had to come up.  “So…I’ve been thinking a lot,” Errol said slowly.  “I know who _I’m_ supposed to be, but what about you?  Henry didn’t say.”

“I know,” she replied, sighing.  This conversation was _exactly_ what Regina had hoped to avoid, because how did you tell someone that you were something of a villain in their world? Particularly when _Robin Hood_ had never been anything but a hero?

“Is that your way of saying that you don’t want to tell me?” he asked when she said nothing more.

“I think I would rather tell you when you wake up,” Regina said softly.

Much to her surprise, Errol reached out and squeezed hand.  “I’m all right with that.  Truly.  I don’t want to press, Regina.  I just want to know _you_.”

Those simple words filled her heart with too much joy to bear.

* * *

 

“Stop.”

Blinking, Neal did as he was told, staring at empty road in front of his rental car and wondering what the hell kind of game August was playing.  He knew enough about magic to be dangerous, even if Neal had tried damn hard to run away from all of that, particularly since escaping Neverland.  But he’d never heard of a curse that could rip people out of one realm and put them in another, or of one that could _hide_ an entire town.  He was starting to think that August’s story was more than a little fishy, but hell, he was here, wasn’t he?

“There’s nothing in front of me,” he said into his phone, the replacement for the iPhone he’d dropped out the window like an absolute moron just three days ago.

“Give me a sec, and you should see me,” August replied, and Neal felt ready to tell him to pull the other leg.

But sure enough, after a moment, August just seemed to _appear_ , walking out of sheer nothingness and suddenly standing five feet away from his car.  Snorting in surprise, Neal let his phone drop, and pulled the car over to the side of the road when August gestured for him to do so.  Then he got out, walking over to meet the man who had convinced him to make the worst mistake of his life.  It had been a long drive, and he could use the time to stretch his legs, anyway.

“You can leave your car here.  We’ll cross the line so that you know Storybrooke exists, and then you should be able to come back and get it.”

Neal shot him an odd look.  “Can’t you just drive me across?”

“I guess so,” August replied, looking uncomfortable. 

“Well, then let’s get this over with and you can show me your invisible town,” he replied, wondering why August was acting so strangely.  Then again, he didn’t really know the guy.  When he wasn’t busy talking fast and making threats, maybe August really was just like this.

“Sure.”

Together, they got in the car, this time with August in the driver’s seat.  He fiddled with the seat’s position for a moment, looking like his legs were bothering him.

“Something wrong?” Neal asked.

“Yeah,” the other man replied, smiling crookedly.  “It’s just…well, there’s magic here, and I’m turning to wood.  Not a very pleasant experience.”

“You’re turning to wood,” he repeated, unable to stop himself from staring.  _There’s magic?  I thought this world wasn’t_ supposed _to have magic?_   Suppressing his instinctive desire to panic was hard; by the time Neal had managed, they’d crossed the town line and August was turning the car off.  August climbed out before Neal managed to object, taking the keys with him, so Neal followed suit.

“You could have mentioned that there was magic here!” he hissed, and August turned to give him a guilty look.

“I’m sorry, Neal.  I didn’t have a choice.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Neal demanded, and then a familiar man stepped out of the trees by the side of the road.  He had two hands and was dressed in twenty-first century clothing, but he was still clad in black leather, and Baelfire would have recognized him anywhere.  His blood ran cold.

“Hook?” he gasped.

“Hello, Baelfire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, of course, I’ve left Baelfire/Neal in a bit of a lurch, so what do you think Hook is going to do with him? (Also, a note for all my readers who didn’t see ‘Once Upon a Time in Wonderland’, the Jabberwocky is introduced there, but I’ll cover the basics on her for anyone who didn’t see the show).
> 
> Next up: Chapter Seventy-Two—“Promises Broken,” in which August tries to explain, Jefferson returns with the Jabberwocky, Regina goes after David’s heart, Rumplestiltskin gives some good advice, and Zelena pulls an absolute game changer. Back in the past, Regina rushes to Daniel’s side, believing he is dying.


	72. Promises Broken

“Hello, Baelfire,” Captain Hook said, and Neal felt his jaw drop.

“What the hell is _he_ doing here?” he twisted towards August to demand.  Tension radiated out of every bone in his body; the last person Neal wanted to see was the pirate who had handed him over to Pan!  Oh, they’d sort of made up after that, during one of the stupid games Pan liked to play in which Hook had helped young Baelfire escape (not the island, oh, no, Hook was too deeply in Pan’s pocket for that, but he had helped Bae get away from the Lost Boys for a time).  But that didn’t mean that Neal wanted to _see_ him.

“It’s kind of a long story,” August answered weakly, even as Hook spoke up again.

“I’m here like everyone else is.  Because of the curse,” the pirate explained with a shrug, stepping forward.  “But I thought you might like to be greeted by an old friend.”

“You’re not my friend,” Neal replied, taking a step back when Hook extended a hand.

“Believe me when I say that I’m the closest person to a friend you have in this town, mate,” was the response.  Then Hook jerked his head towards August.  “This one here sold you out before his father was even in danger.  I’d say you need all the help you can get.”

Again, he twisted to look at the man who had convinced him to send Emma to jail.  “August, what the hell does he mean ‘sold me out’?”

“I’m sorry,” August repeated, shamefaced.  Neal’s heart was pounding wildly by now.

“Sold me out to _who_?” he demanded.

“Baelfire,” Hook cut in, actually looking a little concerned.  “Listen to me.  There isn’t much time.  The best thing you can do is work with us.  That will keep you safe.  Do you understand?”

“No, I don’t understand.  I don’t have the faintest idea what’s going on,” he retorted, and then walked up to August to yank his car keys out of an unresisting hand.  “But you know what?  I’m not going to stick around to find out.  I’m out of here.”

Neal still wanted to help Emma, but whatever the hell August selling him out meant, he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to do _that_ anytime soon.  _Maybe I can leave, and then double back.  Then again, if August lied about_ this _, what else might he have lied about?_ Neal wondered worriedly.  The next words came out quickly, stopping him cold when he meant to be walking back to his car. 

“Is Emma even _here_?” he snapped at August.

“Of course she is!”

“Wait, how do you know Emma Swan?” Hook asked.

“He met her with me,” August said quickly, and for a moment, Neal was taken aback by the lie.  _Who’s he trying to protect now?_   “I mentioned that she was here.  Nothing else.”

Hook looked doubtful, but before any of the three men could speak, a fourth voice—this one female and slightly mocking—intervened.

“While this little reunion is absolutely adorable, I’m afraid I have to interrupt.”

Turning, Neal noticed a woman standing six feet to his right where there _definitely_ hadn’t been anyone before.  She wore an expensive gray pantsuit and a smug smile, and her brown eyes were fastened on him unnervingly.  Something about the look on her face made him uncomfortable immediately; she looked eager and disgustingly self-satisfied.  Whoever she was, she was looking at Neal like she’d just won the world’s biggest lottery and he was the prize, and _that_ got under his skin like nothing else.

“Lady, I don’t know who you are, and frankly, I don’t care.  Unless you’ve got something important to say, I’m leaving,” Neal snapped, absolutely fed up.

“I’m afraid you aren’t going anywhere, dear,” she said calmly.

He snorted.  “Sure I’m not.”

With that, Neal turned to leave—only to find that his feet would not move.  Try though he did, both remained stuck to the ground like they’d taken root and started growing.  He fought, pointless though it was, noticing the way August cringed and Hook sighed.  _August said there’s magic here_ , Neal remembered.  _Son of a bitch_.  After several seconds of fruitless effort, he twisted his torso back to look at the woman.

“Let me guess: you’re the Evil Queen August told me about.”

She smiled a predator’s smile.  “I prefer to be known as Mayor Mills these days.”

“Well, then, _Mayor Mills_ , what the hell do you want with me?” Neal demanded.

“Leverage, of course,” she replied, and everything went black.

* * *

 

“You have what you want,” Jefferson said nervously, eyeing the white haired, dark eyed woman-thing next to Zelena.  As if the Wicked Witch wasn’t bad enough—and she’d been _green_ in Wonderland, which was more than a little weird—the damned Jabberwocky was outright terrifying!  Zelena had turned the creature on Jefferson for a few petrifying minutes, laughing as the Jabberwocky twisted him inside out.

Fortunately, they hadn’t had much time in Wonderland; just enough to dump the corpse they’d brought along, fetch the Vorpal Blade, control the Jabberwocky, and hurry back into the hat.  They’d returned twenty-two hours after leaving, and Jefferson was ready to drop from both physical and mental exhaustion.   Not to mention the fact that he was _more_ than ready to run away from the Jabberwocky.  Left to his own devices, Jefferson would have high-tailed it away from Zelena and the Jabberwocky as soon as they got back to Storybrooke, but this insane witch had his daughter’s heart, and Jefferson would do anything to keep Grace safe.

_I might not have been the best person under the curse, but at least I was good to my little girl,_ the portal jumper thought.  There were many things he remembered doing that wouldn’t make any man proud, but he’d been a good father.  _And good fathers don’t leave their daughter’s heart in the hands of the Evil Queen_.  He had to get it back.

Zelena giggled.  “So we do.  Thanks for your service, doll.”

“I want Grace’s heart back,” he replied stubbornly.  She wasn’t getting the hint, but Jefferson wasn’t going to back down, even when the witch rolled her eyes dismissively.

“And _I_ want a harem of beautiful men,” she retorted airily.  “There’s a time for everything, and now isn’t yours.  Mother will decide when you get the brat’s heart back.”

“She said—”

“Do remind him of what he has to fear, Jabber,” Zelena cut in, waving the Vorpal Blade.

Immediately, Jefferson backed off.  Even if he had been willing to brave a repeat of that nightmare, doing so wouldn’t protect Grace.  And that was his primary duty.

“I get it,” he said quickly.  “There’s no need for…that.”

The Jabberwocky stopped, cocking her head at him.  “Don’t you want me inside your head, Jefferson?  Your memories of your wife were so delicious—”

“Stop!” the word burst out of him desperately, and he backed up another half dozen steps, raising his hands in surrender.  He could already feel the Jabberwocky in his mind, could feel her pulling his memories apart, digging into his fears and his worst nightmares.  “You don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t I?” Jabber asked softly, eyeing Zelena.

Sighing theatrically, the witch called her off.  “You’re ruining all my fun,” she pouted.  “But fine.  We have better places to be, anyway.”

The last was to the Jabberwocky, who immediately stepped away from Jefferson, though she actually _winked_ at him before walking away at Zelena’s side.  They left him standing alone on the edge of the woods, probably thinking that he would have a long walk back to town and, knowing Zelena, enjoying the thought of making someone else suffer.  But the short-sighted witch had forgotten one important thing:

She left the hat behind.

* * *

 

“Did you figure out what it was?” Belle asked as Rumplestiltskin came up the stairs from the cellar.  The question made her husband stop, blinking, and then come back to himself with a shake of his head.

“I believe so, yes,” he replied slowly.

They’d been eating breakfast when _Gabi_ had noticed the magic in the air moments before her father did, and Belle had known that her husband was barely able to contain his curiosity long enough to finish his eggs before heading downstairs.  She hadn’t argued, though; something powerful enough to be noticed by their daughter was either good news or extremely dangerous.  For a few moments, Belle had even dared to hope that the curse had been broken, but she knew Rumplestiltskin would have known _that_ without doing any work.

“Are you going to make me guess?” she inquired lightly, stepping forward to elbow him in the side.

That finally made Rumplestiltskin smile. “Sorry,” he said.  “I think—no, I know—that someone has opened a portal.  Probably using Jefferson’s hat.  I believe Cora kept it.”

“A portal to where?” That couldn’t be good.

“I’m not sure, but if you’re thinking what I think you are, I do believe we need to find out.”

Belle nodded.  “What can I do?”

* * *

 

Getting into her mother’s mausoleum was surprisingly easy.  Regina waited until the morning of the 5th of March, since it was a Monday and she knew her mother _always_ slept in on Mondays before getting a late start at work.  _Even when she isn't screwing Rumple,_ Regina thought, making her way down the stairs.  _I really should ask him what the hell is going on there.  He’s gone out with her_ twice _since he told me that he wants to kill her.  What in the world is he thinking?_   That, however, was an issue for another time.  Today, she had at least one heart to find, hopefully more.  But there was no way Regina was going to leave without David’s heart.  She’d come armed with his favorite shirt, and had worked on a very narrowly focused locator spell.  Of course, Regina didn’t dare put the potion on the shirt ahead of time; if she had, it might have tried to lead her to David, instead of just to his heart.

Now, though, Regina could pour the pale blue potion over the shirt, so she did.  It was an ugly checkered shirt that she had always hated, anyway, and one she was happy to sacrifice for such a good cause.  She emptied the bottle just as she reached the door at the bottom of the stairs, pausing there and squaring her shoulders.  The potion only needed moments to take effect, and the shirt floated out of her hands almost immediately.

“There you go,” Regina said, smiling.  “Now take me to David’s heart, and let’s hope the rest are labeled.”

Her mother was obsessively organized, but the one thing Regina had _never_ seen her do was label the boxes holding the many hearts she’d taken.   Or at least she hadn’t back home.  Maybe she did here, because life and everything else was so much more complicated.  Regina was far from an expert on the Dark Curse, but she knew enough to know that what her mother had done was incredibly detailed and complex.  She’d seen Cora writing a list or two of things she wanted to do to people, so perhaps there was some sort of key that would indicate—

“Oh, look what the cat dragged in,” a voice cooed, and Regina whirled to face her half-sister.  Meanwhile, the shirt bumped ineffectively against the door to the vault of hearts, bouncing back and forth as if it was confused.

“Zelena,” Regina growled.  Of _course_ Zelena could be down here.  Blood magic kept everyone else out, but it wouldn’t stop either of them. 

“Mother thought you might come down here, so I was watching,” the redhead replied, grinning victoriously.  “ _She’s_ busy preparing something special, but she trusts me.”

“Yeah, that only makes me feel sorry for you,” she retorted, rolling her eyes.  “You do know that she doesn’t have a heart, right?  She can’t really care about _anyone_.  She just uses people.”

“That’s what you think, but you’re wrong!  _You’ve_ been disloyal, so of course Mother doesn’t care about you!  You’re just not worthy,” Zelena sneered.

_Wow._ Blinking, Regina could only stare at the other woman for a long moment.  Regina knew how twisted their mother was, but this little conversation told her exactly how messed up _Zelena_ was.  Zelena was desperate for affection and to belong, and a large part of Regina knew exactly how she felt.  _If I hadn’t grown up with Snow as my sister…if I hadn’t had someone who loved me no matter what, this very well could have been me._

“Look, I’m just here to get David’s heart.  I don’t want to fight with you,” she said as reasonably as she could.

“But _I_ want to fight you!” Zelena grinned.  “And wicked _always_ wins.”

Magic crashed into Regina before she could reply, smashing her sideways into the heavy wooden door.  The impact made her teeth rattle, and dazed her for a moment, darkness ripping through her body and making her feel like she was on fire.  Zelena was _powerful_ , and whatever problems their mother had been having with magic, it was obvious that Zelena didn’t share them.  The spell hit hard, and a second one followed right on its heels, slamming her into the floor and leaving her gasping.  Throwing her hands up desperately, she got a shield in between herself and the third spell.

Beating back a fourth attack, Regina scrambled to her feet, calling fire to her right hand and preparing to launch it at Zelena.  But the fireball sputtered out and died before she could throw it, and Regina felt her eyes go wide.  A fifth wave of magic slammed into her, and she barely managed to stop that one, reaching into her own anger and trying desperately for power that could match the forces Zelena was throwing at her.  Unfortunately, as powerful as Regina was, her strength was in her heart, in her _love_ , and Rumplestiltskin had taught her to capitalize on those strengths.  So her fury could not carry her, could not withstand the tornado of power tearing at her.

Her defenses caught one blow, but another two got through.  Regina kept reacting, barely able to keep up with the speed at which Zelena threw spells her way.  She just needed a moment to think, a moment to center herself and find _something_ that would work, but there just wasn’t _time_.  Regina knew she was powerful, and she’d never met an opponent other than her mother that she couldn’t best, but Zelena was tearing her to shreds.  For a moment, it was like she was back in the Enchanted Forest, desperately battling with her mother and trying to save Daniel—

And failing, yet again.  She hadn’t been able to save Daniel, and now she wouldn’t be able to get David’s heart.  Her mother would win, _again_ , because Regina wasn’t good enough.  She’d tried so hard, and yet she always seemed to fail.

With no options left, Regina teleported out of the mausoleum.

* * *

 

_The Day of the Curse_

Regina’s magic took her straight to her mother’s castle almost as soon as she’d gotten the message.  Snow was very nearly ready to give birth, and Regina hated leaving her, but her sister had told her to go to Daniel.

_“You’ll never forgive yourself if you aren’t there for him,” Snow had said, sitting up in bed and gripping Regina’s hands like she hadn’t been having contractions all morning.  “Emma has a lifetime for you to be there.  She won’t begrudge Daniel this last day.”_

Long practice had told Regina that she should not believe her mother’s letter, and yet Cora _did_ have her oddly sentimental moments.  There were days when Regina truly believed that Cora wanted to be a good mother for her, and there were others when she absolutely knew that Cora only wanted her to suffer for not being the perfect daughter she had always wanted.  Yet what if today was not one of those days?  What if Daniel—whom her mother had _not_ killed when Regina left for good, contrary to what they had _both_ expected—really was sick and dying?  Snow had been right; she would never forgive herself if she did not go to him now.

So, here she was, rushing into her mother’s castle in exile and praying that she had not made the biggest mistake of her life.  Cora met her into the hallway, smiling.

“Regina!  You made it, dear.”

“Is Daniel all right?” she asked quickly, her heart pounding in her chest.

“He’s fine,” Cora replied.  “But no hello for your mother?  I’ve missed you so.”

“And I’ll be happy to have whatever reunion that you want after I see Daniel,” Regina said, desperation making the words come fast.  “Please, Mamma.”

“Of course.”  A hand came out to squeeze her upper arm, and for once, Regina did not feel like her mother was trying to pressure her.  “Right this way.”

“He’s not still in the dungeons, is he?” she whispered.

“No, darling.  I wouldn’t do that to either of you.”

* * *

 

The cloud of purple smoke invaded his home with no warning, leaving Rumplestiltskin little time to react.  But he was the Dark One, and paranoid by nature if not because of his curse, so his magic roared to his hands before the cloud had even finished materializing.  Of course, the person teleporting in turned out to be Regina, battered and worn and looking very defeated.  Rumplestiltskin had been standing in the front hall when she appeared, on his way to the shop after discussing options with Belle, but he stopped cold as Regina caught herself, swaying precariously.

“The custom in polite society is to knock, dearie,” he said mildly, refusing to show how taken aback he was by her sudden presence.  Regina, however, looked like she’d taken one hell of a magical beating, and only snorted in response to his droll comment.

“I’m sorry, I was busy trying to get away from my sister,” Regina snarled.  “Who _you_ taught.  Thanks for that, by the way.”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “She’s not more powerful you are, you know.”

He spoke the words offhandedly, acting, as always, like he didn’t give a damn, but he had a feeling Regina saw right though that pretense.  She knew him too well, after all.  Not as well as Belle did, but Regina knew him better than almost anyone else. Now, however, she was clearly too angry to appreciate the finer points of their relationship, and rolled her eyes, snapping:

“Sure she is.  She just kicked my ass.”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Rumplestiltskin asked instead of bothering with trying to tell Regina that she was perfectly capable of beating Zelena if she focused on her own strengths instead of getting impatient and trying to overpower her sister. He didn't have to have seen their fight to know how it must have happened.  What really mattered was _why_ they had fought, not how Regina felt about it.  _We’ll have plenty of time to deal with that later._

Sighing, Regina seemed to calm down a little.  “Mother is collecting hearts again.”

“This is _not_ a surprise.”

“Well, she has David’s.  Or Charming’s.  Whatever you want to call him,” his former student retorted.  “I went to try to get it back, but Zelena was lurking in Mother’s vault.”

“And she stopped you.”  He spoke emotionlessly; while it would have been useful if Regina had been able to get her brother-in-law’s heart back, Charming being heartless would not change Rumplestiltskin’s planned course of action for when the curse broke.  _If Cora was going to crush his heart and kill him, she probably would have done it already,_ he knew.  _Unless, of course, she plans on waiting until Snow is awake to hurt her still more._

“Obviously.  Otherwise I wouldn’t _be_ here,” Regina said, glaring at him.

“Don’t blame me, dear.  I didn’t know you were going to act so foolishly, so I certainly couldn’t warn her.  Assuming I was in any way interested in doing so, which I am not.”

“I know.  You’d rather play both sides against the middle and avoid actually making a commitment,” she grumbled.

“Don’t act so surprised.  You _have_ met me before,” Rumplestiltskin replied, amused.

“Yeah, your usual antics aren’t going to cut it anymore.  So, if you’re going to choose a side, now’s the time.  Mother’s preparing for the curse breaking, and she’s going to do whatever it takes to hurt people.  You’ve said you and I are on the same side.  Are we?”

“Are you asking for a commitment?” he asked curiously. 

“Will you give one?” she demanded.

“I’ve already given as much of a commitment as I am prepared to,” Rumplestiltskin replied honestly.  “I don’t make blanket promises, and I am _quite_ certain that you don’t expect me to suddenly swear an oath of loyalty to your dear sister.”

Regina snorted.  “I’m not sure I’d believe you if you did, imp.”

“Then _why_ are you here?” he asked, genuinely curious now. 

“I don’t know.”  She looked away, her voice dropping from irritated to quiet.  “I just wasn’t sure where else to go.  Or what else to do.”

Oh, dear.  It had been a long, long time since Regina had turned to him for comfort or advice; she had begun turning to Snow more and more in their last years in the Enchanted Forest, and Rumplestiltskin hadn’t begrudged her that.  Their relationship was tricky, close but difficult to define, and although he cared for Regina more than he would admit, sometimes he didn’t know how to deal with her.  Under other circumstances, Regina would have been his daughter, and Rumplestiltskin _never_ would forget that, no matter how sour his feelings for Cora had turned.  But she wasn’t, and she’d had a father who had loved her very much, so sometimes Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure where on the line between mentor and close friend they fell.

“Don’t start doubting yourself now,” he said softly, feeling an odd twitch in the vicinity of his heart when he looked at the defeated expression on her face.  “Zelena is a powerful sorceress, yes, but you have many things she doesn’t.”

“Like what?” Regina shot him a doubtful look.

“A support network, for one.  There are many people who care about you.  Don’t forget them.”

“That won’t help me if she kicks my ass again,” she replied.

“Oh, stop it,” Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “You’re playing her game.  She hammered you with dark magic and anger and you tried to fight back with that, didn’t you?”

Her voice turned very small.  “Yes.”

“You know better than that.  Fight her _your_ way, and you’ll beat her.  You’re just as powerful as she is—believe me, I know.  I taught you both.”

“But…”

“No buts,” he said gently.  “You’ve always been your own worst enemy.  Use darkness and your fury when you need it, but Zelena is always going to be more angry than you.  Fight her with your heart and your soul, not your fears.”

Blinking, Regina stared at him in silence for a long moment.  “Since when are you so helpful?” she asked thickly.

“Well, we did just say that we’re allies, didn’t we?” Rumplestiltskin responded as lightly as he could, shying away from saying anything more meaningful.  He never was sure how that would go over, and having been rejected too many times in his life, he always shied away from saying how he really felt.

“Yeah,” she replied, a tiny smile creasing her face.  “Yeah, we did.”

* * *

 

_Thump.  Shuffle.  Thunk._ The sounds came as if from a great distance.  He felt like his head was encased in cotton.  At first, Neal thought he was waking up from a particularly bad hangover; he’d had a few real doozies in his time, and this really felt like one of them.  He was lying on the cold floor somewhere, curled up on his side and unable to remember what he’d done the night before.  Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time he’d woken up in such a state, though he’d not done something so stupid in a long time.  Still, at first he really did think that this was only a hangover, albeit a terrible one.  Then he opened his eyes.

He was in a goddamned cage.

“How the hell did I get here?” Neal muttered, pulling himself into a sitting positon.  Searching his memories, he struggled to recall how he got there—and then he remembered the crazy bitch of a woman, August’s so-called Evil Queen, with her magic and her cold smile.  She’d hit him with some sort of spell or another, and everything had gone black.

“You don’t know?” a voice replied from his left, and Neal twisted to see that his cage was between two others, but the one to the left was occupied by a grizzled old man. 

Blinking, Neal could do nothing but stare for a moment.  The old man was sitting on the floor, too; there seemed to be no furniture of any sort in any of the cages, but they were situated in a pretty big room.  Was it a cellar?  The far side of the room was dark, but Neal thought he could make out a table and chairs, and a few cabinets.  There was some sort of frame over by the far wall, but aside from seeing that it was vaguely rectangular, Neal couldn’t make out much because of the shadows.

“You all right there, son?” the old man spoke again, and Neal finally managed to focus on him.

“Yeah, I think so,” he said slowly.  “Where the hell am I?”

“As near as I can guess, we’re in the mayor’s summer house,” his companion answered tiredly.  “Though I wasn’t sure she even knew about this place until she and O’Malley brought you in.”

“The mayor,” Neal repeated flatly, remembering meeting her at the town line.  But who the hell was the woman? 

August had called her the Evil Queen, and had told him about a curse.  A curse that _Emma_ was apparently destined to break, in a place where her family—and every other person in the Enchanted Forest—had been stuck.  Neal knew enough to know that Storybrooke was where everyone was, but he didn’t know these people.  He was so far out of his own time; at best guess, a couple of hundred years had passed since he’d left the Enchanted Forest.  He knew nothing about what had been going on there since he’d left via magic bean, because it wasn’t like Pan cared what happened in other realms, and even if he had, the Shadow wasn’t exactly a news service.  It was the only thing that traveled out of Neverland, and it never brought news back.  So, he knew precisely nothing more than August had told him, which hadn’t been much at all.

_I should have asked a lot more questions before I came barging into town,_ he realized.  Neal had been so focused on helping Emma, on making everything up to her, that he hadn’t questioned anything since August told him Emma was in danger.  _That was really stupid of me,_ Neal decided.  _And now I’m stuck in a_ cage _because I jumped in without looking to see how deep the water is_.

Worse yet, it was a cage without a freaking lock.  Or a damn _door_ , even.  _Magic.  Of course it’s magic._   Damn it all.  He’d run to this world to get away from magic forever, and now he was right in the thick of things again.

“Are you new to Storybrooke?” the old man interrupted his thoughts.

“Yeah, you can say that,” he snorted.  “I just arrived today.  Name’s Neal.”

“Marco,” his companion responded.  “Do you know why you’re down here?  What anyone might want with you?  I woke up here, too, just this morning.”

That question made Neal think.  August had _lied_ about how he knew Emma which meant that this Evil Queen couldn’t know that he’d once been in love with her and had come to help her.  So, that meant…well, hell.  He had no idea what that meant.  She’d said she wanted leverage, though.  Leverage against who?

“No,” he answered, shifting to try to find a more comfortable position on the hard floor.  “I have no idea.”

* * *

 

What had he _done_?

Oh, on the surface it was simple and clear.  He was a villain, on the side of the other villains, and had helped Cora capture her enemy’s son.  And Killian would never, _ever_ feel so much as a flicker of pity for Rumplestiltskin…but Bae was Milah’s son, too.  He’d never really forgiven himself for handing the boy over to Pan—Baelfire might have said he’d preferred that to staying on the _Jolly Roger_ , but the boy had no idea what he was getting into.  Killian had known and he’d handed him over, anyway.  He’d sent Milah’s son, the one he had promised with her to go and get, away into the most hellish place Killian could even imagine.  _I should have insisted we go back for him,_ he thought morosely.  _Then none of this could have happened to him._

Still, there was hope.  Bae had hated his father the last time they’d spoken, and he likely still did.  They certainly had that much in common, and perhaps Killian could convince Bae to help them willingly.  After all, he’d want revenge against the father who had abandoned him, wouldn’t he?  Cora had locked him away, but Killian was certain that he could convince her to let him try to bring Baelfire around.  After all, whatever she wanted with him, it would certainly be simpler if Bae decided to cooperate.

_And then, even if I_ can’t _kill the crocodile, I can watch his son turn against him with_ us _, and won’t that be sweet?_ Killian thought with a smile.  Rumplestiltskin would _hate_ that more than anything, and perhaps that could be a down payment for his revenge for his beloved Milah’s death.

* * *

 

Regina left Gold’s house in a slightly better mood than she’d arrived in, armed with reassurances that perhaps her sister _wasn’t_ as powerful as Regina had feared she was.  Rumple would know, after all, just like he’d said.  The bastard had taught them both, and Regina knew he wasn’t the type to bother telling a reassuring lie.  Yet he _had_ reassured her.  Next time she faced her sister, she would do better.  Regina was sure of that.

She was so busy planning what she would do, how she would beat Zelena for good—or maybe convince Zelena that their mother was insane and clinging to Cora really was foolish—to notice when magic hit her right in the back, making Regina stumble forward.  Staggering, she spun to face her attacker, finding a mocking grin and a riot of red hair facing framing the face before her.  Zelena’s eyes were full of fire, and Regina could feel the magic filling the air as her sister gathered power to herself.

“Are you so weak that you have to go running to Rumple for protection?” Zelena taunted her, and Regina’s own temper rose to meet one so very like her own.

“I’m not _weak_ ,” she snarled.  _You’ve always been your own worst enemy_ , Rumplestiltskin had said, and the words echoed in her ears even as Regina reached for anger and dark magic.  Abruptly, she shifted her focus, remembering her love for her sister, for _Henry_ , for everyone she wanted to protect and everyone she loved.  “Having friends doesn’t make you weak.”

“ _Needing_ anyone makes you weak, Regina,” her sister retorted, and Regina actually felt sorry for her for a moment. 

“You really don’t have a lot of experience with friendships, do you?” she asked, realizing that she really _didn’t_ need darkness and rage to defeat Zelena.  No, she needed to remember what made her different from this bitter and envious woman their mother had abandoned. 

“I don’t need friends,” Zelena sneered.

_Could this have been me_? Regina wondered, feeling a pang of sadness.  _If I had become what Mother wanted me to, isolated and alone?  Would I be busy telling myself that I needed nothing and no one?  Would I never know differently?_

“Look, it doesn’t have to be like this—” Regina started to say, stepping forward and reaching a hand towards her sister—

Only to have the sharp tip of a needle _prick_ her finger, and the world spiral into darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Seventy-Three—“A Curse to End All Curses,” where Jefferson goes to Rumplestiltskin for help, Henry tries to figure out where Regina has gone, and Cora puts her final plan to stop Emma—and administer a nightmare curse—in motion. Back in the past, Cora casts the curse.
> 
> In the meantime, tell me who you think the Nightmare Curse is for! Also, who do you think the Jabberwocky’s first target will be?
> 
> One last note—I’ve started a new story, picking up where season 4 left off, titled “Ruins of Camelot.” Its first chapter was just posted today.


	73. A Curse to End All Curses

“Where will you put her, Mother?” Zelena asked eagerly, gesturing at her sleeping sister. 

After the sleeping curse had sunk in—only a matter of seconds—she had teleported them both to her mother’s home on the edge of town.  It was far larger than the mansion  _in_ town, and very few people seemed to even know that the house existed.  Zelena was the only one privileged enough to know which prisoners Cora held inside, along with the ways in which Cora was already working to fortify the ‘summer house’.  Her mother was  _so_ smart, so good at planning for every eventuality.  She’d even had the curse create this place in the beginning, to give herself a stronghold to retreat to in case the worst happened.  And now she had Rumplestiltskin’s son locked up in the cellar, without the Dark One even knowing he was in town.

_She’s so brilliant,_ Zelena thought to herself, admiring the pensive look on Cora’s face.   _And she trusts_ only  _me._   That thought sent a warm flush of happiness through her, but Zelena was careful to keep her glee to herself.  Cora valued self-control and composure.  Zelena would not let her mother down.

“You could put her in the other cell,” she suggested hopefully when Cora did not answer.

“I think not,” her mother replied, turning sharp eyes on her.  “Regina remains your sister, darling, even if she is disloyal.  We will not treat her as we treat our enemies.”

“Of course,” she agreed, abashed.  Her mother was so strange sometimes, but Zelena was going to do her best to make her happy.  Even if Cora could be terribly unpredictable where Regina was concerned.  One moment, her mother  _hated_ Zelena’s younger sister, and in other moments, she was supremely protective of her. 

“We will put her in the red room upstairs,” Cora decreed, and Zelena nodded quickly.  Mother knew best, after all.

“What do we do when someone tries to wake her?” she inquired carefully.

Cora smiled.  “We kill them, of course.  Not that any of them will manage to wake her—even when the curse breaks, Regina’s True Love is dead.”

Remembering Daniel’s death made Zelena smile, but a second and more worrisome thought occurred to her.  Zelena knew she had studied far more magic than her mother had; Cora was meticulous, but disliked reading and was not the type to chase down obscure magical references.  But  _she_ had read every book on sleeping curses as her mother taught her to brew them, and Zelena remembered one very important thing:  _True Love is not only the domain of lovers_.  Several books had been very specific on that fact, and Zelena could recall a few historical cases of siblings waking one another, parents waking children, or even one case of very good friends.   _Best not mention the part about siblings.  Snow White is useless, anyway, and Mother would only get angry._

“What if it’s the boy?” she suggested hesitantly.

“Oh, I have other plans for Henry,” her mother laughed, and proceeded to explain.

Now Zelena found herself smiling again, this time without any concerns at all.

* * *

 

He was out of options.  Cora had Grace’s heart—even if poor Paige didn’t know that, because at least the Evil Queen had been kind enough to tell his little girl to forget about that traumatic experience—and he couldn’t get it back without help.  Jefferson had no one to turn to, because his cursed self hadn’t exactly been good at making friends, and he’d already made an enemy of the Sheriff because he’d been  _stalking_ poor Mary Margaret.  Going up to Emma now and trying to explain that ‘Cora made him do it’ would be worse than useless, and that left him with exactly one place to go.

The only problem was that there was no knowing if Rumplestiltskin was awake or not.  Jefferson wouldn’t put it past his old employer/(sort of) friend to have been awake during the entire curse, but Gold’s on-again, off-again, decidedly lopsided relationship with Cora indicated that he was not.  Yet Gold had seemed far less likely to do Cora’s bidding of late, which Jefferson interpreted as a very large clue.   _He has to be awake,_ the Hatter told himself for the hundredth time, opening the pawnshop door as the little bell rang.   _Because if he isn’t, my daughter might as well be dead._

At least he had information to trade.  Rumplestiltskin was  _always_ good for his word; Jefferson knew that better than most.  And the Dark One had helped him more than once, letting Jefferson take all the gold he wanted in exchange for piddling little trips to other realms, even when they failed.  Jefferson knew the sparkly-skinned man better than almost anyone in the Enchanted Forest, and he knew that Rumplestiltskin was loyal to those who helped him.  Oh, he was capricious, temperamental, and sometimes manic, but Rumplestiltskin never forgot his friends.  And Jefferson had never been bothered to call himself one, even when others back home had thought him mad.

“You’re out and about early today, dearie,” Gold said mildly, looking up from behind the counter.  “I didn’t think you even ventured into your shop until noon.”

Grimacing, Jefferson didn’t bother to argue.  His cursed self had been lazy and indulgent, rarely rising before noon and forcing his junior manager to run Modern Fashions on her own.  Now that Cora had woken him up, however, he’d hardly spared the clothing shop a second thought.  Who  _cared_ about clothes and fashion when his beloved daughter was in danger?

“I need your help, and I can trade information for it,” he replied bluntly, hoping to see Rumplestiltskin gleaming out of those impassive brown eyes.

“Can you now?”

“Assuming you want to know about a little trip I just took, yeah,” Jefferson replied, and finally saw Gold blink.

“I was wondering what that little bit of magic I sensed was,” Rumplestiltskin said, his tone blasé.  “It appears you gave your hat a workout, didn’t you?”

“Not willingly,” he admitted, his anger a little tempered by relief. Rumplestiltskin  _was_ awake, which meant Jefferson had someone to turn to.  Some people would have thought that counting on the Dark One for help was the height of foolishness, but Jefferson knew the man—or whatever it was he’d been back home. 

“Took your daughter’s heart, did she?” the Dark One asked next, though there was a hint of something in his tone that kept Jefferson from snarling at him.  Yes, Rumplestiltskin was a villain, but Jefferson knew he was a decent man despite that.  After all, only an idiot or someone who’d never been to the Dark Castle—and never seen Rumplestiltskin with his so-called ‘maid’—would think that the slender pawnbroker in front of him was incapable of love.

“Yes,” he ground out, fear and fury wrapping tight threads around his heart.

“I may not be able to get it back for you,” Rumplestiltskin replied straightforwardly.  “Cora is careful with her hearts.”

“Grace is only eleven,” Jefferson protested.  “She doesn’t deserve this.  She…she…”

“I know,” the other man cut him off gently.  “I’ll do what I can.”

“You haven’t even asked what information I have to trade.”

Rumplestiltskin quirked a smile.  “I trust you’ll make it worth my while,” he chuckled without humor.

“Yeah, I can,” Jefferson replied, shaking away his memories of that short trip to Wonderland with an effort.  He knew that his experiences there only amplified his fears, but what else could he do?  There was no way to fight Cora, not for someone like him.  Especially now.  Yet Rumplestiltskin was the most powerful sorcerer in the Enchanted Forest.  He had to know what to do with this force of nature that Jefferson had been forced to bring back, so the Hatter sucked in a ragged breath and added: “I went to Wonderland.  Brought Zelena and a dead body from the morgue—some guy who used to be a knight back home.”

“And what did Cora want from that useless little world?”

“The Jabberwocky,” he answered simply, and watched Rumplestiltskin’s eyes go wide.   _So, even Gold can be shocked,_ Jefferson thought.   _Good.  Because that crazy creature is enough to terrify me._

“She really is reaching, isn’t she?” Rumplestiltskin murmured, seemingly mostly to himself.  Then dark eyes flicked up to meet Jefferson.  “Well, the saying in this world is accurate.  Forewarned  _is_ forearmed.  Thank you for the information.  I will do what I can to return your daughter’s heart to you.”

All Jefferson could do was nod, his heart in his throat.  He trusted Rumplestiltskin to keep his word, but Cora could hurt Grace at any time.  She might have done it already, could have killed his daughter because Jefferson dared to argue with her.  That thought made him hurry out the door of the pawnshop without so much as a backward glance, desperate to make sure Grace was all right.

* * *

 

_The Casting of the Curse_

One moment, Cora had been reassuring Regina that of  _course_ she would not be so cruel as to leave a sick and dying Daniel deep in the dungeons, and the next her mother had disappeared in a cloud of purple smoke.  Suddenly realizing that the compassionate note her mother had sent  _had_ to be a lie, Regina threw magical feelers out and caught the very edge of Cora’s teleportation spell, using that to track in on where her mother had vanished to.  She didn’t even bother to determine what her destination was before she appeared, heart pounding with a thousand terrible fears.

_I left Snow giving birth for this,_ Regina thought, guilt threatening to crush her _.  Mother has tricked me yet again, but maybe I can get here in time.  Whatever she has planned, even if it’s this terrible curse she says she can cast, I might be able to stop her before_ —

She was too late.  Her mother stood over the fire pit, with Daniel by her side.  He was on his knees and looked defeated, and Regina tried to rush to him, only to be stopped by a wall of magic. 

“Mother, no!” Regina howled, and Cora smiled thinly.

“I’m glad you could be here for this, dear,” her mother said calmly.  “I always knew your stableboy would have his uses.”

“Mother—!”

Further protests died in her throat; Regina wasn’t sure what her mother was doing, but she could feel magic in the air, hovering dark and dangerous.  The curse was almost complete, the terrible curse that Rumplestiltskin had foretold Snow’s daughter would someday break.  But why had Cora brought  _Daniel_ to the fire pit?  Why did she want Regina here?  She didn’t need either of them to cast a curse—yet the curse was incomplete.  Regina could feel that.  She could sense the almost-finished power hanging in the air, suffocating and ominous, like a giant hand just waiting to crash down and crush the entirety of the Enchanted Forest.

Still struggling against the magic that held her—a spell she could tell had been in place and growing in strength for some time—Regina’s eyes found Daniel.  He  _did_ look pale and drawn, but she knew he was more broken than sick.  As was she.  After all, Regina didn’t have to know what her mother had planned to know that this was bad.  If Cora was going to delay her own revenge in order to invite Regina to see Daniel, Regina knew Cora could only have one purpose in mind.   _She’s tying up loose ends,_ she realized, devastated.   _Mother doesn’t want to leave anything to chance._

“Casting this curse was more difficult than I expected,” Cora explained, and the detachment in her voice sent a cold shiver down Regina’s spine.  “But I suppose that the  _Curse to End all Curses_  should come at a high price, even when it is one that I, for one, cannot pay.”

The whisper tore out of Regina, high pitched with fear.  “What price?”

“Well, the curse requires sacrificing the heart of the one you love most,” her mother replied, gesturing at Daniel.  “And while a more pedestrian magic user would assume that meant I had to crush  _your_ heart to complete the curse, I know the truth.  After all, they say that True Loves share a heart.”

“You can’t,” she pleaded, her voice barely audible.

“Of course I can, darling.  I never approved of him for you, anyway.  In time, you’ll get over him,” Cora said coldly.  “I will give you a proper marriage in our new world, and you will be grateful.  Eventually.”

Once again, Regina threw every bit of power she had at the shield holding her back, but it only bounced back in her face, throwing her back several steps.  Then Cora’s hand plunged into Daniel’s chest, and Regina froze.

“Please don’t,” she begged desperately, stretching her hands out to her mother as cold terror snaked down her spine.  “I’ll do anything to save him!”

“I know you will,” was the answer as Cora stepped forward to hold her hand over the fire pit.  Winds of power swirled around them, magic deepening and preparing, the fathomless pit of the curse ready to tear out and take over their world.  “And that is why this will work.”

_“Daniel!”_ Regina screamed his name one last time as Cora crushed her True Love’s heart, and they fell to the ground together.

As they did, the Curse to End all Curses tore out of the fire pit and purple smoke raced into the sky.

* * *

 

Regina hadn’t come back.

Henry knew that his mom had headed out to try to steal his dad’s heart back from his grandmother.  She hadn’t told him exactly what she was doing, but by now it was pretty obvious that Cora had David’s heart, and Henry knew that Regina wasn’t going to let that stand.  She’d told him not to worry and that she’d be back before he got home from school, but now it was dinner time and she  _still_ hadn’t returned.  David had wound up ordering pizza for the two of them, which Henry liked, but he still would rathered have had Regina there.  Getting to eat his favorite kind of pizza wasn’t better than having his mom home, not when Cora was getting more and more dangerous.

_That’s because we’re getting closer,_ Henry told himself, flipping through the Book at the kitchen table.  Emma had been right; they had to learn everything they could before the curse was broken, including who the power players would be (or already were).   _And_ he had to figure out a way to actually get the curse broken, because although he’d assumed that Emma would just  _know_ how, that obviously wasn’t going to happen.  Talking it over with his dad really would have helped, but Henry wasn’t going to have a conversation like that when Cora might have been eavesdropping.  That, of course, was just another reason to hope Regina got home soon.  Henry needed someone to bounce ideas off of, and his cursed/currently heartless dad just wasn’t the right guy for that.

“Can you call Mom again?” Henry asked, looking up from his Book to where David was putting leftover pizza in the fridge.

“I’m sure she’s fine, Henry,” his dad replied, and Henry scowled.  Was Cora controlling him now, or was that just cursed David Nolan not caring?  It was so hard to tell.

“Please?” he said as convincingly as he could.  “Mom  _always_ answers her cell, and if she hasn’t called back yet, maybe something is wrong.”

_Maybe Grandma has locked her up somewhere,_ he thought worriedly.   _Or Zelena has.  She wanted to take Mom’s heart, and was really gleeful about it.  I always thought the Wicked Witch would be more serious and less giddy, but she’s really dangerous, and Mom’s out there by herself._ Not shouting that at his dad took all the self-control Henry had, but if David didn’t do something soon, he was going to call Emma.  Emma would know what to do.

“All right,” David gave in.  “I’ll call her again.” 

Henry forced a smile, but it didn’t banish the worry in his gut.  “Thanks, Dad.”

Unfortunately, David hung up almost immediately after dialing, turning to Henry with a shrug.  “It went straight to voicemail.”

“Oh.”  He wasn’t sure what else to say, only that every instinct he had said something had gone dreadfully wrong.  Still, if Cora  _was_ controlling David right now, Henry couldn’t let his dad know that he was going to call Emma, so he waited for David to finish putting the leftovers away and head into the next room to watch TV.  David did ask if Henry wanted to watch with him, and most days Henry would have loved the opportunity to catch up on  _Spiderman_ with his dad.  Today, however, he was way too worried.

But Henry had barely managed to get to his feet and head for the phone when a voice made him spin around.

“Hello, Henry.”

Whirling to face his adopted grandmother, Henry felt all color drain out of his face.  “What do  _you_ want?” he demanded.

“My, what terrible manners you’ve developed.  Clearly, Regina has been neglecting you lately as she chases after the Savior,” was the light reply, but Cora’s mocking tone still made Henry gulp.

“Dad?” he called nervously, and David appeared almost immediately.

“Cora, what are you doing here?” he asked, looking surprised. Only then did Henry notice what Cora held in her right hand.  And only then once she raised the glowing red heart ever so slightly.

“Do be a dear and stand over there,” the Evil Queen commanded.  “And out of the way.”

Moving like a robot, David headed to the far corner of the kitchen and stood there, his expression blank and eyes unseeing.  Henry had read in the Book all about what happened when someone controlled someone else using their heart, but he’d never  _seen_ it, and he found himself staring at David, horrified.  He’d really wanted to be wrong about Cora having David’s heart, but now he knew he wasn’t. 

“Why are you here?” Henry asked, trying to sound brave.  But it was hard.  He wasn’t even eleven yet, and his grandmother was the Evil Queen.

“Well, I did want to remove your annoying birth mother in a rather permanent fashion, but Miss Swan is a bit too mistrusting to easily destroy.  So, I thought I would come to you, instead,” Cora replied, her voice utterly dispassionate and chilling.

Henry had always known what she was, but he’d _never_ seen her like this before.  And now he really could see how she was the Evil Queen and how everyone in the Enchanted Forest had been afraid of her.

“I’m not doing whatever it is you want,” he said as strongly as he could, starting to creep backwards.  If he could get to the back door, Henry was sure he could outrun Cora.  She might be a sorceress, but she was getting older,  _and_ she was wearing high heels.  He could do this.  He had to.

Emma and Mary Margaret’s loft was too far to run to, but Mr. Gold didn’t live that far away, and if there was anyone in the Enchanted Forest who even the Evil Queen didn’t mess with, it was Rumplestiltskin.   _He’s mom’s friend.  He taught her.  I bet he’ll make a deal with me,_ Henry thought desperately, watching Cora’s face crinkle as she smiled falsely.  It wasn’t quite dark yet; he could make it to Mr. Gold’s house. 

“Of course you will,” she purred, and then lifted the heart again.  “David, lock the back door.”

Henry’s heart plummeted as his father obeyed, and he stopped moving next to the kitchen table.  There wasn’t another way out, because the window to his left was always locked, and it wasn’t like  _he_ could teleport.  “You can’t make me do it.”

“Can’t I?” Cora laughed.

“No!” Crossing his arms over his chest, Henry tried to think of a way to keep her from stealing his heart, but he knew he was just bluffing when he said that. 

“Silly boy,” his grandmother replied.  “I don’t need your heart.  You’re going to do exactly as I say without me taking it.”

“No, I’m not.”

Cora took three steps forward, and suddenly the Evil Queen was almost in arm’s reach.  Henry couldn’t help it; he flinched as she said: “You will, or your mother will die.”

“You can’t hurt Emma.  If you kill her, you’ll break the curse,” he retorted victoriously.

“Who said anything about hurting Emma?” Cora countered.  “Or did you not notice that  _Regina_ is missing?”

“I noticed,” Henry gulped.  The words were a whisper.

Waving a hand, Cora turned the reflective surface of the nearby window into a magical mirror.  It shimmered for a moment, before revealing the image of Regina, lying on a bed Henry didn’t recognize, pale and as still as death.  Was she even breathing?  Henry couldn’t tell, even when he rushed forward to get a closer look at the image.  David, of course, continued staring blankly at nothing, blocking the doorway but otherwise completely disengaged from the conversation between his mother-in-law and his adopted son.

“Mom!”

“She’s safe.  For now.”  Those words made Henry turn back to look at Cora, dread coiling in the pit of his stomach.  “But she won’t be if you misbehave.”

“You wouldn’t kill your own daughter,” he objected.

“Wouldn’t I?” Cora snorted.  “I’ve already put her under a sleeping curse, and I don’t  _need_ Regina.  Not when I have Zelena, or when your mother has proven so disloyal.  I’m happy to kill her to preserve the curse, Henry.  Don’t mistake any lingering sentimentality I might have once possessed for a hesitation to kill  _anyone_ who gets in my way.”

Despite his earlier resolve to be brave, Henry shivered.  Hard.

“So, here is what you’re going to do,” his grandmother continued, holding an apple out to him. “You’re going to take this apple and find Miss Swan.  Once you do, you’ll tell her what has happened, and you’ll tell her that the only way to cure you is to take you out of town.  Otherwise, the curse inside this apple will kill you within a week.  And then you’ll eat the apple.”

“It’s a Nightmare Curse, isn’t it?” Henry whispered.

“I always knew you were a bright boy.”

His mind was whirling.  Errol—or Robin—could wake his mom up.  Henry knew that, though Cora probably didn’t.  Cora probably thought that, because she’d killed Daniel,  _no one_ could wake Regina up.  But it was good that she didn’t know.  And yet— _That’s it!_   The thought occurred to Henry with the force of an oncoming train, and he suddenly knew how the curse needed to be broken.  Emma could do it, Henry knew.  She just needed the opportunity, and Cora was going to hand it to them on a silver platter!  Emma didn’t have to leave town with him; she just had to give  _him_ True Love’s Kiss and break the curse!  Then he’d be okay, and so would Storybrooke, and then they could get Robin to help rescue his mom.

He could do this, Henry knew.  This was his chance to get the curse broken, to help Emma bring back everyone’s happy endings.  Being under a Nightmare Curse would suck, but he could face that.  His Grandma Snow had been under one, and she’d come out okay!  Henry knew he would be fine.  He was from a family of heroes!

“What if she doesn’t take me out of town?” he asked, trying to pretend to be worried that Emma might balk at leaving Storybrooke.  “Emma doesn’t really believe in all this magic stuff.”

Cora only smiled.  “I’m sure a clever boy like you can convince her.”

“If I do this, will you promise not to hurt Mom?”

“You have my word,” the Evil Queen replied, and Henry barely managed not to grimace.

“Okay,” he said quietly, taking the apple when she offered it.

Something vicious flashed through Cora’s eyes, but she only lifted David’s heart once more.  “Keep him here until morning, and don’t let him use the phone,” she commanded, and David nodded lifelessly. 

“Why?” Henry demanded.

“Because I have things to do,” Cora said serenely, and then fixed a hard stare on him.  “Don’t try to leave or call Miss Swan,” she warned him.  “Or  _anyone._ I’ll know if you try either, and you  _will_ regret it.”

Yeah, Henry got that message loud and clear.  It was going to be a horrible night, sitting around and thinking of everything that was going to happen when he was under the Nightmare Curse, but that was why Cora was the Evil Queen, wasn’t it?  She liked to make people suffer, and now Henry was next on her list.

* * *

 

_As the Curse is Cast_

Her mother had disappeared in a swirling cloud of smoke, but Regina hardly noticed.  The curse billowed out of the fire pit, too, dark and powerful, raging into the late afternoon sky and boiling out to overtake the entire realm, but Regina ignored that, too.  Instead, she simply rushed to Daniel’s side, falling to her knees next to her True Love and cradling his dead body in her arms.

“Oh, Daniel,” she whispered, tears rolling freely down her face.  “I’m so sorry.”

Her mother hadn’t even given her a chance to apologize to Daniel, hadn’t even given Regina the opportunity to say good bye.  Oh, she’d known this would eventually happen, had known it when Daniel had sent her away, telling Regina to stand by Snow and not to let Cora use  _him_ against her, but that didn’t make the reality any easier to bear.  Nor did the fact that they had said their farewells then and Daniel had sworn he would not blame her for his death.  Neither of those facts lessened the howling emptiness inside Regina, the way her soul was split in two and the light within her felt like it had been crushed forever.

If she could have died in that moment, Regina would have been all too happy to go.

“I love you so much,” she sobbed, leaning over to kiss him pointlessly.  But having his heart crushed was no curse, and there was no True Love’s Kiss to bring him back from this.  Daniel was dead, and it was  _her_ fault, and nothing would ever be the same again.  “I love you.  I love you.  I love you…”

Regina didn’t know how many times she repeated those words, whispering them over and over again as she rocked back and forth, cradling Daniel’s body in her arms.  The curse continued to sweep around them, not pulling her away just yet—and it was finally that fact that brought Regina to her senses.  It could not erase the heartbroken emptiness she felt, but purpose slowly crystalized in her mind.

_Snow’s daughter can break this curse,_ Regina remembered.   _Mother doesn’t know that, but she won’t pass up the opportunity for one last bit of revenge._

She had to get back.  She had to tell Cora that Snow’s daughter had died, and that no one could threaten her now.  Regina might even enjoy that, might enjoy lying to her mother and watching Cora’s victory sour just a little.  Rage boiled up within her as Regina set Daniel’s body down as gently as she could, pausing to kiss his forehead one last time.

“I will avenge you,” she whispered.  “I’ll stop her, Daniel.  For you.”

Then her magic swept her away, and Regina refused to look back.

* * *

 

News that the Jabberwocky had been brought to Storybrooke was  _not_ welcome, and Rumplestiltskin could guess what Cora wanted Wonderland’s resident demon for.  That thought made him shudder; Rumplestiltskin’s own cowardice meant he knew he would be more vulnerable to the Jabberwocky than most, and he was very,  _very_  glad that he was not the Savior.  Who Cora meant to sic the fear-reading (and creating) creature upon was more than obvious.  Whenever that situation happened, he intended to stay well clear of it.  Let Regina deal with the fallout of that one.  Emma was her niece, after all.

_Where_ is  _Regina?_  Rumplestiltskin wondered.  He found it interesting that Jefferson had been the one to come to him with news about the Jabberwocky’s arrival.  Did Regina not know?  If she did, Rumplestiltskin would have been very surprised if she had not thought that fact important enough to tell him.   They were getting so very close to breaking the curse, and it was imperative that they work together now, even more than before.  Still, it was early yet.  Jefferson had only arrived yesterday morning.  Perhaps Regina was distracted and did not yet know.

For now, however, he’d finish what she started, in addition to retrieving Grace’s heart.  After all, Rumplestiltskin never broke a deal.

“And what are  _you_ doing here, Rumple?” a voice demanded as he approached the outside of Cora’s mausoleum, having tripped the outer magical wards without fanfare not too long after seven o’clock a.m..  Regina had told him how she’d been ambushed, which meant he knew the vault was being watched.  That made drawing someone in dreadfully easy, and he’d guessed that Cora would not come herself.

“Waiting for you, of course, dear,” he replied, pivoting in place to face Zelena.  He’d remembered his cane this morning, and folded his hands over it calmly, watching his former student smile widely.

“And why should I believe you aren’t here to steal something from my mother?” Zelena asked astutely.

“Now why would I want to do that?” he countered casually.

“Because you’re plotting with  _Regina_ ,” she shot back, looking put out.  “Though I don’t know  _what_ you see in my stupid little sister.  She’s a failure and a fool.”

“Sibling rivalry starting already?” Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help chuckling, particularly when Zelena went red.  “You barely know each other.”

“It’s not a rivalry when I’m clearly more powerful and smarter than she is,” she said, squaring her shoulders self-importantly.

“Are you now?”

Zelena tossed her red curls proudly.  “She tried to get past me and couldn’t.  And you won’t, either.  The vault is guarded by blood magic.”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “So it is.”

He saw no reason to delay further, and simply teleported himself to a spot right behind Zelena, concealing the normal swirl of smoke as he did.  When he appeared, Rumplestiltskin held a small penknife in his hand instead of his cane, and his left hand snaked out to grab Zelena by the wrist before she could react to his presence.  Quickly and efficiently, he sliced Zelena’s palm open, and then disappeared again while she yelped in pain.

Having her blood on the knife was the key to entering Cora’s mausoleum, and Rumplestiltskin took himself straight into the vault that held the hearts Cora had claimed.  From there, it was quick work to determine which box held Grace’s heart; he had dropped by Jefferson’s store to claim a hair of his, and a quick bit of magic sent it floating right to the appropriate box.  This he retrieved, box and all, and then reached into his pocket to pull out one of the hairs he had bargained for so many years earlier.  Rumplestiltskin had kept this, and the extras from Snow, in reserve for the better part of a lifetime, waiting to make a second True Love potion, if need be.

Of course, he’d then found out that he could make his  _own_ True Love potion, but Rumplestiltskin had not thrown Charming’s hairs away.  Why would he?  He was a careful man, and a meticulous one, and you never knew when you might need something like this.  And now it would allow him to retrieve Cora’s prize heart.  Regina had been right about one thing, after all.  If Cora had Charming’s heart when the curse broke, she probably  _would_ kill him.  That would make Snow suffer, if nothing else, and Cora still held a grudge against Eva and her entire line.  The only thing stopping Cora now was that she could make Mary Margaret suffer through other means, but if Snow White woke up, Rumplestiltskin would bet that Cora would want to break her heart in the most vicious way possible.

He was no hero, and no one would ever mistake the Dark One for a good man.  But Rumplestiltskin  _had_ chosen his side—his family—and it behooved him to have the heroes in his debt.  So, he touched that single hair with magic, and sent it flying to the appropriate box.  However, Rumplestiltskin knew immediately that something was wrong.  When he pulled the box out of its cubby hole, it was empty.

So much for saving Charming’s heart.  The still-glowing hair continued to float near the box he held, which meant the heart  _had_ been there, but was no longer.   _Cora must have it with her,_ he realized, waving a hand and watching the slight enchantment on Charming’s hair dissipate.  Tucking the hair back into the envelope, Rumplestiltskin teleported himself—and Grace’s heart—out of the vault, only to find Zelena fuming outside.

“Still here, dearie?” he asked, smiling as she glowered.

“You tricked me!”

“Did I?” Rumplestiltskin said lightly.  “Oh, dear.”

Then Zelena spotted the box in his hands.  “Give that back!”

“I think not,” he replied, stepping aside when she tried to grab the box.  “Look at it this way: I’m keeping your promises—or your dear mother’s—for you.  And I’ll give you a word of warning while I’m at it.  Don’t steal children’s hearts.  That’s just crass.”

“ _Mother_ does whatever is necessary,” she retorted hotly.  “And you don’t get to dictate to us.”

“I’d never dream of doing that,” he assured her, smiling thinly as Zelena glared. 

* * *

 

Emma’s last stop on her patrol was the cemetery, which had always been her least favorite place to go.  She’d wound up pulling an all-nighter because Gary had called in sick and Keith had been drunk by the end of his own shift, which meant she was strung out and tired enough that she almost missed the odd little scene in front of the Mills family mausoleum just after seven in the morning. 

Regina had fessed up that Chloe Zephyr was actually her half-sister (and named Zelena, which was just kind of weird), but why was Gold there?   _Rumplestiltskin,_ Emma remembered, thinking of her conversation with Henry.   _He’s the Dark One, supposedly dangerous and powerful_.  Emma still wasn’t entirely sure what that meant—and she hadn’t had time to ask Regina why she hadn’t volunteered that  _minor_ fact, either—but she knew enough to be wary.  Henry had said that Gold was unpredictable and sometimes allied with Cora, which certainly made sense given the fact that they’d apparently gone on two dates recently.   _This gets more and more suspicious.  I really need to talk to Regina about what side he’s on._

And now he was hanging out with Cora’s  _other_ daughter, who looked downright put out by something.  Then again, Zelena seemed to pout quite often, or at least when she wasn’t busy trying to prove that she was superior to everyone else.  Emma’s own run-ins with her hadn’t exactly been pleasant, so she just watched the pair for a moment before her phone rang.  It was Mary Margaret.

“Hey.  What’s up?”

“Emma?” her roommate/cursed mother asked when she picked up.  “Can you come home?  Henry’s here, and he says it’s important.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Seventy-Four—“An Apple Red as Blood,” where Henry eats the apple, Emma tries to save him—while Cora and Zelena gloat—and Rumplestiltskin does the unexpected. 
> 
> While you’re waiting, please do tell me what you think – and if you haven’t checked out Ruins of Camelot yet, please drop by my new story!


	74. An Apple Red as Blood

Henry was waiting when Emma walked through the door, a shiny red apple clutched in his hand.  That made the sheriff stop, blinking, and stare at the son she’d given up so many years ago—and had come to love more than anything in the world.

“Hi,” Henry said, and right off the bat, Emma could tell something was wrong.

“What’s up, kid?” she asked, trying to sound casual and failing.  Mary Margaret stood not far away, looking concerned but confused, so whatever had happened, it wasn’t her doing.  Henry, however, was pale and miserable looking, as if he hadn’t slept a wink.  “You okay?”

“Not really,” he answered bluntly, swallowing hard and looking down at the apple in his hand.  “Grandma paid me a visit last night.”

Something cold stole its way up Emma’s spine.  “What’d she do?” she demanded, already itching to get her hands on Cora.  Punching the mayor would feel really good right now, particularly when Henry looked back up at her, his face contorted miserably.  “Henry?”

“I’m okay,” her son said quietly, glancing back down at the apple as if he couldn’t look away from it for long.  “But Grandma said…she said she has Mom under a sleeping curse, and if I don’t eat this apple, she’ll kill her.”

That news slammed hard into Emma, rocking her back on her heels with shock and a sudden surge of terror.  Several moments passed before she could find her voice, and then the words came out incredulously:  “Cora has _Regina_ under a sleeping curse?”

“Yeah,” Henry whispered, and no wonder why he looked so miserable!

Then Emma’s mind caught up with the rest of what he had said.

“Give me the apple, Henry,” she said quickly, reaching a hand out.

“I can’t.”

“Henry—”

“I _can’t_.  She’ll kill Mom, and probably Dad, too!  She has Dad’s heart, and if Mom’s under a sleeping curse, she can’t fight back!” Henry cried, backing away as Emma moved towards him.  “Grandma wanted me to tell you that the only way to cure me will be to take me out of town, but that isn’t the only way.  True Love’s kiss will—”

“Cure you?” Emma gaped, her heart racing madly.  “What do you mean _cure_ you?”

“Aren’t you listening?” Henry snapped impatiently, and for once, Emma couldn’t find it in her to chastise him for that.  “I have to eat the apple, and there’s a Nightmare Curse in it.  Just like the Evil Queen once did to Grandma Snow.”  He nodded at Mary Margaret.  “But you don’t have to take me out of town to cure me.  True Love’s kiss can break any curse, and there’s _magic_ here.  You can break the curse on me _and_ break the curse on Storybrooke at the same time!  All you have to do is believe.”

“Henry…”

“I believe in you,” her son said, and bit into the apple.

“Henry!” Emma cried, lunging forward. 

She didn’t make it in time.  The affect was immediate; Henry’s eyes started to roll back, and a look of sheer horror crossed his face.  The color went out of his features even as he started to fall, his legs collapsing out from under him like they’d been cut away by a scythe.  Emma tried desperately to catch him, but her hands had barely brushed his arm before he was _gone_.  Henry never even hit the floor; he simply vanished.

Emma fell hard to her knees where her son should have been, her hands grasping uselessly at thin air and finding nothing.  Mary Margaret stepped up next to her to put a hand on her shoulder, but Emma hardly noticed.  Henry was _gone_.  Henry was cursed and alone and she didn’t know where he was. 

All she knew was that Cora was to blame, and Emma was _done_ playing her games.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin could feel it in the air.  The curse was a like a rubber band, stretched to the breaking point and ready to snap back at any moment.  The change had been abrupt, and had come shortly after he stopped his Cadillac in front of Modern Fashions, making him nearly miss a step as he climbed out of the car.

_Today,_ he realized.  _It’s going to happen today._

That changed _everything._   Rumplestiltskin had planned on returning home after his little errand, but now he knew that he had to head to the shop as soon as possible.  His visions were unreliable in this land, even with magic, but Rumplestiltskin could sense the storm clouds gathering, could feel possible futures gathering at the edge of his consciousness.  But he had no time to examine those futures now; he had a heart to return and then a Savior to shepherd through breaking the curse.  Because wherever Regina was, Rumplestiltskin had a feeling that Cora had already removed her from play.  _You’re clever, dear,_ he thought, pushing open the door to Modern Fashions and ignoring the ‘closed’ sign, _but not clever enough._

“Did you get it?” Jefferson all but gasped, rushing around from behind a rack of oddly colored dresses.  The Hatter looked more nervous than Rumplestiltskin had ever seen him, pale and shaken, and like he hardly dared to hope.  Under some circumstances, Rumplestiltskin might have given in to his inner demon, might have decided to mock the other man a little bit and have a bit of fun.  But not today.  Not with Jefferson’s daughter at stake.

After all, Rumplestiltskin had a little girl, too.  And even if he had a reputation to uphold, even if he _needed_ to remain the town monster, this was not a time when he was prepared to indulge the darkness.  Not like this.  So, a slight smile creased his face, and he nodded without any preamble.

“I did,” the Dark One replied, extending the box holding Grace’s heart.  “Here.”

“Do I…how do I put it back in?” Jefferson stuttered, his eyes wide.

“Just line it up and push.”

“Is that all?”

“That’s all,” Rumplestiltskin assured him, continuing to hold out the box.  “Now, if you don’t take this soon, Jefferson, I’m going to begin to wonder about you.”

“That’s it?  No strings attached?” was the hesitant question, but Jefferson _did_ reach out to snatch the box out of his hands.

“You know me better than that,” he pointed out.  “We made a deal, and this is my end of the bargain.”

“I think I’m getting the better end of it,” Jefferson admitted, and Rumplestiltskin chuckled darkly.

“Don’t be too sure about that, dearie,” he answered, turning to walk out.  But Rumplestiltskin paused in the doorway, turning to look back over his shoulder.  “A, uh, word of advice.  Keep your girl home today.  It’s going to be…interesting.”

“I will,” was the immediate response.  Jefferson didn’t even ask why.  “Thanks.”

With one last nod, Rumplestiltskin let himself out of Modern Fashions and headed back to his own shop.  He had work to do.

* * *

 

“Hi, you’ve reached Regina Nolan.  Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”  _Beep._   Scowling at her phone, Emma hung up without leaving another voicemail.  What was it that Henry had said about Regina?  He’d said something about a sleeping curse, but what was that?  Was that the curse that was in Disney’s _Sleeping Beauty_ movie?  Something about a sleep like death?

Emma wasn’t sure, but she figured that, whatever had happened, Regina wasn’t going to be able to help.  She also knew that confronting Cora would do her no good.  Henry had already told her that Cora was behind whatever curse or poison he had eaten with that apple, and appealing to Cora’s better nature was out of the question.  Cora didn’t _have_ a better nature, and Emma had long since figured out that Cora didn’t care about her adopted grandson. _Killian was right.  She won’t hesitate to kill Henry_ , Emma thought brokenly.  _And Regina was right all along, too, even going back to the library fire._ Emma hadn’t wanted to believe it then, hadn’t wanted to believe _any_ of it, but Cora really was a bloodthirsty maniac with horrible magic in her hands.

And because of her, Henry was _gone_.  Emma was so angry that she thought she could feel the wind whipping around her; it felt like she was in the middle of a raging tornado.  It must have been her imagination, but windows on stone fronts seemed to rattle as she stalked down Main Street, focused on reaching the one person who might be able to help her, to help Henry.  Believing might have taken her a long time, but Emma knew the truth, now.  And she was ready to do whatever it took to save Henry.

Henry was all that mattered.

“Swan!” a voice called, but at first it didn’t make its way through Emma’s fury.  _“Emma!”_

Finally, she stopped, spinning around to face Killian O’Malley.  “What?” she barked.  “I don’t really have time for this.  Henry is—”

“I know what happened to him, lass,” the marina owner replied, bringing Emma up short.

“How the hell do you know that?”

Only Mary Margaret knew; Emma hadn’t told anyone, and she knew that Mary Margaret had gone to see David, just to make sure he was all right.  They both understood that David couldn’t be told anything, not if Regina had been right about Cora being able to control him, but Mary Margaret was worried about him.  However, that meant there was no way for _anyone_ else to know about what had happened, so Emma’s hostility quickly became suspicion as she stared at Killian with narrowed eyes.

“That doesn’t matter now, love.  What I do know is that your boy’s in trouble, and I know you have to save him,” the handsome man said quickly.  “But don’t go to Gold.  Whatever deal you make with him, he’ll make you pay for it in blood.  He’s the last one you want to go to.”

“Why is that?” she demanded impatiently.

“Gold is… It’s got to be a trap.  He might be in league with Cora, Emma. You don’t know him—”

“And you do?”

A shadow crossed his face. “Better than you can imagine.”

Studying Killian critically, Emma could sense a lie somewhere in the impassioned plea.  Oh, she didn’t doubt that Gold was dangerous, particularly after she and Henry had figured out who he was.  But she preferred to believe Henry’s assessment over Killian’s, particularly because she was smart enough to know that Killian had to have some sort of ulterior motive.  Last they’d talked, he’d tried to convince her to leave Storybrooke.  _And that’s exactly what Cora told Henry to tell me.  She said the only way of curing him is to take him out of town,_ Emma remembered.  The parallel between those two was inescapable, and that only riled her worry and her temper up further.

“I can imagine a lot,” Emma snarled.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to save my son.”

Moving forward as if to follow her, Killian started: “I can help—”

“Help who?  If we’re going to talk about someone being in Cora’s pocket, you might want to look in the mirror,” she shot back, spinning to plant a hand in the middle of his chest and stop him.  “Henry is _my_ son, and _my_ responsibility.  And you can just get the hell out of my way.”

“Emma…”

“No.”  Shoving him back, Emma stepped away.  “I’m gonna go do what I need to to save my son, and you’re not going to follow me.  Got it?”

“I understand.”  His shoulders slumped.  “Good luck.”

* * *

 

She stormed into the pawnshop like an avenging angel, magic sweeping around her like a tornado only a sorcerer could see.  Until that moment, Rumplestiltskin hadn’t realized that the Savior did indeed have magic; the odds of her being magical were always high, child of True Love that she was, but proof hadn’t yet manifested itself.  Now, however, he could see power swirling around her, and watching that made him smile.  Emma, however, did not seem amused.

“What the hell are you smiling about, Gold?” she demanded, stalking up to the counter like she wanted to kill him.

“I’m smiling because Cora is well and truly screwed,” he replied honestly, deciding that now as not the time to tell Emma that she had magic.  She could not master it soon enough to matter, and knowing would only prove a distraction.

His smug response seemed to mollify her somewhat.  “Are you saying that because you heard what happened?”

“Regina’s not here with you and you’re in a fury, so I suspect Cora’s done something to her,” Rumplestiltskin guessed. 

“What?  No,” Emma said, blinking.  “I mean, Henry said something about Regina being under a sleeping curse, but that’s not the problem right now.  Henry’s gone.”

“He is?” he found himself asking stupidly before her words sank in.  _Oh, damn.  Of course she’d go after a child.  Why am I surprised?_   Rumplestiltskin shook himself, pushing down his instinctive spurt of anger towards a woman who would dare harm a child…and his worry for Regina.  “Tell me what happened.”

“He bit into the apple and disappeared.  I don’t know where he is, but I know Cora has him somewhere,” Emma snarled, and he could see the purpose gleaming in her green eyes.  “She told him to tell me that the only way to save him is to take him out of town.”

“An apple,” Rumplestiltskin repeated, thinking it over.  “A Nightmare Curse?”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “How’d you know?”

“I know Cora.”

“Okay, fine, you know Cora.  Can you help me, or is Killian right, and I’ve come to the wrong place?” she demanded, crossing her arms. 

“Of course I can.  As Regina may have told you, I am on your side, not Cora’s.  Do you have anything of the boy’s?” he asked, ignoring her reference to the pirate.  He would deal with Hook later.

Emma looked startled.  “Not with me, no.  I can—”

“No matter.  I can guess where he is.  A locator spell would have only confirmed that,” Rumplestiltskin waved a hand to brush the point aside.  “No matter.  What matters is your boy, and you’re very right that he’s in danger.  You have to get to him, but not to take him out of town—you need to break the curse on him, because you’re the only one who can.”

“What do I have to do?” Emma asked, and even if her eyes were wide, she was focused and strong.  “How do I break it?”

“True Love’s kiss, of course,” he told her.  _Let’s not talk about the Dark Curse right now; she’ll break both, but Emma doesn’t want to hear that.  She wants to save her boy, and I can’t blame her on that front._   “You need to fight past whatever monsters Cora has put in place, and give him True Love’s kiss.  If you don’t, his nightmares will eventually consume him.”

“What happens then?” she whispered.

“You don’t want to know,” Rumplestiltskin said gently.  He and Emma Swan might never see eye to eye, but he could understand being a parent whose child was in danger.  And what little of his heart remained his went out to her, for just a moment.

“I _need_ to know,” Emma retorted, her voice strong and demanding again.

Sighing, Rumplestiltskin contemplated lying to her, and then thought of how he would have felt in her place.  _If this had been Bae or Gabi…_ Shaking the thought away, he answered carefully: “People under a nightmare curse often kill themselves.  That is…usually the best outcome.  Those that do not eventually injure themselves enough that they bleed out, and they often kill those who try to rescue them.  They go insane long before that, though.”

Her voice went small again.  “How long does that take?”

“It depends on the curse.  Knowing Cora, it will take quite some time.”

Emma swallowed hard, and Rumplestiltskin could see the fear flashing through her eyes.  He wasn’t used to feeling pity, wasn’t used to giving a damn about anyone outside of his family, but he really did feel bad for her.  Not that his pity would help her at all; what she needed was his power and his knowledge, so Rumplestiltskin pushed aside any foolish desire to say comforting words and focused on that, brushing a cloth over the black case on the counter between them.

“Feel that fear all you like, dear, but once you walk outside this door, push it aside.  The creature Cora has guarding Henry will feed on that fear and devour you if you let it out,” he told her calmly.  “If you want to save your boy, you have to believe in yourself—and in your love for him.”

“How do I do that?”

“You start with this,” Rumplestiltskin replied, opening the case.  Inside was a sword that he knew quite well, a broadsword with a golden colored hilt. 

Emma looked at the sword like it was a poisonous snake.  “What the hell is that?”

“Your father’s sword.”

“My father’s sword?” she repeated incredulously.  “What would…oh, crap.  What does Cora have guarding Henry?”

“A creature who can read your darkest fears and bring them to the surface,” Rumplestiltskin answered honestly.  “Almost like a walking nightmare curse.  Among others.”

“Okay, where is he?” Emma asked, squaring her shoulders.  “I can ask you questions all day, but I really should just go get this done, shouldn’t I?”  Looking down at the sword, she seemed to make a decision.  “It’s kind of one of those Savior things, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re talking, dearie.”

“Oh, don’t start with that.”  She rolled her eyes and hefted the sword, holding it more or less correctly, though not with any experience.  “I know who you are, you know.  Why should I trust you?”

Well, that was unexpected.  “Because I’ve never lied to you, Miss Swan.  And I want this curse broken as badly as you do—if not more,” he said bluntly.  “So long as Cora is in power, my family is in danger.  As is yours.  So, you can listen to me, and we can both get what we want, or you can ignore me and let your son die.  Which will it be?”

Emma gave him a steady look.  “Just tell me where Henry is, and I’ll do the rest.”

* * *

 

Cora had prepared for this moment carefully, placing multiple cameras in the caverns underneath the library and setting her creatures into place _long_ before Henry appeared in a glass coffin reminiscent of the one his blood grandmother had once occupied.  The boy was already crying and twitching: he might have been brave enough to eat the apple, but no one was brave enough to endure a nightmare curse, and watching him was enough to make Cora smile.  She had put up an extra monitor in her office solely for this occasion, which allowed her and Zelena to keep an eye on Henry while choosing whichever camera view was appropriate on the other monitor, the one reserved to watch Emma Swan.

She didn’t really _want_ kill her, or course, which meant that the creatures Cora had chosen to delay her were ones that she was fairly sure the Savior could kill.  Oh, Cora would cry no tears if Emma were to accidentally die, even if that _would_ shatter the curse.  She was ready for that to happen, although keeping the curse intact was certainly preferable to allowing it to break.  But, no.  She preferred Emma Swan to be a husk of nothing but fears and emptiness, which was exactly what the Jabberwocky would turn her into, in the end.  The other creatures were simply distractions, there to delay Emma and make her think that she was _winning_.  Henry was merely bait, designed to bring Emma to where Cora wanted her.  Nothing more.

“There she is!” Zelena pointed at the monitor, but Cora did not bother to be annoyed.  This was _her_ moment, her _victory_ , and she would not allow Zelena’s odd manners to ruin that.  Because Emma had indeed just stepped out of the elevator that brought her down into the basement of the library, a sword in one hand and looking so very out of place despite the gun she also carried.  Zelena clearly noticed the sword, too.  “Where did she get _that_?”

“Rumple, I presume,” Cora replied serenely, folding her hands neatly.  “He always does love to be the wildcard.”

Zelena’s eyes flashed angrily.  “ _That_ won’t last for long.  Not once you have the dagger.”

“Oh, no.  It won’t.”  That thought made even Cora smile, as did the knowledge that she held the one person whom he would sacrifice _anything_ for.  And Rumple had no idea.

She could stop him at any time, she knew.  All it would take was one little phone call and a touch of proof—easy enough to do with a few drops of blood, and Cora intended to spill far more than a few drops—and Rumple would do whatever she wanted.  He’d spent centuries searching for his beloved Baelfire, and Cora had gotten to him first.  All because a terrified puppet lacked the courage to protect someone he called a friend.  _Oh, I can’t_ wait _to see Rumple’s face when he learns of this,_ she thought victoriously.  _It will almost make the curse being broken worth it._

“Do you think the goblins can harm her, Mother?” Zelena asked next, breaking into Cora’s smug thoughts.

“Perhaps a little,” she shrugged.  “They’re merely there to slow her down, though.”

Zelena grinned.  “And to make her grow overconfident before she meets the Jabberwocky,” she observed astutely.  Oh, she was gloating, and it was terribly annoying but at least Zelena was right.

“Indeed,” she replied, and would have said more had another woman not stalked into her office.

“What have you done?” Ingrid demanded. 

Blinking, Cora turned to look at the so-called Snow Queen, whose heart she knew she had safely tucked away in her vault.  “I beg your pardon?”

“That’s Emma!” the blonde woman gasped, and Zelena giggled.

“You have a masterful command of the obvious,” Zelena drawled, making Ingrid flinch.

“You can’t do this,” Ingrid pleaded.  “Please, you can’t hurt her.  She’s everything to me, she’s—”

“Oh, do stop groveling,” Cora cut her off, sick of it already.  “I don’t care what our little Savior means to you, dear, and you can’t do a thing to save her.  So, stop wasting my time and go back to your precious little ice cream shoppe.”

“Don’t test me, Cora,” the ice sorceress snarled, but Zelena had already teleported out, so Cora simply lounged back in her chair.

“And why should I not?”

Ingrid drew herself up, and Cora could feel magic gathering.  “I can make you regret it.”

“And _I_ could kill you right now,” Zelena said, reappearing with Ingrid’s heart in her hand.  Cora simply smiled complacently, admiring her daughter’s loyalty.  Perhaps she _had_ been wrong not to reach out and bring Zelena fully into her confidence long ago.  Oh, Zelena’s instability could be terribly irritating, but she was utterly devoted to her mother.  Even now she was ushering Ingrid out, allowing Cora to return her attention to Emma Swan as she killed the second of four goblins barring her path to her beloved little brat.

* * *

 

“Do you think she’ll make it?” Belle asked quietly, coming out from the back to stand beside Rumplestiltskin.  He’d had Emma call her roommate/mother to operate the (recently reconstructed) elevator while Emma went beneath the library, not offering to help beyond giving her information.  That was what was expected of him as the Dark One, of course, but doubt still lurked at the edges of his mind.

“She’s certainly brave enough,” he replied slowly, trying not to wince.  _I didn’t plan for this wrinkle,_ Rumplestiltskin thought irritably, staring contemplatively at the door Emma had strode out not too many minutes earlier.

Belle cocked her head at him.  “I hear a ‘but’ in that sentence.”

“It takes more than bravery to make it past the Jabberwocky,” Rumplestiltskin sighed, not liking the conclusion he was coming to, even in the privacy of his own mind.

“What happens if she doesn’t?”

“At worst, the Jabberwocky drains her bravery and her strength until she’s nothing but an empty shell of herself.  Or, under slightly better circumstances, she’ll simply transform our Savior into a broken ball of terror.”  He snorted.  “Neither of which is useful to our cause.”

“ _Or_ kind to Emma,” his wife reminded him sternly.  “She deserves better.  We have to help.”

“Sweetheart…” That remark made him turn to look at Belle, but Rumplestiltskin’s objection died on his lips due to the look on her face.  He knew what she was going to say before she said it, and his heart started sinking immediately.

“I could distract the Jabberwocky,” Belle volunteered.  “If it can’t go after Emma—”

“Oh, Belle,” Rumplestiltskin breathed, reaching out to touch his brave, foolish, wife’s cheek.  His innards were already a mess of tension and jitters from the mere _thought_ of what had to be done, but that didn’t keep him from telling her the truth.  “You know that you’d never be bait enough to pull the Jabberwocky away from Miss Swan.  The Jabberwocky feeds on fears, and you’re far too brave.”

“I feel fear as much as any other, Rumple,” she objected.

“Not as much as a mother whose child is now in danger, you don’t,” he countered, and Belle grimaced.  “No, if we’re going to draw the Jabberwocky away, we need far better bait than you.”

Blue eyes met brown, and in that moment, he felt as if she could read his mind.

“I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Rumplestiltskin laughed shakily.  “I do hope not.”

* * *

 

The three goblins were dead, two shot to the head and the third run through.  Emma had never handled a sword in her life, not unless you counted sticks she play-sword fought with as a kid, but the one Gold insisted belonged to her father was pretty well-balanced.  Or, at least it felt good in her hand, anyway.  She didn’t know jack about how to actually use it, but assuming she could get the pointy end into the bad guys (or evil magical creatures, which were much the same thing), Emma figured she’d be all right.  _Assuming Gold is right about where Henry is,_ she thought, squaring her shoulders and striding further into the network of caves.  Henry was somewhere down here, and she had to save him. 

The next magic beast, however, gave her a little pause.  This one was a hulking but stupid troll that Emma thought wanted to drool on her as much as it wanted to kill her, but the damned thing wouldn’t get out of the way.  And then it turned out to be impervious to bullets, which _really_ made her day.  Of course, the troll tried to eat her next, going on about shiny gold hair and the sweet smell of royal blood. 

“Are you _serious_?” Emma demanded, tossing her pistol aside.  It was empty and she didn’t have a spare magazine with her—one of her stupider moves, honestly—and lugging a handgun around when she wanted to use both hands on the sword hilt was just dumb.

“Royal blood is _tasty_ tasty tasty,” the troll rumbled, swiping at her with one huge hand. 

“My blood isn’t—oh, damn,” she breathed.  “I guess it is.” 

Believing in the curse was really different from actually believing that _she_ —a runaway, an orphan, and an all-around misfit who didn’t belong anywhere—was a genuine princess.  The entire thought was laughable, but here was a troll going on about how good _her_ royal blood would taste.  Weird.

“Stand still!” The troll lunged for her again, and Emma dodged.

“Can’t we just talk about this?” she asked, not liking the idea of killing a creature that could talk back intelligently.

“No talk.  _EAT!_ ”

Make that  _sort of_ intelligently.

“Look, I don’t want to kill you, okay?” Emma replied, dancing aside as the troll tried to grab her.  “I just need to get by you so I can rescue my kid, all right?”

“NO!”  Another swipe of a long arm, and jagged claws ripped into Emma’s jacket, tearing the red leather.  She barely  managed to jump back in time to avoid having her stomach ripped open, and an ineffectual swing of her sword barely even made the troll pause.  It continued: “Can’t _eat_ the boy till I kill _YOU_!”

Emma’s blood ran cold.  “Wait a minute.  You want to _eat_ Henry?”

“Royal blood,” the troll drooled.  “Royal _tasty_.”

“No way are you eating my son,” she snarled, stepping in close and bringing her sword up once more.  Defending herself against a troll who wanted to eat her was one thing, but this monster wanted to eat Henry, too.  “No way.  Not while I live!”

That made the troll giggle, a giant wheezing laugh that gave her the chills and grated on her ears.  It lunged again, and this time Emma did not dodge.  She just brought her father’s sword up, stepping forward to lend strength to the blow.  It wasn’t what she wanted to do, but Emma was a mother before she was anything else, and she had to save Henry.  She couldn’t figure out another way to get past this troll in time, not with Gold’s words ringing in her ears.  _“You need to fight past whatever monsters Cora has put in place, and give him True Love’s kiss.  If you don’t, his nightmares will eventually consume him.”_

Those words filled her mind as she thrust the sword upwards, straight into the troll’s chest.  Emma barely managed to jump back and out of the way before the troll collapsed, a loud gurgle filling the cave around them as the creature breathed its last. 

“I’m sorry,” Emma whispered.

She stared at the troll for a long moment before stepping away.  She’d never killed anyone before, and Emma hadn’t wanted today to be the first time.  But she didn’t have time to spare; Henry was in danger and this troll wanted to _eat_ him.  To eat both of them.  Her heart was still pounding in her chest, and she knew that adrenaline would give way to something like regret later, but for now she had to find her son.  Not focus on the fact that trolls were apparently real, and the _ate_ people, too.  Henry was more important. 

“You’re worried you’ll be too late,” a voice whispered from her right, making Emma’s head jerk up.

The speaker was an odd looking woman.  She had stark white hair, and dark patches around her eyes that didn’t look like makeup, and was dressed in clothes that _definitely_ weren’t of this world.  The high, laced and feathered, collar was a dead giveaway on that front, but so were the tight leather stocking-like pants and high boots.  She moved like a snake, smoothly slithering forward, with dark eyes fixated on Emma like a predator watching her prey.  Her head cocked curiously as she watched Emma, and a violent shiver tore through the Savior.

Instinct made her take a step back, the sword coming up. 

“Gold warned me about you,” Emma said shakily.  “I’m not afraid of you.”

But she was.  She was terrified, and she didn’t know why.

“It isn’t me you should be afraid of,” the Jabberwocky said with a soft smile.  “ _I’m_ nothing special.  I just see what is already there.”

“I’m not afraid,” she repeated.  She could do this.  She _had_ to.  For Henry.

“You’re afraid for your boy.  You’re afraid that you’ll be too late, that you don’t know enough about this ‘fairy tale world’ to save him.  You think the monsters might have slowed you down too much…or that you don’t love him enough.”

Emma shook her head, desperately trying to tune those words out as she involuntarily backed up another step.  “I love him.”

“But you’re afraid that it’s not enough,” the Jabberwocky cooed, and something seemed to root Emma to the spot as the creature drifted forwards.  Her feet just wouldn’t move, much though she wanted to run away, and the sword was drooping, dropping, falling uselessly from her hands.  “After all, what kind of _mother_ would give her child up?  You didn’t want him then, and you know you don’t want him now.  You want a life free of him, and you’re terrified to admit that.  You know you aren’t enough for him.  You aren’t Regina, the perfect mother who always knows what to do.  _Regina_ would know how to save him.”

“I…”

“You aren’t enough.  Even Henry thinks it, which is why he never calls you ‘mom’,” the creature whispered, coming up close to speak directly in Emma’s right ear as the sword clattered uselessly from her hands.  “You know that, which is why you don’t really want to save him.”

_I do,_ Emma thought helplessly, but the words would not come.  She felt like she was trapped in a swirling vortex, in a tornado made wild by the fears she had never even admitted to herself. She would never be enough for Henry; deep down inside, he would always see her as the woman who gave him up.  Her reasons didn’t matter.  She’d still given him up, let him go like the coward she was.  Emma had been too afraid to keep him, too afraid of failing the way her parents had failed her.  She wanted to save him, she did…but she couldn’t.  She wasn’t some fairytale hero.  She wasn’t some Savior.  She was just an ex-thief turned bail bondsperson, whose parents had stuck her in an enchanted wardrobe instead of raising her themselves.

“You can’t save him, anyway.  You know that.”

_You can’t save him_ , the words echoed in her mind over and over again.  _You aren’t enough.  You aren’t Regina_.  She wasn’t.  She couldn’t.  She was nothing.  A small corner of her mind could see the Jabberwocky smiling, but nothing seemed to matter save her own fears.  Emma was trapped within them, trapped in darkness.

_“But you don’t have to take me out of town to cure me,”_ Henry had said, and the memory of his voice broke through the fog _.  “True Love’s kiss can break any curse, and there’s magic here.  You can break the curse on me and break the curse on Storybrooke at the same time!  All you have to do is believe_.”

“No,” Emma whispered hoarsely.  Just getting the word out took everything she had.  “I can.”

For a split second, the Jabberwocky reared back in shock, her eyes going wide as Emma’s vision tried to clear.  But then a small hand reached out to touch her shoulder, and the dark vortex descended down upon her once more. 

“No,” the creature said softly.  “You _can’t_.”

_No one wants me.  No one ever has.  Henry doesn’t love me, he just wants me to break the curse so he can go back to his life with Regina and David,_ she thought brokenly.  A small corner of Emma’s soul, lightened just a little when she thought of him, but it wasn’t enough.  Not with her fears cascading down on her like a rapid waterfall.  _Even my parents didn’t want me.  They would have sent me away even if there_ hadn’t _been some curse, and now they just want me to break.  They won’t want_ me.

“You’re nothing,” the Jabberwocky told her, echoing Emma’s thoughts perfectly.  “Nothing and no one.”

“I…” Emma tried one last time to fight, dredging up strength that her love for Henry gave her, but she felt so weak.  She was shaking and crying and she was _nothing_ —

Then a new voice interrupted.

“Why don’t you try a tastier meal on for size, dearie?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left a comment on the last chapter! I adore you all.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Seventy-Five—“Broken,” in which Rumplestiltskin faces off with the Jabberwocky, Emma reaches Henry, and the curse is broken. People begin waking up, bringing about reunions, heartbreak, and sending Cora’s Plan B into action.


	75. Broken

“Why don’t you try a tastier meal on for size, dearie?”

He was an utter fool, but what better meal to offer the Jabberwocky than a man who had been a coward his entire life?  So, he spoke the words with as much brash confidence as he could muster—and being the Dark One, there was quite a lot of bluster available to hide his inner fears—standing casually with his hands folded over his cane and watching the Jabberwocky as if he had not a care in the world.  They’d never met before, of course, but each knew the other by reputation.  Similar types of darkness lay at their core, although the Jabberwocky was half-human and half-demon of some sort, whereas the Dark One was elemental darkness chained to a fragile human soul.  Still, each knew the hunger that arose from that deep pit of evil and power, and each dealt with it in their own ways.

Hers, of course, was by nearly consuming the souls of others, digging into their fears until she could suck away some of their light to give herself something approaching peace.  He made deals to appease his own darkness, twisted and manipulated and tricked.  They were not the same, but they were not so different, either.

“The Dark One,” Jabber replied, her dark eyes lighting up as he watched her impassively.  Rumplestiltskin was already calling upon all the darkness he had to shield his soul, letting the power wind around himself as his first line of defense.  The Jabberwocky, however, was not bothered by that in the slightest; she drifted towards him immediately, ignoring the way Emma slumped in relief, suddenly free of Jabber’s toxic grasp.

“At your service,” Rumplestiltskin quipped as lightly as he could, refusing to feel the chill in the air surrounding him.  He waved a hand flippantly.  “Or not, as the case may be.”

“Do you think that your _power_ can shield you from _me_?” the Jabberwocky asked, laughing softly.  “Nothing can.”

“Gold, what the hell are you doing here?” Emma demanded even as the Jabberwocky closed the distance between them.  The Savior had picked up Charming’s sword again, but still looked shaky and pale.

“Well, it looks as if I’m helping you, despite what others might expect,” he replied dryly, feeling the strain as the Jabberwocky closed the distance between them to less than ten feet.  “Now, go save your boy.”

Emma hesitated, but she didn’t have to be told twice.  Shooting one last look his way, the Savior turned and jogged deeper into the caverns, and towards Henry.  Leaving Rumplestiltskin to face the Jabberwocky. 

She approached cautiously, as if wondering when he’d attack her using some spell or another.  But Rumplestiltskin had done some quick research—aided and abetted by his wife’s excellent skills in that area—and knew that most dark magics would not fight the Jabberwocky off.  Oh, he could _beat_ her, but she was potent enough that she’d probably be able to escape him if he tried, and letting her get away would defeat the entire purpose of coming down here.  So, he had to wait until she was good and focused on him, until she was in too deep to go after Emma again.  Then, and only then, he would be able to trap her.  If he could.

“You know you can’t protect yourself, don’t you?” the Jabberwocky purred, her intelligent eyes narrowing.  “But then _why_ are you here?”

The longer he kept her talking, the less she focused her terrifying powers on him, so Rumplestiltskin answered that directly: “Your presence prevents Miss Swan from breaking a curse I would very much like to be done with,” he said as calmly as he could manage, keeping one eye on Emma.  She was almost far enough away, now.  “So I thought some interference was in order.”

“Curse?” Jabber asked curiously.  “What curse?”

“Cora never has liked to share much,” he snorted.

 _There._ Emma had rounded a corner, and Rumplestiltskin’s right hand came up.  Magic swirled out of his fingers, and the Jabberwocky dodged quickly, but he hadn’t been aiming at her.  His spell raced to the bend in the cave Emma had just rounded, sparkling faintly, and erecting a shield that would keep anyone—Jabber in particular—from following her.  Unfortunately, his opponent realized immediately what he had done, and he felt _her_ magic slam into him even as his spell prevented her from going after Emma.

The cold impact of old fears and terror actually  made Rumplestiltskin stumble back a step.  Or was that an instinctive reaction born of the fact that the Jabberwocky was rapidly closing the distance between them?  Shivering, he struggled to hold his ground, tendrils of fear working their way into his mind, out of his mind, and slipping through the cracks in the darkness he’d been trying to use to shield himself.

“You’re clever,” Jabber said approvingly.  “But not clever enough.  Your spell will collapse if you flee.”

“I know.”  Rumplestiltskin managed to force the words out, but only barely.  _Let me out,_ his curse whispered within his mind.  _Let me rule, and I will protect you.  You never need fear again.  I will_ destroy _this pathetic creature of terror._   And it was so tempting.  But he couldn’t.

 _I’m here to protect my family_ , he thought desperately.  _I need the curse broken, or I can’t find Bae.  This is for my family._

However, although thoughts of his family might have pushed his curse back, they only gave the Jabberwocky something to feed upon.

“Your family?” she whispered, suddenly beside him.  “Do you mean the boy who you failed so long ago, or the wife and daughter Cora will slaughter the first chance she gets?”

“I…” Words would not come.  He, the master wordsmith, was speechless with terror.

“You’ve already failed them.  You’ll _always_ fail them.”  Jabber was circling him, now, and Rumplestiltskin could feel his terror ebbing and flowing with her movements, could feel the fears rising within him, drowning out even the angry screams of his curse.  This was the spinner he had been, the coward he would always be.  He could not protect his family, never had been able to, not really, but without them, he was nothing.

The Jabberwocky reached out to touch his face, and he jerked back, stumbling away, images of Baelfire falling through the portal, of Belle and Gabrielle burning in the library when he could not save them, and of a fairy trying to take his little girl away all rolling through his mind.  He, Rumplestiltskin, _was_ worthless.  It was only the Dark One who had ever been able to protect his family, and even then his human weaknesses made him fail.  The darkness inside him was not vulnerable, but he always was: he was a worthless coward, not fit to love or be loved.  Sooner or later, Belle would realize that, and she would leave him because he didn’t deserve to be loved.  Maybe it would be after he failed her again.  Maybe it would be today.

“They all leave you for a reason, you know,” the Jabberwocky continued, leaning in look Rumplestiltskin in the face.  He knew his eyes were wide and frightened; his curse reported that he was the spineless coward, _yet again_ , in a distant way, but he couldn’t help himself.  “Because who could ever love you?”

He was lost.  He was being sucked into a darker vortex than even the one that lived inside him, dragged down by three centuries of fear and abandonment.  His father had abandoned him in exchange for eternal youth and power.  Milah had left him because she had been miserable, because she had _never_ loved him.  Cora had left him because she wanted secular power, wanted to be a queen when all he had wanted to do was love her.  He had abandoned Baelfire because he’d been too terrified to let go of his power, and sooner or later, Belle would take Gabrielle and leave him, too, because he deserved to be left.  Because that was what he was _good_ at, and no one could ever really love the man he was deep inside—

“I do,” a new voice said, and somehow the words made it through the vicious waves of fear rolling through his mind.  “And I’m not leaving him.  Not _ever_.”

Somehow, Rumplestiltskin managed to turn his head to look at Belle, his fears still crashing around him like waves of a tsunami against shattering rocks.  She had come via the elevator while he had teleported in, going the long way so that they could both buy Emma time in their own ways.  But now Belle was here, and just _seeing_ her pushed some of his doubts aside.  Somehow, the Jabberwocky hadn’t noticed her until she was too close, probably because she’d been so focused on the delicious treat Rumplestiltskin’s psyche provided.  But Belle was a shining light of bravery and hope, and when she put her right hand in his left, it was like a jolt of electricity slamming into his system. 

 _True Love._   It was the most powerful magic of all, and True Love was enough to push the despair back when smaller fingers squeezed his own.  He had not thought he would react quite _this_ badly, had not thought he would be so utterly incapable of defending himself.  Rumplestiltskin had planned to overcome the Jabberwocky with magic as soon as he’d put that shield up, and to only need Belle as a fallback, but the Jabberwocky had slipped under his guard so quickly that he’d been paralyzed.  Until now.

Now, with his wife’s hand in his and the way she was _radiating_ her love for him, he could find strength.  Belle had always made him stronger, and now he would prove that to her.  He could fight for her in ways he’d never be able to fight for himself.

“The brave little wife,” Jabber said, oblivious to the way her hold on Rumplestiltskin’s mind was unravelling.  “But not so brave.  Deathly afraid of failing—”

He felt Belle flinch even has his right hand came up, slamming magic into the Jabberwocky.  But it wasn’t his usual choice of darkness.  This was _light_ magic, magic borne out of his love and protectiveness for the wonderful woman at his side.  Jabber yelped nonetheless, thrown back roughly, her eyes wide and shocked. 

“You can’t—”

“Leave my wife alone,” Rumplestiltskin growled, his magic wrapping around the wild-eyed woman-demon as she fought wildly.   “You’ve had your little picnic in my psyche.  Playtime is over, Jabber.  Run back to Cora before I rip you to shreds.”

Now _that_ was his darkness talking, with the Dark One eager to come out and wreak havoc upon the creature that had dared torment its host.  Oh, it wasn’t happy that he hadn’t let it take over, let it utterly blot out Rumplestiltskin and rule his body forever, but it would be delighted to help him get revenge.  For a moment, love and fury warred within him, the curse intimidated by—and furiously hating—his love for Belle, but Rumplestiltskin came back on balance as the Jabberwocky shook her head desperately.

“She told me to come down here and stop Emma Swan—”

“And so you have,” he cut in.  “I know a little about compulsions, dearie.  You’ve fulfilled the commands she gave.  Now leave, lest I decide to discover _exactly_ how long it takes to kill a near immortal creature such as yourself.”

After all, Rumplestiltskin knew that the Vorpal Blade could—more or less—control the Jabberwocky, but not kill her.  Her circumstances were not like his; the holder of the Vorpal Blade was protected from her little mind games and could use it to stop Jabber (tradition said by pinning her against a wall with the blade in her gut), but the control was not all-encompassing.  There was wiggle room, particularly if Jabber felt she had already done what she was told to do.  Its control was nowhere near as complete as his own Achilles’ heel of a dagger, and Jabber had _choices_.

Ones she clearly chose to exercise, because one jerky nod later, and the Jabberwocky scurried away—and not in the direction that Emma had jogged off in.  Rumplestiltskin watched her go, a helpless shudder of relief tearing through his body.  Through her tight grip on his hand, he could feel Belle’s matching shudder, and he turned to wrap his arms around her as soon as the Jabberwocky was out of sight.

“Are you all right, sweetheart?” he asked once he trusted his voice not to break.

“Me?” Belle asked immediately.  “I’m more worried about you!  I heard what she said, Rumple.  I can guess what she did.”

Those words made him look away until a small hand came up to touch his cheek, and Rumplestiltskin could not help melting into her touch.  His next words came out raggedly, his temporary confidence shattering.  “Belle, I—”

“I love you,” his wife whispered.  “And I’m so proud of you.”

“Proud?”

“Immensely,” Belle replied, leaning in to kiss him lightly.  Power arced through him, and love of the highest order, and for a moment, Rumplestiltskin almost thoughtlessly let his curse go, let it rip out of him and search for another host.  He loved her _so_ very much—but no, he couldn’t.  He needed the power, and he had no idea what would happen if he let the darkness out.  Better for it to remain under control, even if it meant he would always have to fight back his inner demons.  Belle, however, knew nothing of that internal struggle as she continued: “Now, let’s go back to the shop so we can be there when the curse breaks.”

“Of course,” he breathed, and his magic swirled around them.

* * *

 

Gold had been the most unlikely savior Emma could ever have expected, but she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.  He told her to save Henry, so she ran to do just that.  The path between her and her son was remarkably clear; apparently that horribly terrifying Jabberwocky had been the last line of defense.  Soon enough, a glass coffin came into view, propped up on a rock shelf of some sort and containing the shaking and whimpering form of her son.

“Oh, Henry…” The whisper tore out of Emma on its own, and she felt her heart breaking into pieces in her chest. 

He was twitching and crying and he looked so damn _young_ , lying there in the coffin, cursed into a land of terrible nightmares from which there was no escape.  For a moment, Emma wondered if taking him out of Storybrooke, if carrying him out of there and driving for the town line as fast as she could, really was the right way to stop this.  It would be so easy, so straightforward!  Maybe Gold had been wrong and Cora had been right.  Maybe that was the only way.  If it was, she needed to get moving, needed to get him out of here _now_.  Henry was paler than she’d ever seen him, and although Emma knew basic first aid, she had no idea how to help him.  His breathing was ragged and strained; sometimes he would gasp for air, and then he would start panting wildly, clearly getting enough oxygen even if his body didn’t know what to do with it.  She knew how to give CPR and how to bind up most wounds, but this was utterly beyond her.  So, Emma bent over the coffin and picked Henry up, not even thinking about how she’d explain their hurried departure to Mary Margaret.

Yet, again, the memory of Henry’s words stopped her:

 _“But you don’t have to take me out of town to cure me,”_ her son had said, his voice full of hope and confidence. _“True Love’s kiss can break any curse, and there’s magic here.  You can break the curse on me and break the curse on Storybrooke at the same time!  All you have to do is believe_.”

Stopping with his shaking body cradled in her arms, Emma slowly sank down to her knees.

 _“I believe in you,”_ Henry had said, right before he bit into the damned apple that had done this to him.

And Emma believed in him, too.  So, she bent forward and kissed him on the forehead, pouring all of her love and her desperate hope into that one kiss, and _praying_ it would work.

Magic tore away from them both in a beautiful golden _whoosh_ of power, but Emma never noticed.  She was too focused on Henry’s face, too riveted by the way the lines in his forehead suddenly eased, by the way he went still.  For a moment, terror spiked in her.  What if Henry was dead?  What if Cora had done something to him so that he would _never_ wake up, no matter how much Emma loved him or believed?  Her heart had all but stopped in her chest by the time brown eyes flew open.

“Mom!” Henry gasped, calling her that for the first time ever and bringing tears to Emma’s eyes.  “You did it!”

Her son flung his arms around her, and Emma hugged him back tightly, relieved tears streaming down her face.  “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you, too,” Henry replied.  “And you broke the curse!  You saved me, and you broke the curse!”

Emma had, but she didn’t really care. All she cared about was that Henry was safe.  Everything else could wait.

* * *

 

“I can’t believe it,” Zelena snarled, staring at the television screen as if she wanted to murder someone.  Emma Swan had made it to Henry’s side, and the moment she knelt down with the boy in her arms, Cora knew her curse was at an end.

 _Then again, I am somewhat surprised that Zelena has not actually attempted murder,_ Cora reflected, and was _almost_ proud of her eldest daughter for demonstrating such control.  Until Zelena ruined that by whining loudly:

“I thought that _creature_ was supposed to destroy her!  How could Rumple _dare_ get in the way of this?  And that Jabberwocky, just _leaving_ when he told it to—”

“Calmly, darling,” Cora finally broke in, unwilling to subject herself to such wailing any longer.  Zelena was going to give her a headache, soon.  She would have said more, but then the damn Savior bent to kiss Henry’s forehead, and magic slammed into both Evil Queen and Wicked Witch.

_Whoosh._

“Can I kill her now?” Zelena pleaded, and Cora was tempted to say yes.  If nothing else, _that_ would be a sight to see; letting Snow watch precious daughter die before her eyes would be marvelous.

“Not yet,” she said, a little regretfully.  “But soon, yes.  We will make them all pay.”

“I don’t understand how you can take this so calmly,” her daughter huffed, slouching in her chair.

“I am calm because I have always had a Plan B,” Cora replied, rising from her seat.  “Now, let us see what the heroes do first.  That will determine our next course of action.”

Zelena seemed to get ahold of herself, standing as well.  “Of course, Mother,” she said, much more composed now that her outburst was over with.  “I will do whatever you think is best.”

“Thank you, my dear,” she said, and then remembered to smile at Zelena.  Zelena needed approval as much as she needed guidance, but providing a little affection always bore great fruit.  _Snow can’t turn to Regina while I have her under a sleeping curse, but will she dare turn to Rumple?  If so, I have something that will stop_ that _in its tracks,_ she thought, wearing a small but satisfied smile.  “I’m terribly proud of you, you know.  None of this is your fault.”

“No, it’s hers,” Zelena spat.  “Emma Swan.  And Rumple.”

“Don’t worry.  We’ll have plenty of revenge,” Cora promised.  “For now, however, we have work to do.  Come.”

Together, they teleported back to Cora’s in-town mansion; she’d keep the summer house as a place to retreat to, or at least a sanctuary the heroes would _think_ she was ‘retreating’ to.  Someone would certainly try for revenge today; the only question was who.  Cora was fascinated to discover who it would be.  The only think she was sure of was that it _wouldn’t_ be Rumplestiltskin.  He would play the long game, would let his revenge simmer for a day or two longer, and _then_ act.  In some ways, the Dark One was terribly predictable…

And Cora knew exactly what to do about that.

* * *

 

Awareness hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks.  One moment, Errol Forrester had been helping his son get ready for school.  The next, Robin of Locksley was staring at Roland and wondering what in the world kind of land they were in.

“Papa?” Roland asked quietly, and Robin swept him up in a hug.

“Yes, it’s me,” he replied, remembering how ‘Jamie’ had been calling himself Roland for weeks.  Errol had thought it was insane, or just a child’s way of playing games, but now he knew better.  “It’s finally  me.”

“Good,” Roland declared, wrapping his arms around his father’s neck.  “I wanted you back.”

“I’m glad to be back, too,” Robin breathed, his mind whirling with two sets of memories and two lives.  A moment later, the door to the second bedroom in their three bedroom flat burst open, revealing a disheveled and barely awake Little John, formerly known as Melville Anzo.

“Robin?” the large man asked, scratching at his beard.

“Hello, John.  It’s—well, it hasn’t been a long time at all, has it?” he managed to say with a laugh. 

“About ten hours, technically,” John replied, glancing at the clock.

“That’s only because some of us go to sleep at a regular time,” Robin shot back, and they exchanged grins.  Melville had been a night owl, whereas John never had.  _This is going to take some getting used to_.

“Papa?” Roland spoke up again.  “Do I have to go to school today?”

“Uh…” For a moment, Robin wasn’t sure what to say.  Errol would have said yes, of course, but Errol really didn’t believe in the curse, or at least not completely. _Robin_ knew it was real, and he knew that everything would be different, starting today.  “I think you should probably stay home today, okay?”

“Okay!” was the cheerful answer, and Robin put his boy down so that he could run over to play with his— _oh, goodness.  Did I really buy him those?_ —Robin Hood action figures.

Yes, yes he had.  John’s gaze followed Robin’s to the corner where Roland’s playset was, and they burst out laughing together.

“I guess that’s appropriate,” John guffawed, and Robin shrugged.  “Not that _your_ ego needed any stroking!”

“Oh, shut up,” he retorted, punching his old friend in the shoulder.  But not too hard.  John was the type who could take your arm off, and Melville’s obsession with weight lifting only made that _more_ true in this world.

“So, what now?” his friend—and lieutenant in both worlds—asked.  “We remember who we are, but we’re still here.  Obviously that big curse happened, but I guess this world isn’t too bad, all things considered.”

“I…I’m not sure, to be honest,” Robin said after a moment, watching Roland obliviously set up his toys.  “I guess everything changes, or at least most things.”

“What about that lady friend of yours, Regina?” John wondered.  “You going to keep things up with her now that you know who you are?  And who might _she_ be, anyway?  Aside from—”

“The Evil Queen’s daughter.”  The words burst out of him with so much regret that it _hurt_.  For a moment, Robin couldn’t believe it, wanted to deny it, but he knew that Regina was Cora’s daughter.  _This is why she never wanted to tell me,_ he realized, devastated.  _I fell in love with…with what?  With_ who?

“Ah, that’s bad luck, man,” his friend said, but Robin hardly heard him.

He’d heard too much about the ‘Dark Princess’ to want her anywhere near his son.  He couldn’t do that to Roland, couldn’t replace Marian with someone _evil_.  Had Regina been cursed to be the opposite of what she’d been in their world?  Had the woman Errol fallen for _known_ what she would become?  Was that why she’d been so sad when she had refused to tell him who she was?  At the time, he’d wondered if his identity as a thief and an outlaw was the problem, but it had been her real self all along.  _Why couldn’t she_ warn _me?_ he wanted to scream at the world.  Part of him wanted to call her, wanted to demand answers and for her to tell him he was wrong about everything, but Robin resisted the urge to pick up his phone.

For about ten seconds.

Then he found himself dialing her number, desperately needing to hear the voice of the woman Errol had fallen in love with.  Because Robin was pretty sure he loved _that_ Regina, too, and he needed to know if that woman still existed.  But the phone went straight to voicemail, and he was left to wonder.

* * *

 

Robin was not the only one for whom the curse breaking brought grief.  In his room at Granny’s, August—now Pinocchio, again, he presumed—simply stared at his wooden legs in despair.  He had not succeeded in getting turned back from the nearly wooden state he was in, and now he doubted that the Evil Queen would keep her promises.  She’d have too many heroes, like Emma and her parents, trying to take her down.  _August_ ’s problems would be far from anyone’s minds…which he would have liked, under other circumstances.  But turning back to wood wasn’t even the biggest concern he had.

No, his real worries were with his papa, who had to now remember who he was, remember the son he had sent through the wardrobe.  But August could not go to him.  Geppetto was somewhere in Cora’s hands, and August didn’t know if he was ever going to see him again.

* * *

 

Magic swept over her, leaving Snow White in its wake, and suddenly waiting was _much_ easier.

A few minutes earlier, Mary Margaret Blanchard had been fretting in the ruins of the half-rebuilt library, waiting for Emma and desperately hoping she was doing the right thing.  Lacey French had come by about ten minutes after Emma went down, and Mary Margaret had lowered the elevator for her, too, wishing she could go along.  But _someone_ had to stay up here, and Emma had trusted her to be here when she needed to bring Henry up.  The sight of Henry biting into an apple and disappearing had been a little too much for Mary Margaret’s nerves, but _Snow_ remembered doing just that, remembered Charming fighting his way to her and breaking the nightmare curse Cora had put _her_ under.  And now Emma was doing the same for Henry.

 _For my grandson_ , she thought, the world sliding into place.  _Like father, like daughter_.  The second thought made her smile, and helped her stay patient in the few minutes between the curse breaking and Emma’s voice floating up to her to bring the elevator up.  Snow did, with a portion of her mind marveling at the ease in which her muscle memory operated the elevator, allowing her daughter and her grandson to step through.

“Emma,” she breathed, finally really _seeing_ the remarkable young woman her baby had grown into.  She’d known her—and lived with her!—as Mary Margaret, but seeing her walk out of the elevator was something else entirely.  And then there was Henry, her _grandson_ , and suddenly Snow’s life felt more complete than it had in years.

“Hi,” Emma replied, sounding terribly small and out of place, and Snow reached out hesitantly to touch her face.  Emma didn’t pull away, instead giving her a watery smile, and Snow finally took a chance and wrapped her arms around her daughter.

Emma’s return hug was fierce, and Snow couldn’t help saying softly: “You found us.”

“I guess I did,” her daughter replied, and Snow pulled back to beam at her.  Emma was everything she ever could have _dreamed_ her daughter could be: brave and heroic, and oh so stubborn. 

“Grandma?” Henry suddenly spoke up, and Snow found a giddy giggle rising. 

“Yes,” she replied.  “Yes, I am.  And I know that now.”

Henry grinned back.  “I _told_ you so.”

“So you did.”

“Don’t say that too loudly,” Emma cut in.  “Then he’ll _never_ let us live it down.”

The three laughed together, until events suddenly caught up with Snow, and she remembered listening—as Mary Margaret—while Henry told Emma what had happened.  Suddenly, her blood ran cold, and she looked down at her utterly brilliant and brave grandson.

“Oh, no.  You said Cora put Regina under a _sleeping curse_?”

Henry grimaced.  “That’s what she said.  I don’t know where Mom is.”

“And Charming’s heart was taken.”  Snow felt sick as Emma nodded.  She didn’t want to ask the next question, but it came on its own.  “When?”

“Regina said that she thought it was before he started acting strangely,” her daughter answered.  “Way before that mess with Kathryn Cole.”

“Oh.”

Breaking the Dark Curse was supposed to fix everything.  Things were supposed to get _better_.  This was supposed to be their victory!  While she remembered who she was, now—everyone probably did—nothing else had changed.  Cora was still several steps ahead of them, and now she had Regina hidden away somewhere and she had Charming’s heart.  They were still trapped in Storybrooke, still under the thumb of the Evil Queen.  Despair warred for control of Snow’s heart: she had gained a daughter but lost a sister, and had gained a grandson but might very well have lost her husband.  But she refused to let it.  Squaring her shoulders, she pushed the horror and the heartbreak aside, even as Henry spoke up:

“We’ll find them both.  Right, Emma?”

“Yeah,” Emma replied after a moment, glancing worriedly at Snow.  “Whatever it takes.  For both of them.”

* * *

 

His name was Will Scarlet, and he’d been a right bastard.

Worst of all, he’d sent his wife into some epic hellhole where she’d been turned into some unwilling whore.  _Some kind of bloody horrible True Love_ this _is turning out to be,_ Will thought, staring at himself in the mirror.  He’d retreated to the men’s room at the _Daily Mirror_ the moment that wave of golden magic had swept through and his memories had reasserted themselves, not knowing what to do or even who he was.  Oh, he knew his name and he knew who he’d been under the curse, but Will could barely believe the things he’d done.

 _She has my bleeding heart,_ he suddenly remembered, recalling the dirty little deeds Cora had demanded of him back in their world.  Had that kind of control worked with no magic?  Because there wasn’t magic in this world, and hearts were supposed to be magical.  Or had her horrible curse just _made_ him do those things?

“Ana’s never going to forgive me,” Will whispered, staring at his suddenly bloodshot eyes and burning for a drink.  But he couldn’t do that.  Not yet.  As much as he wanted to get rip-roaring drunk and drown his sorrows and confusion in a bottle or three, he needed to find Ana first.  Even if she was rightfully furious with him—because _she_ seemed to remember everything, which made no sense but had to be right—he had to find her.  Will had to say he was sorry before (and probably after) she walloped the sense out of him.

Maybe the sheriff would tell him where Ana was now that the curse was broken.  She seemed to be at the center of everything, involved in driving Cora insane (always a noble goal) and making this curse breaking happen while everyone else lived out their fake lives obliviously.  Will—or Francis—had certainly been oblivious enough.  He’d forgotten all about the love of his life being in an insane asylum, and then hand delivered her to—

“Oh, bloody hell,” he groaned, smacking his forehead against the mirror hard enough that he heard the glass creak ominously.  “I sent Ana to _Maleficent_.  That’s _just_ what we needed!”

Well.  There was no changing what had happened, but he needed to find his wife, and fast.  _Before Cora can make me do something with my heart,_ he thought desperately.  Hopefully, the town had enough heroes to keep the Evil Queen occupied for now, and keep her attention off of one unimportant thief and his wife.

 _Only if my luck changes,_ he thought morosely, pulled himself together, and headed for the growing crowds outside on Main Street.

* * *

 

He’d been in the cage for almost full two days.  Food had just _shown up_ twice a day—which freaked poor Marco out more than a little—but otherwise, no one had come down at all.  Neal knew that he’d come to Storybrooke on March 4 th, though, and that meant today had to be the sixth.  Still, forty-three hours stuck in a little six foot by six foot cage left you _lots_ of time to be bored, particularly when there wasn’t much room to pace.  He talked to Marco frequently, learning that the old man was a carpenter and a general handyman, but the poor old bastard had no idea why he was there, and certainly didn’t know anything about magic or the curse.  He _did_ have quite a bit to say about how terrible Mayor Mills was, but that was hardly a surprise.  After all, if she was supposed to be the ‘Evil Queen’ out of _Snow White_ , she had to be pretty awful.

Sometimes, Neal passed time wondering if anyone would make Mayor Mills dance in a pair of burning metal shoes.  He _had_ read the original versions of this world’s fairytales, after all, and that seemed like it would be a really fitting ending for the crazy bitch who had locked him up.  Unfortunately, however, he couldn’t see any way to make that happen when he was stuck in some basement cage.

Until a slight flash of light illuminated even the darkest corners of the cellar, and Marco jerked up short.

“Do you remember who you are?” the old man asked, making Neal turn to him in surprise.

“I, uh, never forgot,” he managed to say.

“Of course you did,” Marco replied.  “We _all_ did.  But now the curse must be broken, because I remember.”

“Wait, I thought you didn’t know about the curse?”  He’d asked Marco about that yesterday. Or had it been the day before?

“I didn’t.  But I do now.  My name is Geppetto,” the old man said, turning to face him.  “Who are you?”

“Uh…still Neal Cassidy,” Neal answered cautiously.  After all, it wasn’t like any one here had even been born when he’d left the Enchanted Forest, so unless someone knew Pan…

 _Oh, shit._ That thought certainly wasn’t pleasant.  But villains talked to one another, didn’t they?  What if this crazy Evil Queen knew _Pan_?  Was _that_ why she wanted him?  Neal knew that Pan had always been pissed off about his escape, and he’d dodged Pan’s agents—and Pan’s shadow—several times in the last decade.  He was really in trouble if the queen wanted to give him back to Pan.  But who else in this town could she want leverage against?  That had been the only thing she’d said, and although Neal hoped to hell that _Pan_ wasn’t here, well, he wouldn’t put it past the obnoxious teenaged demon to send his shadow over.  _Or just send it to pick me up,_ he thought, shivering.

“You have to have some other name,” Geppetto pressed.  “Unless…you did say you were new to Storybrooke?”

“Yup.  Just arrived the day you met me.  Came across the town line to meet with a friend, and found out that he’d sold me out to your Evil Queen.”  Thinking of August made Neal turn his head to stare at the old man.  “Wait a minute.  You said ‘Geppetto’. Like from _Pinocchio_?”

“That is my boy’s name, yes.” Geppetto blinked.  “Though…yes.  There also was a movie.  That is very strange.”

“Trust me, it gets weirder,” he breathed.  “Look, I met your son.  He’s going by August, now, and—”

Truth be told, Neal wasn’t sure if he was going to tell Geppetto that August was fine or that August was a lying bastard who had sold him out, but he never got the chance to decide.  A squeaky door opened at the top of the stairs, and footsteps—wearing heels, he’d wager—started coming their way.  That made him snap his mouth shut, and wave Geppetto into silence when the old man started to say:

“My boy?  You’ve seen him?”

“Not now!” Neal hissed, trying to ignore the way the sheer love in Geppetto’s voice made him feel uncomfortable. 

“Your son is why you’re here,” the Evil Queen’s voice interjected as she walked across the cellar to stand in front of the two cages.  “But if he behaves himself, you might just survive.”

“You can’t use me against him,” Geppetto said, standing bravely to face the crazy woman.  “I won’t allow it.”

She laughed.  “I already have.  Now, be quiet before I rip your heart out and force you to be.”

Well, didn’t _that_ tell Neal what kind of woman she was?  Apparently evil sorceresses got up to that business, too, though he’d only seen his father do it after the Dark One had taken him over.  But Neal tried really hard not to think about those days, now, preferring to remember his father for who he’d been before the darkness consumed him.  Thinking of the monster who’d worn a face somewhat like his papa’s was still too painful, even over two centuries later.  Instead, he slowly climbed to his feet, too, warily watching ‘Mayor Mills’, or whatever her name was in this world.

“So, is this where you tell me what you want me for?” he asked, trying to sound like he didn’t care.  And failing, of course.

She smiled.  “I already told you that you’re leverage, Baelfire.”

“Yeah, but for what?”

“Why, against your father, of course.”  Dark eyes flashed, but Neal felt like she’d hit him in the head with a two by four.

“My…father?” he squeaked.

“You didn’t think that dear Rumplestiltskin didn’t make it through with the curse, did you?” the Evil Queen purred.  “He’s here, of course.  With the sole goal of finding the _beloved_ son he lost—he’s quite tormented by that little act of cowardice of his, actually.  But I found you first.”

Okay.  Well, at least his father wouldn’t want to kill him.  Neal might have wanted nothing to do with the demon that walked around in his father’s body, but there always had been _some_ Rumplestiltskin left in there.  Just not enough.  He hadn’t expected his father to be alive, but, well, Pan would have been worse.  So, Neal told himself to look on the bright side.  Yet, if this was the bright side, why was the Evil Queen grinning so damn wickedly?  And why was she telling him that his father was tormented by losing him?

“Rumple may require some convincing that it’s you, of course,” she continued when he stared at her warily.  “But I think some blood will do the trick on that front.  Still, I _do_ have to convince him that you’re in mortal danger to ensure he does what I want.”

“Which is what?” Neal made himself ask, not liking the references to blood or mortal danger, or the fact that this woman seemed to use the nickname that he _knew_ his father stopped going by once he became the Dark One.

Another sharp-edged smile.  “If you’re half as clever as your father, I’m sure you can guess.  Now, let’s get you screaming, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thank you again to everyone for the comments—I am blown away. Thank you so much!
> 
> Next up, Chapter Seventy-Six—“Hope and Despair,” in which Storybrooke weathers the aftermath of the curse and people begin to remember. Meanwhile, the Queens of Darkness set out for revenge, the Charmings go to Rumplestiltskin for help, and Cora faces a lynch mob.


	76. Hope and Despair

They both felt the magic when it hit, though it changed nothing for the Gold family.  Belle and Rumplestiltskin had returned to the shop, where Marie—now Babette, again, Rumplestiltskin supposed—had been watching Gabrielle for them.  Dove’s lady friend had headed out before the curse broke, probably going to the cabin, but now everything in Storybrooke had changed.  _Everything except us_ , Rumplestiltskin thought, looking at where his daughter obliviously flipped through a picture book on the bed in the back of the shop. 

“Are you all right?” Belle asked quietly, probably for the tenth time.

“I will be,” he answered as honestly as he could.  There was no use in hiding the fact that Rumplestiltskin was still shaken from his encounter with the Jabberwocky, not from her.  Had Belle not shown up when she did, Rumplestiltskin had no doubt that he would have become a quivering mess of terror at the Jabberwocky’s feet.  He just wasn’t that strong, not without her, and everything the Jabberwocky had said about him was true.  Rumplestiltskin _was_ nothing without his power, and he knew that.  But Belle…oh, she made him so much stronger.  “Are you?”

“I didn’t have to face her nearly as long as you did,” his wife pointed out.

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “I went to pieces in less time than you did,” he admitted.  “You’re so much stronger than I am, sweetheart.”

“ _I_ wasn’t the one who just went and put my soul on the line to help someone I don’t even like,” Belle said, tipping her head back to look him in the eyes. “You’re not a coward, Rumple.  You only think you are.”

“Belle, I…”

“Hush,” she said, and kissed him gently.  He needed her so badly right now that Rumplestiltskin just let himself melt into her touch, barely bothering to keep a grip on his curse to keep it from slipping away.  Even the slightest touch from Belle was enough to help him find peace, to help him find the best version of himself, someone like the man he might have been had he not maimed himself and become the town coward.  She truly was the light in his life, and even if she couldn’t completely chase the darkness away—because he could not let her, and perhaps magic here would not let her, either—she did so much more than just that.

Rumplestiltskin hadn’t realized he was still shaking until the trembling calmed; although he had mostly shaken the Jabberwocky’s influence out of his mind, banishing the dregs was hard.  He wasn’t a strong man, and never had been.  Hiding his fears behind magic only made living with them easier, but it did not make them go away.  And he had _always_ feared failing those he loved, losing them because he was too weak, just like he’d never been good enough to make his father or Milah stay with him.  Life had proven him a coward, even when he’d tried so hard not to be one, and now the Jabberwocky had brought all of that back to the surface.

“Papa okay?” a small voice asked from the doorway to the back room, and both Rumplestiltskin and Belle turned to look at their daughter.

Just seeing her brought a tiny bit of warmth back into his soul, and Rumplestiltskin found a smile.  “Of course I am, sweetie,” he replied, stepping away from Belle to pick Gabrielle up.  “Your mother makes everything all right.”

“Mamma's good like that!” their three-year-old declared as he settled her on his hip.

“Yes, yes, she is,” Rumplestiltskin agreed, giving Belle a smile.  

Blue eyes met his, and even if he couldn’t shake the old fears completely, everything was right with the world. 

* * *

 

_Everything would be perfect if Mom were here,_ Henry thought as he walked into his house with Emma and his grandmother, looking for his grandfather.  _Oh, and if Dad—Gramps, now, I suppose—weren’t missing his heart._   Thinking like that made it hard to be as elated as Henry felt he should be now that the curse was broken.  Everything was supposed to be better, but somehow his grandmother was still winning.  Breaking the curse was supposed to bring back the happy endings!

“What’s wrong, kid?” Emma asked as they entered the front hall.

“I just thought breaking the curse would make things better," he admitted, trying not to sound down but failing more than a little.  “Instead, it feels like the battle is just beginning.”

Snow stopped cold, turning to look at the two of them.  “That’s what Rumplestiltskin told us, though.  He said that Emma would find us and _then_ the final battle will begin.”  Her smile was encouraging, and so much stronger than Mary Margaret had ever been as she laid a hand on his shoulder.  “You’ve read our stories, Henry.  You know that good _has_ to keep fighting, and we will.  It’ll be all right in the end.  You’ll see.”

“But…but what if the Evil Queen wins?” Henry couldn’t help asking quietly. 

“She won’t,” a new voice answered, and all three turned to see Henry’s adopted father standing in the hallway coming in from the kitchen.  “We’ll make sure of that.”

“Dad!” Henry leapt forward to hug his adopted father/grandfather, and then looked up at David curiously.  “Should I call you Gramps, now?”

“You can call me whatever you want, Henry,” Prince Charming smiled, and his expression seemed more at ease than it ever had in Henry’s long memory of being raised by David Nolan.

“Does Grandma still have your heart?” he couldn’t help asking.

David grimaced.  “Unfortunately.  I still don’t remember her taking it…but I can remember her having it.”  He glanced up at Snow.  “You’d best not say anything important in front of me.”

“Oh, Charming,” she whispered, and Henry scooted out of the way to let his grandparents embrace, moving back to Emma’s side.  She looked a little uncomfortable, which probably came from watching her parents kiss like that, so he tugged on her elbow.

“You see?  You did it,” he said, trying to scrape up some of his old optimism.

“Partially, anyway,” Emma replied, shoving her hands into her pockets and studying the stove while Snow and Charming kissed again.  “It seems like we have a lot of work left to do.  Starting with finding your mom.”

Henry’s heart clenched, just thinking of what must have happened to Regina.  _And what if we can’t wake her up?  Emma’s kiss broke the curse on me, but I don’t think that the Evil Queen_ can _love enough to wake her daughter.  Can Grandma wake her as her sister, maybe?  Or maybe Errol Forrester.  He might be able to do it_.  But he shook himself free of the thoughts’ he had to focus if they were going to find Regina and help her.  “She might be at Grandma’s house.”

“Then we’ll find her,” his birth mom said firmly.  “Isn’t that what this family does?”

The grin came on so hard and fast that it hurt Henry’s face, but that was okay. It was a good hurt.  “Yes!”

By then, Snow and Charming had turned to face them, and both of Henry’s grandparents were grimly focused.  It hit him then that he was _really_ looking at Snow White and Prince Charming for the first time: these two were the heroes who had defeated the Evil Queen the first time, who had ruled justly and fairly, and who had always done the right thing.  _Theirs_ was the line of heroes he was descended from, and Emma was, too.  Snow was right.  They _would_ win in the end.  Heroes always did.

* * *

 

Regina dreamt.  Or at least she _thought_ they were dreams.  Despite being friends with Maleficent, she knew little of sleeping curses.  Rumplestiltskin had told her about them a time or two, but she’d been more interested in curses and spells that could help protect Snow.  There had been a few moments when she’d thought of cursing her mother with something similarly irrevocable, but in the end, Regina had decided Cora would never give her the chance to administer that sort of curse.

Instead, she found herself under one, courtesy of the sister she had never known she had.  At first, she’d drifted in and out, not realizing that she could even _be_ coherent, until finally she’d realized she was in a room full of mirrors.  A _dark_ room full of mirrors.  There was no one and nothing there; the room was silent and her reflection went on and on into infinity.  The only available pastime was to stare at herself…and think.

She’d been so careless.  How could she be so foolish?  Regina had let her guard down, and let Zelena stick her with a damn needle of some sort.  And now Henry was in danger.  Her mother could go after Henry and everyone else she loved, all because Regina had dropped her guard.  _Or she’ll send Zelena,_ Regina thought, staring glumly at one of the thousand mirrors surrounding her.  She had no way to know what Cora would do, and no way to interfere at all while it happened, because Regina was under a _sleeping curse_.  She was stuck here, helpless and alone, with no hope of ever being awoken or helping those she had sworn to protect.  _My True Love is dead,_ Regina thought brokenly.  _I let him die, and now I must pay the price._

Part of her had always known she was living on borrowed time.  Half of her soul had died when her mother killed Daniel, and now perhaps the rest of Regina would finally follow.  Perhaps it was time.

_I’m sorry, Henry._

* * *

 

Cora walked out of the cellar, ignoring the way Baelfire panted and sobbed behind her.  She had done what needed to be done, and perhaps taken a bit of revenge upon Rumple for helping break her curse.  Yet torturing Baelfire had not been done for the simple purpose of vengeance; no, she had a far deeper objective in mind, which was why she now rewound the tape in the recorder.  She already had the required vial of blood from Rumplestiltskin’s son, and her plan was moving along nicely, and there was only one other piece to put into place.  That, of course, was neatly accomplished by teleporting to her other home—the one she still wanted all of Storybrooke to think was her base of operations—and picking up the phone.

“Yes?” Killian Jones answered on the first ring; her smart pirate had clearly guessed that his services would be required.  She’d already told him not to bother trying to swing Baelfire to their side; he could do that later, if he wanted, but for now she needed the boy friendless and alone.  Hook hadn’t taken that too well, but he knew how the game was played.  Truth be told, he was more useful than most of her associates, even the ones with magic.

“I need you to deliver a message for me,” she replied calmly, fingering the vial. 

“Will I survive this delivery, love?” Hook asked astutely.

“Oh, I expect you should without any serious problems.”

She heard him snort.  “Dare I ask?”

Cora chuckled softly, her eyes still on the vial of bright red blood, a feeling of satisfaction surging within her.  “Come by my office and I will explain everything, dear.”

“Consider me on my way, Your Majesty.”

_Click_.

Setting the vial down, Cora sat back in her chair.  Oh, the heroes would come soon, and they would try something that would be in equal parts heroic and foolish.  She would have to kill a few of them, or more than a few—if she was lucky.  Yes, things were moving along nicely, even with the curse broken.  Zelena would remain at the summer house, and then she would let the heroes think they had driven her out.  _For now_.  Their false sense of victory would make them vulnerable, and then she would crush their hopes.

Beginning with a few hearts.

* * *

 

Red crossed her arms, staring the tall man down.  She knew him as Dove in Storybrooke, as everyone else did, but she had no idea who he had been back in the Enchanted Forest.  She and the other former Basement residents had already re-introduced themselves to one another, but Dove remained a bit of a mystery.  She couldn’t even guess how he felt about staring down Red, Anastasia, and Tinker Bell.  Ariel—a former mermaid, interestingly enough—Aurora, Philip, and Mulan backed them up, but those three had become the ringleaders of their little fraternity of former prisoners.

“Look, either you’re going to take us back to town, or I’m going to knock you unconscious and drive the truck myself,” she said as reasonably as she could.

Dove frowned at her.  “I’m not certain that is a good idea—”

“I don’t care if it’s a good idea,” Tink interjected.  “We’re going into town.  Some of us have families and friends to find now that the curse is broken.  So we’re going.”

“Mr. Gold—”

“Oh, shove Mr. Gold,” Red snapped.  “Whoever he is, you don’t have to stay loyal to him now.  You’re not cursed anymore!”

That made the tall man blink.  “My loyalties have nothing to do with the curse, Miss Lucas.”

“Look, can we just go?  I need to find my husband before Cora hurts him.  Or he does something stupid,” Ana interjected. 

But it was Aurora who stepped forward, speaking softly and putting a hand on Dove’s arm.  “Please, Mr. Dove.  We appreciate how you’ve kept us safe, but surely the Evil Queen is defeated now that the curse has been broken, right?”

Those words served to convince Dove, although none of the Basement’s former residents had any idea of the firestorm they were walking into.

* * *

 

Maleficent was fortunate to wake up amongst friends.  She was _not_ so fortunate to wake up as the madam of an escort establishment, nor to discover that Cora had used her in such a despicable fashion.  Of course, knowing Cora, that had been her way of punishing Maleficent for refusing to ally with her back in the Enchanted Forest, but that hardly mattered at the moment.  What mattered was _Lily_ …and her daughter was missing.

“Well, it could be much worse,” Ursula said, shrugging philosophically as she lounged back on one of the comfortable couches.  “We _did_ get what Cruella bargained for.”

“And I can hardly argue with the size of my bank account,” their white and black haired friend agreed, sipping her second gin and tonic.  It was hardly even lunch time, but Maleficent and Ursula both knew that Cruella didn’t care.  She never had.

“I am _not_ grateful that she put me here,” Maleficent finally snarled, unable to hold her anger or her fears back.  “And she took my _daughter_.”

“You don’t know that for certain, Mal—” Cruella started but she cut her off.

“Who else could have done it?” she snapped.  “This is _her_ curse and her revenge.  _Cora_ had the power here, no one else.  I am not a fool, Cruella.  I know who is responsible for my daughter’s disappearance.  The only question remaining is if magic here is too different for me to turn into a dragon and _burn_ the bitch to death.”

“Well, I won’t argue your doing that, provided we can set ourselves up as a ruling triumvirate for this miserable little town,” was Cruella’s immediate answer, again accompanied by a sip of her drink.

“We’d be better than Cora, that’s for sure,” Ursula pointed out.  “Not that that would take much doing.”

“I’m not interested in ruling this town.  I want to find my _daughter_!”

“Easy, Mal,” Cruella tried to soothe her.  “Don’t start breathing fire just yet, darling.  We’ll find her, or we’ll make Cora pay.”

“Though it’s probably a good idea to start somewhere other than by threatening the Evil Queen,” said the ever reliable Ursula.  “After all, we all know Cora well enough to know that she probably has a Plan B.  That’s why we made a deal with her in the first place.  So, let’s see if someone else might know where Lily is, and _then_ let’s act.”

Listening to her friends offer to help calmed Maleficent’s ire somewhat, and when Ursula leaned over to put a hand on her arm, some of the howling emptiness inside her seemed to calm.  There was still a great, gaping chasm that marked the loss of her daughter, of the little girl who she had had _so_ little time with.  Lily had been her miracle, filling the hole in her heart that the loss of her first love had left, and Maleficent had wanted so badly to be _better_ for her.  Love had driven her to darkness once, and she had thought that love would bring her back from the brink, but now Cora had taken her precious little girl away.  She would stop at nothing to get Lily back, but perhaps Ursula was right.

Maleficent had never been the type of villain to allow anger to cloud her emotions, had never been the type to act out of fury.  No, she would be calculated and intelligent, just as she had always been.  She would _think_ before she acted, and find her daughter that way.

“We will start with Regina,” she declared, rising calmly from her seat.  “Ursula, do tell Mr. Horn to send the girls upstairs home.  Our old friend seems to have emptied the Basement for us—and good riddance to that sick little creation of Cora’s—but I doubt the girls upstairs want to be here anymore than we want them here.  Send them home.”

“I’ll get right on that,” their ever-dependable friend replied, and when she was done, the Queens of Darkness headed out to face a curse-broken Storybrooke.

* * *

 

The first hour or two after the curse broke had been quiet, but Belle knew that wouldn’t last.  Once Rumple managed to calm his shakes down—which Gabrielle truly helped with—they started making more concrete plans, about the spells he would use to find Baelfire and what they would do when they _did_ find him.  Rumple was understandably nervous, but Belle knew that he’d be all right in the end.   She believed in him, and she knew how much her husband loved Baelfire.  Belle would find a way to help him, if he needed it, and she’d stand by him regardless of what happened.

Besides, she was _really_ looking forward to getting out of Storybrooke.  Belle had always wanted to travel, regardless of what world she lived in, and going out into the Land Without Magic sounded like such an adventure.

“It’s going to take several weeks for the spells to triangulate his location,” Rumple admitted, and Belle cocked her head at him.

“Why didn’t you start earlier?”

Her husband shrugged uncomfortably.  “I was…afraid to get my hopes up, I suppose.”

“Oh, Rumple,” she whispered, stepping in close to wrap an arm around his waist.  “Everything will work out. You’ll see.”

“He has every right to hate me, Belle,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, and she watched his shoulders slump as his voice filled with self-loathing.  “I—I let him go.  He was right.  I traded him for power, something _no_ father should ever do.  I always promised myself that I—never mind,” he cut himself off quickly.

“You always promised yourself what?” Belle asked gently, sensing a story she had never heard before.

But Rumplestiltskin just shook his head, and before Belle could press, they both heard the distinctive _ring-ring_ of the bell on the shop door.  Sighing, Belle let go of her husband so that he could head out of the back room, and after one last glance at their napping daughter, she followed.  By the time she came out, the three women who had once kidnapped her were in the center of the shop, with Maleficent in the lead.  Her arrival seemed to make all three draw up short.

“You still have the maid, darling?” Cruella drawled, looking down her long nose at Belle.  “She hardly seems worth the trouble.”

“He’s possessive, remember?” Ursula put in before either of them could reply.  “Never gets rid of anything.”

They were both looking at Belle like she was a particularly rancid piece of meat, and Belle felt her temper rising.  Her husband, however, got in first.

“If you want to insult my _wife_ , dearies, you’re welcome to leave,” Rumplestiltskin said in that quietly threatening voice he had perfected as Gold.  Belle had heard that tone from him very few times back in the Enchanted Forest, but had always sent the recipient running away—or seen them into an early grave.

“Your…your _what_?” Cruella gaped, and Belle couldn’t help smirking.

“I’m sorry.  If that’s a problem for you, the door’s right there,” she said as sweetly as she could.  She probably shouldn’t antagonize someone like Cruella, but Belle had never forgotten the way these three had kidnapped her to try to get that stupid gauntlet from Rumplestiltskin. 

Cruella reared back, her eyes wide and her pale face flushed.  “Why, you little—”

“Enough,” Maleficent cut her off harshly, twisting to glare at her two companions.  “We’re not here to pick fights.”

“Then why _are_ you here?” Rumplestiltskin spoke up from Belle’s right, and she could feel his annoyance growing.  “If you don’t like the life Cora gifted you with the curse, you’ll have to take that up with her.  I’m afraid she and I are not exactly what you would call allies these days.”

“No, I’d call you and she something much more intimate,” Cruella smirked, and then gestured dismissively.  “Or at least when you were Gold, anyway.”

Belle felt the little shiver roll up her spine, the one that told her that Rumple was pulling on magic and was about to lash out.  Quickly, she put a hand on his left arm, noticing how his right palm was already beginning to glow and his normally warm eyes had grown colder than ice.  Cruella had no idea how close to death she was, no way to know the sensitive subject she had just poked with a very sharp stick.

“Rumple,” she whispered quickly, squeezing his elbow until he turned to catch her eye.  They both knew that Rumplestiltskin didn’t want _anyone_ to know how damaged Cora had left him, or the depths of the shame he felt for the way she had treated him.  But if he eviscerated Cruella now, like Belle knew he wanted to do, people would begin to ask questions that he didn’t want them to know the answers to.

The magic died down as quickly as it had risen, and Rumplestiltskin gave her a tight nod even as Maleficent snapped at Cruella:

“Stop it.  Antagonizing him is _not_ going to help.”

“Sorry, darling.  You know I can’t help myself.”  Cruella didn’t sound particularly apologetic—and the words were aimed at Maleficent, anyway—but at least she shut up.

“The likelihood of _any_ help happening in this shop is rapidly dwindling,” Rumplestiltskin told Maleficent, ignoring her fur-clad companion completely.  But Belle could still feel the tension radiating from him.

The dragon-sorceress seemed to slump slightly.  “Please,” she said quietly, turning to look Belle’s husband in the face.  “I can’t find Regina, and you’re the only one left who might know what Cora did with my daughter.”

“Your daughter,” Rumplestiltskin repeated softly, and Belle could see him searching his mind.  “No, I don’t know where she is.  But I can—”

The door of the shop burst open, cutting Rumplestiltskin off, and in strode the four people who Belle _really_ hadn’t expected to come in during this conversation: Emma, Snow White, Prince Charming, and Henry.  The adults all looked determined while young Henry appeared more than a little worried, but the foursome stopped cold when they saw the Queens of Darkness inside the shop.

“Are we interrupting something?” Snow White spoke up, and Belle really couldn’t see Mary Margaret Blanchard in her posture at all.  She’d never actually _met_ Snow face to face, not outside her encounters with Mary Margaret, so seeing her this confident and focused was very new.

“I should think that’s obvious,” Ursula drawled, and Belle saw Charming reach for the sword he wasn’t wearing. 

Apprehensively, she glanced at Rumple, wondering what kind of bad blood there was between the Charming clan and the Queens of Darkness.  He shrugged in response to her unspoken question, clearly unsurprised by the tension but unconcerned.

“Look, we’re not here to pick a fight,” Emma interjected, eyeing her parents warily and keeping a firm grip on Charming’s sword. 

“You’d better not be, darling, because you’d wind up as roast Savior,” Cruella put in, and Ursula snickered. 

“Perhaps we do not need to be enemies,” Maleficent cut in, her eyes on Emma and ignoring the Charmings completely.  “Regina and I are old friends, and I was looking for her.  Do you know where she is?”

“We were actually hoping Gold could help with that,” Emma admitted, turning to face Belle’s husband as Maleficent blinked.  “Cora told Henry that Regina was under a sleeping curse.  Where would she keep her?”

“A sleeping curse?” Maleficent spat, looking angry.  “She did that to her _daughter_?”

“You always knew she was a cold blooded bitch, Mal,” Ursula piped up, but Rumple ignored her and looked at Emma.

“You’re assuming I’d know where Regina is?” Rumplestiltskin asked, and Belle felt the slight growl in his voice.  She wasn’t sure if it was the imp coming out to play as his curse demanded he not be helpful, or if it was his own deep-seated angers and insecurities; either way, she kept her hand on his arm, hoping to reassure and steady him.  He needed that sometimes, Belle knew, even when he wouldn’t say it.

“You’ve always been able to find out what Cora is up to,” Snow spoke up.  “Name your price, and we’ll see if we can pay it.”

“My price for _what_ exactly, dear?” he asked, and Belle felt Rumple relaxing slightly now that the conversation entered familiar territory.

“Help against Cora.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled softly.  “Oh, you can’t pay enough for a carte blanche like that,” he said with a slight smile.  “I’m far too independent to tie myself to your cause in such a manner.”

“You said you were on our side!” Emma snapped.

“In regards to getting the curse broken?  Yes, I was.  And I have no desire to be your enemy, but I’ve got my own family to protect.  _They_ are my first priority.”

“Family—?” Charming started to ask in surprise, and then his head swiveled to look at Belle as he chopped off, looking like a fish out of water for a long moment.  “ _You’re_ who he meant?”

“If you’re referring to that ‘protection for protection’ deal of yours from before the curse, yes,” Belle answered before Rumplestiltskin could.  She would have said more, but her husband spoke softly:

“Belle.”

“What?” she looked up at him, confused, until she read the concern in his face. _Cora has David’s heart_ , Belle remembered.  It would not do for her to say too much.  She nodded quickly.  “Right.”

“Moving back to the topic at hand,” Rumplestiltskin interjected smoothly.  “I can help you find Regina, but I’ll need something of hers first.”

“You can’t just do magic?” David asked, and Belle couldn’t stop herself from replying:

“Magic has rules.  In order to do a locator spell, you need something that belongs to the person you’re trying to find,” she explained, probably a lot more kindly than her husband would have done.  “You can’t just _will_ one into existence.”

Well, Rumple probably could, given how well he knew Regina, but Belle wasn’t going to mention that.  It would take more power than he was comfortable using, because she knew her husband collected power the way some girls collected dolls, just far more religiously.  She’d never really liked that about him, but if it made him feel safe—

Yet again, the shop door banged open and interrupted a conversation.

“You guys need to come quickly!” Archie Hopper said leaning halfway through the door.  “I need your help. Dr. Whale's whipped everyone into a frenzy; they're going to Cora’s house; they're gonna kill her!”

“That sounds entertaining,” Ursula muttered as Cruella’s face lit up.  Emma, however, looked at her parents.

“We have to stop them.”

“There’s magic here,” David agreed.  “They could be marching into a slaughter.”  He turned back to look at Belle and Rumple.  “Does Cora’s magic work?”

“You’re asking that when the woman controlled you via your heart?” Rumplestiltskin asked mildly, but Belle still shot him a glare.

“Rumple.”

“Right,” David shook himself free of what was obviously a painful memory and asked Rumplestiltskin: “We’ve got to go.  Will you help us?”

“Containing lynch mobs is hardly my forte.”

Under normal circumstances, Belle would have asked him to help.  She even knew that she _should_ ask him to help, but Belle knew what Rumple planned to do to Cora.  He wanted to kill her, not to help the heroes, but for revenge for what she had done to him and to keep his family—and himself—safe from her.  And while Belle knew that heroes weren’t supposed to kill, and weren’t supposed to condone someone taking revenge, she was also all too aware of the horrible things Cora had spent twenty-eight years doing to her husband.  She had spent too many nights holding Rumple as he shook and cried, caught in nightmares that horrible woman had caused.  She’d patched up too many wounds before he’d had magic, and she’d watched him almost _die_ in the hospital because Cora set Belle’s own father and Tony Rose up to beat him.  So, no, Belle didn’t pity Cora.  Even though she knew she should.

So, she wouldn’t stop him.  And she wouldn’t ask Rumple to help the heroes now.  She knew he preferred to deal with Cora in private, and she wouldn’t ask him not to.  Not after everything that had happened.

“Right.  Whatever.”  It was Emma who spoke, shrugging away Rumplestiltskin’s refusal.

“I’ll come,” Maleficent volunteered suddenly, making all four Charmings pause when they’d turned to leave.  “That bitch has my daughter.”

“Your—” Snow cut off, eyes wide, and Maleficent smiled.

“I promise I won’t roast her until the mob is clear,” she promised sweetly, and suddenly Cruella and Ursula were flanking her as the Charmings stared the Mistress of All Evil down.

“You can turn into a dragon here?” Henry asked excitedly, and somehow that shattered the tension in the shop.

Maleficent smiled.  “We’ll have to find out.”

The seven of them—three heroes, one child, and three Queens of Darkness—left the shop together as Belle and Rumplestiltskin stood behind the counter, clearly unhappy with one another but unwilling to allow the others out of their sight.  Archie, the poor man, led the way, and Belle watched through the windows as they hurried down the street towards Cora’s home.  Belle waited until they were all gone before speaking softly:

“Do you think Maleficent will do kill her?”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “I doubt it, but I’ll hardly grieve if she manages.  Cora still has the best leverage possible over her, though.”

“Her daughter,” Belle whispered, and had to peek through the curtains to check on Gabrielle, who had somehow slept through that entire exchange.

“Yes.”

“You will if she doesn’t, won’t you?”  Belle refused to be a coward and _not_ ask the question, because not knowing would not pardon her for having turned a blind eye.  She’d only felt this empty fury once before, when she hadn’t stopped Rumple from killing the Cyan Fairy.  Cyan had tried to steal Gabrielle away, and Cora had hurt Rumplestiltskin terribly.  Did wanting revenge against people who tried to hurt her loved ones make her a bad person?  There was a tightness in Belle’s chest that would not go away.  She had tried so hard to be a _good_ person, to be a hero…but could a hero let her husband do this?

“Yes,” he said simply, and then cringed as he turned to look at her.  “Belle, I—I have to,” Rumplestiltskin said quickly, and Belle could see the fear in his eyes.  Fear of losing her?  “We’ll never be safe if she isn’t dead, and—”

Belle cut him off with a gentle finger to his lips.  “And she hurt you terribly.  I understand, Rumple,” she whispered.  “Just…promise me that it will stop with her?”

“Oh, sweetheart.”  Love replaced the fear in his eyes, and she could feel him shake briefly in relief.  “That I can promise.”

* * *

 

He hadn’t wanted to come along when Doctor Whale started riling people up to go kill Cora, but Will found his feet carrying him to the mayor’s house, anyway.  _Bloody Evil Queen still has my heart_ , he thought angrily, finding himself joining the growing crowd outside of Cora’s front door.  There were a few others who looked as angry and out of place as he did, all hanging out on the edge of the mob and wishing that they were anywhere else.  For a moment, Will thought about striking up conversation with one of his probably-heartless compatriots, but in the end he decided that making friends was a bad idea.  Particularly with some other poor bloke who’d lost their heart to Cora.  Literally.

But he did take note of who they were, at least for those he knew.  One was the school principal, who Will was pretty sure had been a princess back home.  Another was that author who was supposedly new in town; he was even _more_ glum looking than the princess, and her miserable expression was really hard to top.  He didn’t recognize the others, but none of them were shouting as angrily as the good doctor or the dwarves who’d arrived right on his heels. 

Yet Cora’s front door still remained shut.

“Open up!” Whale shouted, banging on the door.  “Open up or we're coming in!”

“Let’s break it down!” Whale encouraged the others, but before anyone could agree on what would make a good battering ram—some of the idiots were even contemplating the mailbox, much good _that_ would do them—the door opened.

“Are you looking for me, dear?” the Evil Queen cooed, and Will felt a shiver run down his spine.

Whatever was going to happen, he hoped to hell that Ana was safe and _far_ away from this crazy woman.  He could feel power cackling through the air, and Will didn’t have to know jack about magic to know _this_ wasn’t good.  _Wait just one minute.  If I’m feeling magic, and I am, how is she using it?  This is supposed to be the Land Without the Annoying Stuff!_

“It’s time you were brought to justice for your crimes!” Leroy—hadn’t he been a dwarf in his last life?—bellowed.

“Yeah!” most of the crowd agreed, and Will winced again.

“And what crimes might those be?” Cora inquired delicately, looking smug.

“You brought us here!” someone shouted.  Will was fairly sure he had been Cora’s gardener.  Was that King Midas?  He’d never been able to keep all the royals straight.

Granny immediately piped up in a snarl—while holding a crossbow, no less: “And tore our families apart!”

“What are you going to do, kill me?” Cora smirked.

“Eventually,” Whale said bluntly.  “But first, you need to suffer.”

“Not at your hands, I’m afraid,” the Evil Queen said, waving a hand—and some giant force picked the doctor up and flung him across the front yard.  He crashed into a giant topiary—now there was a word that Francis Scadlock had known, because Will Scarlet would never be that erudite—with a sickening crunch, and laid still.

A good half of the crowd flinched and ducked back, because, yeah, that was _magic_ and they were all screwed.  Whale, at least, seemed to be breathing still, and the pair of people who were brave enough to crouch next to him only looked mildly worried.  But a distinguished older man, the guy who had been Albert Spencer, the District Attorney under the curse, stepped forward.

“You can’t kill us all, Cora,” he said strongly.

“Oh, and are you here to play king, George?” she laughed at him.

“If I must.  Someone has to stand up to you.”

The Evil Queen smiled, and then vanished in a cloud of purple smoke.  But no sooner had she disappeared than she _re_ appeared, this time inches away from King George’s face.  “Someone might, but it won’t be you,” she said, plunging her hand into his chest.

Will knew from personal experience that having your heart ripped out hurt like a mother, but King George took it like man.  He only gasped a little, even as some people in the crowd fell all over themselves to get away from this suddenly dangerous mayor/queen.  George staggered but didn’t fall, snarling defiance back at Cora.

“You won’t dare,” King George said.

_Bad move, buddy_ , Will thought to himself.  Taunting Cora was always a bad idea.  But the sudden arrival of a team of heroes changed saved his life, and Emma Swan’s voice cut through the now-terrified din.

“What the _hell_ are you doing, Cora?” the sheriff demanded.

“Oh.  Our little savior arrives, with her insipid parents in tow,” the Evil Queen retorted lightly, holding George’s heart up in her hand and studying it idly. 

“It’s over, Cora,” Snow White said strongly, standing straight backed at her daughter’s side.  _Bloody heroes always have to strike a pose, don’t they?_ Will almost snickered aloud before he stopped himself.  Yeah, he’d thought he could be one of them, once.  Then he’d learned his lesson.

“I’m far from done with you, dear,” Cora snarled.  “And I’ll begin by killing your dear father-in-law.”

Snow and Charming leapt forward together.  “No!”

But it was far too late.  The heart turned to dust in Cora’s hand, and King George’s dead body dropped like a rock.  A wave of magic slammed three dwarves into the Charmings and their daughter, pushing all three back while Cora turned to face the crowd, arms outstretched and radiating power.  Cora, however, turned her acid gaze back to Snow White as the threesome picked themselves up.

“Should I continue with your _dear_ nanny, Snow?” she taunted her old enemy, gesturing with one hand.  Magic lashed out, dragging an older woman out of the crowd.  _Isn’t that Jane Wells?  She does my sewing,_ Will thought, still feeling strangely detached about everything.  Cora, however, continued: “This _is_ Johanna, isn’t it?”

“Cora, please, don’t do this,” Snow pleaded as the old woman looked at Cora with a mixture of resignation and despair. 

“Why ever not?”

“Because they’re not the ones you should be worried about, Cora,” a new voice cut in, and it was _definitely_ not one that Will had ever wanted to hear again.  But at least Maleficent wasn’t interested in barbequing him at the moment; she looked ready to charbroil the Evil Queen, instead, and he was quite happy to not be the focus of her ire, thank you very much.  She was, however, accompanied by two _other_ evil harpies who Will had only heard of, Ursula and Cruella.  _That_ threesome looked a hell of a lot more threatening than the heroes, particularly since the other two were backing off to give Maleficent space.

“Maleficent,” Cora purred.  “I trust you were comfortable during the curse?”

“You took my daughter!” the Mistress of All Evil snarled, and magic was already starting to whip around her.  Will backed off immediately, moving as fast as his legs would carry him, because he’d heard plenty of stories about how Maleficent could turn into a dragon, and no way was he getting caught in the crossfire.  Most of the rest of the mob seemed to have heard that kind of stuff, too, because they were backing away with him.

“Maleficent, don’t do this!” Snow White howled, and it was pretty much one of the dumbest things Will had ever heard anyone say.  Why _would_ she want to save Cora’s life?  “There has to be a better way!”

But there was a dragon where there had been a blonde woman only a moment earlier, breathing a giant burst of fire right over Cora’s head.  That finally seemed to frighten the Evil Queen, who flinched away from the flames and let the poor old woman go.  Johanna was smart enough to run, and Snow grabbed her to pull her clear, but by then Maleficent was already winding up for a second round.  Will _thought_ he heard someone cheering the dragon on even as Emma tried to say something about laws and locking Cora away, but he was busy ducking behind the side of the house and hoping that Maleficent didn’t take her anger out on the real estate.

But it didn’t matter, in the end.  Cora vanished in a swirl of power before Maleficent could burn her alive, going who-knew-where and leaving the very frightened crowd to its own devices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too bad Maleficent didn’t manage to roast Cora! But now the lines are being drawn, and sides are being chosen. 
> 
> Next up: Chapter Seventy-Seven—“Before the Storm”, where Ana finds Will, Killian runs across Tink (and stumbles across some hope for himself while he is at it), Emma comes back to make a deal with Rumplestiltskin, and Cora pulls out her hole card.


	77. Before the Storm

Well.

That had not gone entirely according to plan, but she _had_ prepared for this eventuality.  And Cora had purposefully left Zelena behind at the summer house, even though she had known that _something_ could happen to temporarily oust her from power.  She simply hadn’t expected it to be Maleficent.

 _I will have to deal with her sooner than I had planned,_ Cora decided, settling in behind her desk in the summer house after teleporting there.  _Perhaps I should have Zelena do that._   Of course, she had no desire to keep the infant here in her own home; she would have to maintain a suitable place to keep little Lily, one that would keep her away from her mother.  Secrecy was her best weapon on that front.  So long as Maleficent did not know where her daughter was, she would be under Cora’s thumb.  _Time to bring Fagin into the fold, then._ The man who ran Storybrooke’s orphanage was a vile little bastard, but he’d been an exploiter of orphans and runaways in their old world.  He’d be the perfect one to sit on the little brat, provided that Maleficent couldn’t intimidate him.

“Did everything go all right, Mother?” Zelena asked from the doorway.

Cora resisted the urge to grimace.  “Well enough,” she replied testily.  “But the heroes _do_ think they’ve won now, I’m sure.  Although they’re already discovering that their allies are not so reliable.”

“What did Rumple do this time?” her daughter wondered, and Cora snorted.

“Oh, it was Maleficent, actually.  Rumple should be dealt with by the end of the day—though I do need you to keep an eye on things while I manage that problem.”

“Of course, Mother.  Shall I call Ingrid and Jafar in?”

Ah, the pleasure of having an intelligent subordinate!  Zelena might require a little careful handling, but she was worth the work.  Usually.

“Please do,” Cora agreed.   “But watch Ingrid.  She will undoubtedly still be angry about Emma having been endangered.  In fact, set the Jabberwocky on her for a bit.  That should tame her.”

“Oooh, that will be a pleasure!” Zelena giggled.

Cora smiled thinly.  “As will my evening plans,” she purred, and mother and daughter exchanged a very satisfied look.

* * *

 

“Thank you, Babette,” Belle said with a smile, handing over her fussing three year old.  Today wasn’t a day for Gabrielle to be in the shop; lunch had barely passed on the day the curse had broken, and the town was already a mess.  She and Rumple needed to be in the center of everything, needed to keep an eye on everything that was going on, but this was no place for their daughter. 

“Of course, My Lady,” Babette replied, and Belle squeezed her arm.

“Just Belle.  We’re not in the Enchanted Forest anymore.”

“Not cursed,” Gabi volunteered helpfully, making both women laugh.

“Yes, My—Belle,” Babette corrected herself with a sheepish smile, and Belle caught the shadow of a smirk on Dove’s face.  Rumple’s large employee said nothing, but Belle could tell that his girlfriend’s blunder amused him.

“Call us if anything happens,” she continued, trying not to fret but so very worried.

“We will,” Dove spoke up, coming into the shop through the side door to stand next to Babette.  “And we’ll not let her out of the house, either.”

“Thank you.  Both of you,” Rumplestiltskin said, stepping forward to put a hand on Belle’s arm before she could give into the urge to grab her daughter back.  She knew it was safest to send Gabrielle home; the pink mansion had plenty of magical wards surrounding it, and was by far the most secure place for Gabrielle, but Belle still was uncomfortable letting her little girl out of her sight in this chaos.

Dove nodded easily.  “We’ll be off, then, boss.”

The pair—tiny Babette (formerly Marie) and huge Dove—left together, carrying Gabrielle out to their car and heading back to the Golds’ house.  They were Gabi’s favorite babysitters, as well as the only ones Belle knew her husband would trust.  Dove had been the one living soul who had known about her marriage to Rumplestiltskin in the Enchanted Forest, and although the curse seemed to have given him and Marie/Babette their relationship, both seemed more than happy to stick with it.  Still, Belle hated sending her daughter away on a day like this, even if it was for the best.

“She’ll be all right,” Rumplestiltskin said quietly, wrapping an arm around her as the side door closed.  “I’ll know if anyone tries to get through the wards, and I can be there in seconds.”

“And Sir Perceval’s ring will protect her, I know,” Belle replied heavily.  “I still worry.”

“Me, too, sweetheart.”

They cuddled for a long moment, Belle pressing against her husband’s chest and him just holding her.  The world might be uncertain, but at least they had one another, and although their marriage would never be easy, they were both prepared to fight for it.  And for each other.  Finally, Belle forced herself to focus on the situation at hand.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do about Cora?” she asked quietly.

“Aside from kill her, you mean?”

Hearing Rumplestiltskin say that so bluntly still sent an unpleasant chill down Belle’s spine, even though she’d known it was coming.  So, she swallowed hard and forced her voice to be level.  “I mean…well, if you play your cards right, the town might actually take your side.”

“I am _not_ telling them what happened,” Rumplestiltskin snapped immediately, and Belle felt the tension and the shame in him, could see the way his eyes flicked away from hers and old memories rose to torment him.

“I didn’t mean you should,” Belle said quickly.  “But Cora is everyone’s problem, right?  She killed King George earlier, and also tried to kill Snow’s old nanny.  She’s not going to make peace with anyone, and someone has to stop her.”

“What’s your point?” he asked testily, and Belle leaned in to rub his shoulder soothingly. 

“Maybe you _should_ ally with them.  Cora’s actions earlier today should have shown them that they can’t lock her away.  They’ll need help, and you’re the only one they can turn to.”

Rumplestiltskin sighed.  “I see what you’re saying but…”

“ _But_ if you’re their ally, they can hardly argue with you taking care of your problem, can they?” she pointed out logically.  “You wanted to be free to find Baelfire, Rumple, without anyone getting in your way.  Allying with them is the best way to accomplish that.”

His scowl told her that she was getting through to him, even if Rumplestiltskin clearly didn’t like it.

“Give it a day or so.  I’m sure they’ll come by and ask for your help again,” Belle persuaded him gently.  “And then you’ll have accomplished what you wanted to all along: Cora will be the villain of the piece, and _we’ll_ be free to find Bae without interference.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Belle,” her husband gave in with a whisper, and she threw him a radiant smile.

“Probably burn the town down by now.  Or release that wraith you have in the medallion,” Belle grinned, and Rumplestiltskin finally laughed with her.

* * *

 

He was a stupid, stupid fool, but the moment he saw his wife, Will Scarlet rushed towards her.  Ana was on the sidewalk with a few other women he didn’t recognize, but he didn’t really care about them.  What he cared about was Anastasia, who he’d so royally screwed over as Francis Scadlock and who probably hated his guts. 

“Ana!”

She twisted to look at him, her long blonde ponytail whipping in the slight March wind.  Her eyes immediately went wide.  “Will?”

“Aye,” he answered cautiously, stopping a few feet away from her.  “Look, love, before you slap me senseless—or worse, an’ I know I deserve it—let me say that I’m sorry.  Even when I was Francis, I don’t think I _wanted_ to hurt you, but I did.  And I’m sorry.”

“Will, you’re an idiot,” his wife said, stepping right up to him. Will braced himself for an ear-ringing slap, but she kissed him instead.

Taken by surprise, it took Will a moment to react, but when he did he wrapped his arms around her and hung on tightly.  Even if Ana was going to come to her senses and wallop him, he still loved her.  He always would, even when Cora had his heart.  He just couldn’t feel it as completely, was all.  He still loved her.

“In fairness to me, you’ve known that for an awfully long time,” he said when they came up for air.

“Well, it isn’t a surprise,” Ana grinned back, reaching up to stroke his face.  “She still has your heart, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Will said heavily.  “And that’s why…well, I had to see you, but you’d best stay away from me.  I’m not going to hurt you again, not if I can help it.”

“I’ll take my chances, Will.”

Quickly, he shook his head.  “You can’t.  Cora made me put you in that awful place before, and there’s no way to know what she’ll make me do next.  She’s got me heart.  I can’t fight her.”

“Then we’ll find a way to get it back,” his fierce wife replied, and Will felt a suspicious pang in his empty chest.

He loved her more than anything, but he wouldn’t let her risk herself.  The first chance Will got, he was going to split.  Storybrooke was a bigger town than most people thought, and he’d find a way to avoid her.  For Ana’s safety.  Because nothing else mattered: not his life, his heath, or his own freedom.  Only Ana.

* * *

 

Killian also saw the knot of young women—and one young man—standing outside Granny’s, gathered there by Ruby, who seemed to have taken them all under her wing and decided that her grandmother was going to put them all up until they had somewhere better to go.  Watching them head towards the tables outside the diner made him cross to the other side of the street; the last thing he needed right now was to be recognized.  Like it or not, Cora had given him a job to do, and this was at least one that _part_ of him relished doing.  Any time he could watch the Crocodile suffer was welcome, even if he preferred not to get Baelfire caught in the crossfire.

 _He’ll be all right in the end,_ he told himself.  _Cora only needs him as leverage._

Trusting in that was like believing he could take his ship up to the top of the half-rebuilt clock tower just because the _Jolly Roger_ had flown once.  Still, Killian had no choice in the matter.  He was in too deep, and Cora held too many cards.  Emma and her family might be celebrating the curse breaking right now, but the Evil Queen had an eye on the bigger picture, and his money was on her.

“Killian!” a familiar voice called, and even when he told his feet to keep moving, the pirate stopped in his tracks.  Then, somehow, he found himself turning to face the petite blonde who had jogged across the street towards him.  She paused a few steps away, her expression wry.  “Assuming that is your real name.”

“Aye, it is.”  What else could he say?  This was Mirabella but _not_ Mirabella, which meant the way his heart skipped a beat was absolutely foolish.  She’d been cursed.  Whatever he felt for her, he felt for a woman who no longer existed.  _And it’s a bloody shame._

“I—” Mirabella’s smile turned into a wide-eyed look of surprise as she cut herself off, exclaiming: “I remember you!  You’re the one handed pirate!”

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” Killian replied carefully, wondering if she was someone he had threatened or harmed during his colorful piratical career.  He hoped not. 

He _really_ hoped not.

But Mirabella’s smile didn’t waver.  “I’m Tinker Bell.”  She must have seen his confusion, because she added: “The little green fairy in the jar?  The one you refused to help?”

“Oh.”  His jaw wanted to drop, and Killian tried desperately to stop it, but he didn’t quite manage, though he _did_ snap his mouth shut quickly.  “I…I think I owe you an apology, then.”

“Still working for Cora?” she asked, not unkindly.

“It’s a business relationship, Mir—love.”

“Tink,” she replied.  “Call me Tink.”

“Alright, then…Tink,” Killian tried the name on for size, and found that it rolled off the tongue rather pleasantly.  “I am sorry.  For, well, everything.  No gentleman would have kept coming back to you the way I did, not when you couldn’t say no.”

“Stop,” Tink said gently, stepping forward to lay a hand on his arm.  “Don’t apologize for that.  _You_ always let me say no.  I never felt trapped. Not with you.  You made sure I didn’t.”

“I tried to,” he admitted.

“Well, you succeeded,” the fairy replied, and damn it all if she wasn’t wearing a bloody green shirt.  How had he _not_ recognized her?  But now Tink turned a little bashful, glancing at the ground.  “I know now is probably a bad time, but…do you want to meet again, sometime?  Now that the curse is broken?”

Cora would hate it, Killian knew.  Whatever side she was on, Tink certainly wasn’t going to choose the Evil Queen who had stuffed her in a jar for months and then in the Basement for years.  Cora would be seriously peeved if he tried to pursue a romantic relationship that didn’t benefit her, and he had no doubt that she’d make that very clear to him.  And yet…he didn’t give a damn.

“I’d like that,” Killian replied honestly, and was rewarded by a blazing smile.

* * *

 

Gold hadn’t exactly been helpful that morning, but then again, she and her parents had walked in on the so-called ‘Queens of Darkness’ (a nickname David shared with her, and which made Emma snort) antagonizing him.  Emma hoped that coming by in the afternoon would wind up with Gold in a better mood.  They _still_ had to find Regina, and fast.  Her parents—and God, wasn’t it weird thinking of Mary Margaret and David that way?—were with Henry, and Emma had opted to come alone.  She and Gold didn’t always see eye to eye, but there’d been enough drama that morning.  She wanted to see him alone.

Or, as close to alone as she could manage with Belle around, anyway.  Both were present when Emma opened the door to the shop, but she figured that might actually be a good thing.  Belle seemed to be a moderating influence on him, and Emma could really use that at the moment.

“You said you needed something of Regina’s for a locator spell,” she said by way of greeting.  “Here.”

David had provided the book that had been on Regina’s nightstand, and Emma had thought it worth bringing solely to see the expression on Gold’s face.  And she’d been right: it was priceless.  The Dark One looked like he’d swallowed a fish whole and it was flapping around in his gullet as his eyes went wide.  Still, he managed to speak in an admirably level (and ironic) tone:

“ _Beyond Heaving Bosoms: The Smart Bitches’ Guide to Romance Novels_ ,” Gold read aloud as his wife snickered.  “ _This_ is what you bring me?”

Emma shrugged, trying to contain her own desire to laugh at the look on his face.  “It’s what Regina was reading.”

“Well, then.”  He cleared his throat.  “I suppose it will do.”

Belle seemed to give up on containing herself, and giggled out loud.  Then she looked up at Emma, her face the picture of innocence.  “Do you know if Regina was done with the book?  I might want to borrow it.”

_“Belle!”_

Gold might have sounded horrified, but Emma was laughing too hard to think.  She and Belle exchanged an amused glance over Gold’s irritated and dumbstruck expression, which only sent the two of them to giggling once more.  Grumbling under his breath, Gold turned and ducked into the back room, leaving the offending book on the counter and hopefully going to gather whatever he needed for a locator spell.  Meanwhile, Belle flipped the paperback over to read the back, calling over her shoulder:

“You won’t damage the book, will you, Rumple?  I really do want to read it.”

Emma tried to snort back another burst of laughter; Gold didn’t dignify that with a response, instead banging something around in the back as his wife looked innocent.  _I think I’m really starting to like her,_ Emma thought to herself.  _Between talking Gold into helping Mary Margaret, and just generally sassing him, Belle seems like a good ally to have._

“So, do you think—” she started to ask, only to be cut off when the door opened with the tinkling of a bell, and Belle’s entire posture changed from relaxed and happy to tense and wary.  Turning around, Emma spotted Killian O’Malley—or whoever he was now that the curse was broken—walking in with a slightly guilty look on his face.

“You’re not welcome here,” Belle said bluntly.  “And believe me when you say that you _don’t_ want to hang around here.”

“Don’t get all worked up, love,” Killian replied, sounding no different than he had the hundred or so times he and Emma had talked.  _Weird_.  “I’m just here to deliver something, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“You can take whatever _delivery_ you have elsewhere, Hook,” she snapped, and that made Emma blink.

“Wait.  You’re Captain _Hook_?” she gaped.  “Aren’t you only supposed to have one hand?”

“Killian Jones, at your service,” the pirate replied, bowing with a flourish.  Then he grimaced.  “The hand thing is a…tad complicated.”

Emma might have asked, but Gold had come out of the back room and the apparent temperature seemed to drop by twenty degrees.  The Dark One and the pirate glared at one another as Gold stepped up next to Belle, and Emma sensed old hatred simmering in the air.  _Then this isn’t just about what happened to Belle,_ she decided.  _There’s something more going on._

“You’d better have a good reason for coming here, dearie,” Gold said, his voice soft and dangerous.  “Because I’m not feeling terribly forgiving for the way you attacked my wife.”

“I told you that you should get away from him when you could, love,” Killian said to Belle, who scowled.

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” she retorted.  “Now, what do you want?”

The pirate/marina owner grimaced again.  “As I said, I’m here to deliver a message.”  He turned to Gold.  “One you’ll want to pay attention to.”

Stepping forward, Killian placed a bag on the countertop, and then backing up several steps as quickly as he could.  Gold emptied the bag casually, and a portable tape recorder/player fell out, along with a vial of what seemed to be blood.  Almost lazily, he glanced up at Killian, who added:

“Cora sends her regards.  She says to call her, and she’ll explain.”

“And here I thought you had more self-respect than to play errand boy for her majesty,” Gold replied drolly.  “I suppose I was wrong.”

“Just call her,” Killian snapped.

“Get out of my shop.”

Killian didn’t seem to need another invitation; he left without so much as glancing Emma’s way.  She, however, was unbearably curious.

“You gonna call Cora?”

“Not on her schedule, no,” Gold retorted.  “She can wait.”

“Rumple,” Belle said quietly, fingering the vial.  “I think that’s blood.”

He shrugged.  “It wouldn’t be the first time, sweetheart.”

But that was a big enough vial that someone hadn’t just pricked their finger to fill it, and something told Emma that Cora hadn’t gone and raided the hospital’s blood bank to fill a bottle up just for kicks.  Knowing Cora, there was only one conclusion to come to, so she spoke up.  “Look, if Cora’s got someone and that blood can help them, we need to know who it is right away.  Otherwise, there’s no knowing what she’ll do.”

“She’s right,” Belle pointed out, even as Gold’s phone rang.  He glanced at Belle before answering it, and much to Emma’s surprise, put the phone on speaker.

“What do you want, Cora?” he asked, his voice even colder than when he’d spoken to Killian.  Emma hadn’t thought that was possible, but she’d never heard him sound so dangerous.

“I understand you’ve received my message,” the Evil Queen’s voice came from the other end, sounding as chipper as Cora ever did. 

“Cryptic as ever,” Gold replied dryly. 

“Start with the vial.  If you do a bit of blood magic, you’ll find that it belongs to someone _terribly_ close to you—someone you haven’t seen in a very long time,” Cora purred, and the hair on the back of Emma’s neck started to stand up.  “Then listen to the tape recorder.”

“Why in the world would I want to play your little games?” he asked, but he’d already handed the phone to Belle to hold, and Emma could see magic sparking from his right hand as he picked up the vial.  A quick flick of one finger cut the palm of his left hand open, and a drop of blood oozed out even as he opened the vial.  It glowed gold, and then immediately flew towards the blood inside the open vial.  Gold’s eyebrows went up, and his head jerked around to look at Belle.  She cocked her head in some sort of silent communication that Emma utterly missed, but Cora spoke before either could say anything.

“Because you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t, Rumple,” was the sweet answer.  “I’ll hold while you listen to the recording.”

Looking wary, Gold thumbed the play button.  Immediately, the sound of ragged panting filled the shop, and then Cora’s voice came out of the tape player, scratchy and recorded:

“Lest you think this is some random recording, dear, I thought I would let you hear my voice,” she said coldly, and then her voice was replaced by someone screaming.

Someone male.  Instinctively, Emma flinched away from the sound, but Gold let it play far longer than she would have, for ten or fifteen interminable seconds.  Belle looked horrified, but Gold’s expression was as cold and uncaring as Cora’s voice, and for the first time, Emma could really see the unfeeling monster that Henry’s book said he could be.  Seeming more angry and annoyed than disturbed, he hit stop and looked back at the cell phone Belle still held.

“What the hell is this?” Gold snarled.

“Your son.”

Gold rocked back, his uncaring expression rapidly shifting to stark white shock.  His eyes were wide, absolutely huge, and Emma watched in fascination as he dropped the tape recorder from obviously numb fingers.  Belle caught him by the arm, her face full of worry, but he didn’t even seem to react.  His eyes were riveted on the tape recorder, still round and disbelieving.  A long moment passed before Gold snapped:

“You’re _lying._ ”

“Am I?” Cora countered from over the phone.  “I trust you’ve detected the blood link by now.  You could do a few more spells, just to be certain, but I’m not sure poor Baelfire shares your patience.”

“Bae.”  The ragged whisper seemed to rip out of him against his will; Gold suddenly looked both broken and hopeful at the same time.

By now, Belle’s hand on his arm had tightened, and she was watching her husband closely.  Gold still looked too shocked to speak coherently, but then he shook himself, and Emma could see him gathering up the shreds of his self-control and banishing the shock. 

“What do you want, Cora?” Gold grated out dangerously.

The answer was immediate: “Your dagger, of course.”

“What makes you even _think_ —”

“You can’t get to him before I kill him, Rumple,” Cora cut him off, her voice frigid.  “So, make the choice: your precious lost son or your freedom.  Which will it be?”

 _Freedom?_ Emma wondered.  _What does a dagger have to do with freedom?_   She vaguely remembered finding that drawing with Henry, and Henry had explained that that wavy dagger was the only thing that could kill the Dark One.  Was that why Cora wanted it?  Did she want to kill Gold?  Somehow, that didn’t quite fit, but she didn’t have the chance to ask before Gold spoke again.

“If I’m even going to contemplate giving you such a thing, I want some guarantees,” he said, his tone now matching Cora’s in its glacial temperature. 

“Oh, no.  No guarantees.  Just your son’s life,” Cora laughed.  “That’s _all_ you get.”

“No.”  Gold looked like saying the word caused him physical pain, but his voice was absolutely rock-steady.  Belle had moved close and wrapped an arm around his waist, still holding the phone silently with her other hand, and Gold was leaning on the counter for support.

“No?  And here I thought you _missed_ your son.”  The Evil Queen’s mocking comment made Gold flinch.

But then he laughed, a low and terrifying sound.  “And I’m not so foolish as to give you the means to force _me_ to kill him five seconds after I save him,” he retorted.  “So, here’s what we’re going to do, dear.   You’re going to sign a _magically-binding_ contract, in which you swear not to harm _anyone_ in my family—or force _me_ to do it, or have any of your creatures, heartless or otherwise, do the same.  Or take their hearts, or imprison them in any way.  Otherwise, you’ll face the consequences.  In return, I’ll give you the dagger.  Deal?”

“Looking for loopholes as always, Rumple?” Cora asked lightly.  “I might just kill your son out of spite.”

“No.  You won’t.”  Something flashed through his brown eyes too quickly for Emma to track, but she thought it might be fear.  “You want me too badly for that.  And you know that there’s nowhere in this world, or in any other, where you can hide if you harm my boy.”

“Fine.  You have a deal.  Bring your contract and meet me in the woods by the well in one hour,” she snapped.  “Try anything and Baelfire dies.”

“I understand,” Gold grated out, and Emma heard the _click_ as Cora hung up the phone.  Immediately, he turned to Belle, his face a mess of emotions and regret.  His voice shook as he spoke: “Belle, I’m sorry.  I have to.”

“I know that.”  Discarding the phone, the small woman reached up to touch Gold’s cheek, leaning in so that their foreheads rested against one another.  “I wouldn’t expect you to do anything less for him.”

“Belle…”

“I love you,” the brunette whispered, and Emma backed off a few steps, really feeling like she was intruding and maybe she should leave, but also needing to know what the hell was going on.  Belle, however, continued firmly:  “I’m not letting you do this alone.”

“You can’t,” he sounded broken.  “You have to keep Gabi safe.  Cora’s likely to try to exploit that loophole in the hour she has—she can harm her _now_ without repercussions.  You have to take care of her first.”

“Cora doesn’t know she’s our daughter,” Belle objected, confirming what Emma had been wondering about for months.

“That doesn’t mean she won’t go after her, anyway.  You can’t, sweetheart.  I have to do this alone.”

“I can come.”  The words were out of Emma’s mouth before she even thought about it, but it was the right thing to do.  “I can make sure Cora holds up her end of the bargain and get your son out of there.  I’ll bring him to Belle.”

Both Golds turned to stare at her, probably having forgotten that Emma was there at all.  Belle’s face immediately creased into a small, worried smile, but Gold just nodded jerkily.  “Fine.”

She hadn’t expected him to give in so easily, but that was at least that.  Clearing her throat, Emma had to ask:

“So, uh, you have a son?”

“I lost him.”  Gold’s tortured expression closed off again.  “A long time ago.  I…foolishly told Cora the story when we were on better terms.  I don’t know how she found him.”

“I’ll help you get him back,” Emma promised.  After all, she was here to bring back the happy endings, wasn’t she?  Gold had helped her save Henry’s life; the least she could do was return the favor.  “But this, um, dagger.  What’s the deal with it?  Henry showed me a picture, but…”

“It’s not important,” Gold answered immediately, and Belle gave him a hard look.

“Rumple.”

Surprisingly, Gold looked away.  Was that _shame_ twisting his features up like that?  When he didn’t answer, Belle explained.

“You know that Cora has your father’s heart, right?” the former librarian asked softly.  “Among others?”

“Yeah.  She can control people with them.”

“This is worse.  Far worse,” Belle said, her eyes flicking back to her husband.  “It’s the price of being the Dark One.  Rumple’s power can be controlled by anyone who has the dagger.”

“Oh.”  Damn, that did sound bad.  “Are you…are you sure this is the right thing to do, giving Cora that power?”

Gold’s head snapped around to look at her, his eyes burning with a fire Emma had never seen from him before.  “Would you do absolutely anything to save _your_ son, Miss Swan?  Make any sacrifice required?”

“Of course.”  She’d proven that just this morning.

“Then don’t talk to me about right and wrong, dearie.  He’s my _son_.  End of story.”

* * *

 

He’d learned to recognize her footsteps by now, and Neal dragged himself to his feet when he heard Cora coming down the stairs.  He was hurting like hell, and really just wanted to curl back into the ball she’d left him in before, but Neal would be damned if he’d let this crazy bitch win like that.  She’d told him that she wanted him as leverage against his father, and then had tortured the hell out of him—mostly using magic, though there’d been a whipping in there that he wouldn’t soon forget—and used a damn _tape recorder_ to record his screams.  If that wasn’t sick, Neal didn’t know what was, but he wasn’t going to lie on the cold floor like a lump of broken potatoes when she came down, no matter what she’d done.

“Back for more?” he asked, trying to sound brave and hating the way his voice wanted to shake.  Damn, he’d forgotten how many reasons he had to hate the Enchanted Forest.  People just didn’t _torture_ their enemies’ kids for shits and giggles in the modern world!

“Oh, no.  You and I are about to take a little trip into the woods,” Cora replied, smiling smugly.

“Why the hell would I want to take a trip with you?” Neal snorted, ignoring the way Geppetto glanced worriedly his way.  His big mouth had only gotten him hurt more last time, but hey, it was easier to deal with when he was taunting the bitch.

“We’re going to go see your father,” she said, stepping up close to the bars of the cage. Neal wished to hell that he could back further away, but he was already near the back, and the cage was only about six feet by six feet.  The utter calm in Cora’s eyes was terrifying; she was smug and looked satisfied, but the insane fire he’d expected a torturer to demonstrate simply wasn’t there.

“And then what?” he asked, too smart to think that this was anything but a trick.

Cora’s dark eyes flashed.  “Then Rumplestiltskin will give me his dagger in exchange for you.”

“Papa will _never_ do that.”  The words came out automatically, but for a moment, Neal was a fifteen  year old Baelfire again, telling his father that the power was more important to him than his own son was, and listening to Rumplestiltskin try to say otherwise.  But Rumplestiltskin had proven that to him at the edge of a portal leading to another world—an admittedly crappy world, one in which his crippled father might have done very badly.  His father had let him go, traded him for power and darkness, and even the man Neal had become would never forget that.

“He’s already agreed.”

 _That_ knocked the wind right out of Neal, and he searched her face for a lie.  But he couldn’t see one, and Cora had no reason not to tell the truth.  Once, he’d known that his father would sacrifice absolutely anything for him, but Bae had known those days were gone the moment his father became the Dark One.  Then his beloved father had become a demon who hurt people all the time, with only the most distant pieces of Rumplestiltskin’s soul there to taunt his son.  Power had become _everything_ ; Bae had seen that time and again before he’d fallen through that portal, let go by the man who had once meant everything to him.  _He’s already agreed_ , Cora had said.  _He’s going to trade the dagger for_ me _?_

The tiny whisper finally escaped of its own volition.  “… _What_?”

“Your father and I have a deal,” Cora shrugged casually.  “The dagger, and his freedom, for your safety.”

“He wouldn’t.”

Neal had lived over two centuries with that certainty, with knowing that his _real_ father had died the moment he’d taken that curse on, knowing that he hadn’t been enough after that.  After all, he’d watched the Duke of the Frontlands die for trying to make the same kind of bargain, and Rumplestiltskin had never even contemplated giving the dagger up, then.  But…but if Cora wasn’t lying, all those centuries’ old assumptions might be wrong.  If enough of his father survived to make that choice, to make that _deal_ …then had Bae spent hundreds of years hating his father for the wrong reasons?

 _He can’t_ , Bae didn’t say, but the thought still lingered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it comes: Cora’s plan B, in which she knows exactly what she wants.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Seventy-Eight—“Love Over Power,” in which Rumplestiltskin reunites with his lost son, Emma discovers said son is her old beau, and an ancient Lover’s Curse kicks back in when Ariel runs into Eric.


	78. Love Over Power

Only his anger and worry kept Rumplestiltskin from becoming a quivering mess of terror.  The thought of handing anyonehis dagger was utterly paralyzing, but _Cora_?  Rumplestiltskin knew exactly what a good portion of her control over him would entail, knew he was handing himself over into a situation far worse than that he’d suffered while under the curse.  He wouldn’t be able to ‘please’ himself out of anything, now; the curse was broken and so were his caveats.  Once she had the dagger, Cora would be able to do whatever she wanted to him.  He’d have no defenses, no way to stop her.  And he’d have to obey her.

But if the alternative was letting Baelfire die—or even taking the _chance_ he might die—Rumplestiltskin would make this choice every time.  But that didn’t mean he would ever be comfortable with it, even though he buried his fears carefully while riding to the edge of the woods in the Savior’s car.  Under other circumstances, the irony of that situation would have made him laugh.  Right now, though, crammed into that little yellow bug of Miss Swan’s and thinking about what was going to happen, Rumplestiltskin had no time for humor.

“I, uh, take it Renee is your biological daughter, too?” Emma asked after a few minutes of silence.

He had to swallow to speak around the lump in his throat.  “Her name is Gabrielle.”

“Right.”

Another minute ticked by, but the Savior was apparently in the mood for conversation. 

“So…this contract thingy is going to keep your family safe from Cora?” she asked, though Rumplestiltskin had no idea why she’d care about that. 

 _Kill her now,_ his curse whispered in his mind.  _Destroy everyone.  Who cares about the boy?  He likely hates you, anyway.  He’s probably in on this.  The screams were probably false.  He always wanted you to give up the—_ With an effort, Rumplestiltskin tore his mind away from those thoughts.  Bae had been right.  This curse brought with it nothing but misery…and the ability to keep his family safe. 

“Yes,” he answered after a moment.  Then he chose to explain more, figuring that it wouldn’t hurt for the Savior to know this.  “If Cora breaks it, or forces me to do so, the dagger will revert to me.  The nature of magic itself will make sure of that.”

“Can she…make you hurt them?”  Emma sounded hesitant, and a little horrified.

“Yes.”

There was nothing else to say on that front, and he really just wanted the Savior to shut up.

* * *

 

Leroy and Astrid had been walking together when the redheaded former mermaid bumped right into the tall man who had been Cora’s cook.  Neither of them knew him well, but Astrid had been helping get the former Basement residents settled into Granny’s, which meant she’d already made friends with her.

But the dark haired man the mermaid ran into seemed to know her.  “Ariel?” he gasped, a huge smile growing on his face.

“No!”  Immediately, Ariel started backing away, her face a picture of terror.  She tripped over a flower pot and barely caught herself, but her eyes never left the man.  His smile faltered; she started crying. “No, no, no, no!”

“Ariel, what’s wrong?”

“Get away from me, Eric!” she cried, leaning down to pick up the flower pot, as if to defend herself.  Realizing that something was terribly wrong, Leroy started forward, releasing Astrid’s hand.  Ariel was terrified, and he had to help.

“You heard her, buddy—” he started to say, trying to get between the two.  But he was too far away, and suddenly Ariel launched herself at Eric, the flower pot held high over her head. 

“Ariel, don’t!” Eric cried, but it was far too late.

Leroy grabbed for her and missed, but he was close enough to see the utter horror in Ariel’s eyes as she smashed the hard clay pot down on Eric’s head.  It didn’t break right away, although Eric fell immediately, and Ariel kept smashing and smashing at it, even as the pot went to pieces in her hands.  After the third or fourth blow, he managed to pull her away, and she was sobbing by then.

“Stop me, please stop me.  Save him!” Ariel cried, struggling to get away from him.

“What the hell is _wrong_ with you, sister?” he demanded as he fought to keep a grip on her.  Astrid had rushed over to Eric, but she was shaking her head as she tried to find a pulse.  There was a huge puddle of blood under Eric already, and his skull looked cracked open.

“Please let him be okay,” Ariel whispered into Leroy’s shoulder.  “I don’t want to kill him, but _she made me!_ ”

Nothing about this situation made sense.  “Who made you?”

“The Evil Queen.  She cursed me to kill him if I saw him again, and I tried so hard to stay away…” Ariel moaned brokenly.

The ambulance arrived a few minutes later, as did a huge crowd, but it was too late.  Ariel had already killed her True Love, fulfilling the Lover’s Curse Cora had put on her twenty-nine years earlier.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin felt ice cold by the time they made it to the well, felt almost numb and like he was barely breathing, but he still felt the magical tripwire when they passed over it.  Cora was no fool, and she wasn’t patient enough to wait for him to show up, so she’d created a small magical alert to notify her when he arrived.  Rumplestiltskin, however, hardly cared.  He just wanted to get this _over_ with.  _At least I’ll get to see him,_ he thought, a tiny bit of joy peeking its way through his terrified despair.  _I can say I’m sorry.  He deserves that much._

Balefire deserved that and more.  Rumplestiltskin had torn worlds apart just to get the chance to apologize to his beloved son, and he would not squander that opportunity now, no matter who was watching.  He couldn’t do what Bae had always wanted, couldn’t be rid of this loathsome curse and the power that ruled him, but at least he could say he was sorry.  That apology was three centuries overdue, and he would make it if it was the last thing he ever got to say to his boy.  _After all, I’m damn certain that Cora isn’t going to let me spend time with my family once she has the dagger,_ he thought emptily.  He knew her too well for that.  She would have complete control over him and no reason to hide it.  Rumplestiltskin did not expect to be going home any time soon.  If ever.

Finally, Cora appeared in a cloud of purple smoke, with a young man by her side.  But this wasn’t the boy that Rumplestiltskin had expected.  This was a man, probably around Emma’s age, with a goatee and years of hard living etched into his face.  His hands were bound in front of him, and he looked at Cora with a familiarly mulish expression—until his eyes met Rumplestiltskin’s, and he jerked back in surprise.

“Neal?” Emma’s shocked voice came too quietly for anyone but Rumplestiltskin to hear it.  Cora was still twenty or so feet away, and she’d only spoken in a whisper.  Quickly, Rumplestiltskin’s head whipped around to look at her; somehow, she knew this man, but that was a danger in and of itself.

 _Don’t let Cora know,_ he tried to tell the Savior with his eyes, even as his internal sense of  irony peaked.  _My son had a life in this world, a life without me.  And he_ knows _the Savior._   Because the man at Cora’s side— _Baelfire, there is no doubt he is Baelfire_ —had definitely noticed Emma, too, and was a little _too_ studiously pretending not to look at her.  Cora, however, was too busy watching Rumplestiltskin to comment.

“Are you satisfied, Rumple?” she asked, and he could hear the victory in her voice.

“That’s not a word I’d use at the moment, dear,” he snapped.  But the answer to her question was an unqualified _yes_ ; telling someone was related to you was easy, if you were a sorcerer.  The threads of magic linking them were there to see, particularly when they were this close together.  This _was_ his son, as unfamiliar as his appearance was.  And he was hurt.

 _Where_ did _you think the screams came from, you fool?  You know better than anyone how Cora likes to leave marks._   Sitting on his rage was hard, but now was not the time to let his internal demon out to play. Cora would make plenty use of his worse side here shortly; he needed to be the best that he could be.  For Bae.

“Well, then,” Cora said, lifting her chin and staring at him imperiously.  “Let’s have it.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled without feeling the slightest shred of humor.  “Oh, no.  Not until you sign the contract.”

“You don’t trust me to keep our deal?”

He met her eyes levelly.  “Not in the slightest.”

“You’ll regret that,” Cora snapped, and Rumplestiltskin shrugged, stepping forward to hand her the contract.  In doing so, he found himself closer to his son than he had been in three centuries, and his calm demeanor faltered as he met brown eyes so very like his own.

“You’re really doing this,” Bae whispered as Cora unfolded the contract, reading it quickly.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” he answered just as quietly, swallowing hard. 

“I…I wasn’t sure,” his son admitted quietly.  “When I left…”

“I know,” Rumplestiltskin cut him off gently.  “I was different.  I was a fool.”

He wanted to say more, but not with Cora standing so close.  Besides, she’d already turned to him, pen in hand, demanding:  “Is this all?”

“Don’t tempt me to add more,” he retorted.  Of course, they both knew he couldn’t; Rumplestiltskin had pushed as far as he dared.  Cora had him over a barrel, with his son bound and under her control.  He could _feel_ her magic wrapping around Bae, could feel it _waiting_ for him to try something.  The shackles Bae wore were designed to kill him if Rumplestiltskin tried anything, up to and including killing Cora. 

Besides, he never  broke a deal, and they had an agreement.  He’d only insisted on putting that in writing because he didn’t trust Cora further than he could throw her.  Without magic.

Smirking, Cora signed the contract with a flourish, and only looked slightly miffed when the old fashioned parchment disappeared from her hands.  Rumplestiltskin was no fool; knowing Cora, she’d break their deal eventually and attempt to use the contract to get around it, so he sent it home, to his safe in his study.  Belle already knew to keep it safe.  Cora, however, reached out and put a hand on his arm, and it took all of Rumplestiltskin’s self-control not to flinch away from her.  And he knew his face showed how he felt about her touching him, probably all too clearly.

“Say your goodbyes, then, Rumple.”  Her victorious smile ruined the small flicker of humanity she’d just displayed.  “And never say I wasn’t kind to you.”

 _Just do it.  Break your deal.  Kill her now,_ his curse whispered toxically as the shackles bounced off of Bae’s wrists, rattling to the ground.  But he kept it firmly in check as Cora backed away.  She was at least considerate enough to give him a little privacy for this conversation, but even had she not, Rumplestiltskin thought he might not have cared.  He had waited three centuries for this moment, had spent _years_ rehearsing everything he might say.  And yet, master wordsmith though he was, all of those carefully plotted out lines flew out of his mind right then, and he swallowed nervously, left face to face with the boy he had abandoned.  But he took a ragged breath, the insidious voice of his curse completely drowned beneath the maelstrom of emotion whipping through him, and began to speak:

“You were right, Bae. You were always right. I was a coward, and I _never_ should have let you go.  I know it’s little consolation, but I just want you to know that ever since you left, ever since I let you go, I’ve been looking for you. And now that I’ve finally found you… I know I can’t make up for the past”—his voice cracked—“for the lost time. All I can do is say that I’m sorry.  I don’t…expect you to forgive me.  But I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe, even if you never want to see me again.”

Rumplestiltskin burned to beg his son for forgiveness, but being married to Belle had taught him a lot.  Forgiveness had to be _earned_ , he finally understood.  No amount of pretty words or apologies would get his relationship with his son back; Rumplestiltskin himself had ruined that.  He had no right to expect anything out of Bae.  He could only give as truthful and heartfelt apology as he could, and hope for the best.  _He’s your son, Rumple,_ Belle had told him earlier that day.  _He might be angry with you, but beneath that, he still loves you.  Give him a chance to see how much you love him, and everything will work out._

He hoped she was right, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t anticipate getting the chance to find out.

“You…you look like you did.  Before,” Bae said after a moment, his tone uneven and his expression torn.

Rumplestiltskin shrugged a little brokenly.  “I feel rather like that at the moment,” he replied wryly, referencing the town coward they both knew he’d been.

“You shouldn’t do this,” his son said unexpectedly, stepping forward awkwardly.  “She’ll have your power, and—and she said a few things about what she wants to do to you.  That woman is _sick,_ Papa.”

“I know what she is,” he replied softly, trying desperately to ignore the way his heart leapt on that one simple word.  _Papa._   “That’s why I can’t leave you with her.”

“Papa—”

Pushing aside his insecurities before they could rise, Rumplestiltskin stepped forward and placed a hand on Bae’s cheek, pulling his son forward so that he could kiss his forehead.  They didn’t have much time; Cora was undoubtedly impatient already, but Rumplestiltskin had to say this much.

“I love you, Bae,” he whispered raggedly. “I know I’ve made unforgivable mistakes, but I love you more than the world.  I need you to know that.”

“I can’t just leave you to do this!”

He pulled back enough to smile crookedly.  “I made a deal, son.  And I’ve only ever broken one deal in my life.  This won’t be the second one.”  Blinking back tears, Rumplestiltskin forced himself to let go of Baelfire and pulled the dagger out of his jacket, staring at it for a moment.  “I chose this over you once.  Never again.”

Looking up, he dared to meet his son’s eyes, surprised to see determination there, not anger or disgust.  “I’ll get it back for you,” Bae vowed unexpectedly, the promise rocking Rumplestiltskin to his core.  “This isn’t over.”

He had to swallow hard before he could find his voice, and even then it was thick with emotion. 

“Go with Emma.  She’ll show you what you need to know.”  With that, Rumplestiltskin stepped away from his son, knowing that if he didn’t now, he never would.

Because he wanted nothing more than to stay here, to tell Bae everything, to say that he had a stepmother and a half-sister, to try to tell him that Rumplestiltskin was _trying_ to be better.  He wanted so desperately to spend more time with his son, because these few stolen moments were not enough.  They never could be.  He had waited three centuries for this, and just when Baelfire might actually forgive him, Rumplestiltskin had to walk away.  And yet—if this was the only way to keep his beloved son safe, he would make this deal with the devil a thousand times over.  So, he started walking towards where Cora now stood a dozen feet away, the dagger heavy in his hand.

“Papa,” Bae called suddenly, making him turn.  “I do forgive you.  I’m still mad…but I love you, too.”

He knew his smile was watery.  “Thank you, Bae.”  The words were utterly inadequate, and he barely managed to regain any of his composure before he turned to face Emma.  “Get him out of here, Sheriff.  Please.”

Emma nodded, and Bae didn’t seem to argue as she grabbed him by the arm, leading him down the hill.  That left Rumplestiltskin to face Cora, who was smiling contentedly, her eyes burning with a fire that he knew all too well.  Stopping five or six feet away from her, Rumplestiltskin paused, desperately not thinking about how afraid he was.  _My son is safe,_ he told himself.  _My_ family _is safe._   _That’s what matters_.  And thinking of them was what gave him the strength to do what needed to be done, instead of running away like the coward he had always been.

Rumplestiltskin threw the dagger at Cora’s feet.

* * *

 

Neal walked down the hill in a daze, still trying to wrap his mind around everything that had happened.  Cora had told him that she intended to trade him for the dagger, but Neal had never for one moment actually thought that his father would _do_ that.  He’d been braced to die, to be tortured more, or for—frankly— _anything_ else to happen.  But not that.  His father had proven long ago that he wasn’t going to trade his power for his son.  After all, the Dark One wasn’t really his father.  It was just this monster that inhabited Rumplestiltskin’s body and had his memories, along with some of his mannerisms.  His father had died the day the Duke’s castle burned down; his body had just continued on with this other thing inside it.

Or so Bae had thought.  He’d been so _sure_...until now. 

Now his father had traded the dagger—and his freedom—to a psychopath to keep Neal safe.  They hadn’t seen one another in an eternity, and now _this_?  Cora had only whipped him a little, seemingly more interested in making his father suffer than him.  Neal was smart enough to know that the torture had been for effect, so that she could record it and give that to his father.  _Apparently, it worked_ , he thought, blinking rapidly as he followed Emma out of the woods.  He still wasn’t sure what to think of the entire situation, and probably wouldn’t be able to sort out his emotions for hours yet.  Instead, he chose to focus on the present for now.  There was a road up ahead, one of those bumpy country roads that he generally hated.

But there was a familiar yellow bug sitting on that road, which made Neal stumble to a stop. “You kept the car?”

“Yeah, uh, August said you gave it to him,” Emma replied, giving him a funny look.  “Along with twenty thousand dollars that he kind of kept.”

“August _kept_ the money?” Neal spat before he could stop himself.  “That bastard!”

Really, in the grand scheme of things, a minor matter of theft wasn’t a big deal, even if Neal had meant for Emma to get the car and the money as an apology, as a way to start her life afresh.  He’d always regretted letting her go to jail, knowing that his own actions that day had been as cowardly as anything his father had ever done.  He’d come back to Storybrooke to make that right, but had he managed to screw everything up instead?

Emma shrugged.  “I managed,” she said, gesturing at the passenger seat.  “Get in?”

“Sure, yeah,” Neal nodded, ducking into the car and buckling his seatbelt.  But he could only distract himself with that for so long, and there were a thousand and one things that needed saying and doing.  _One above anything else, though_. 

Emma’s eyes were on the road as she started the car, and she wasn’t saying anything in the awkward silence, which meant that Neal needed to. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, wishing he could sound a lot more suave, but figuring that honesty would work.  _It seems to be one of those days._   “For sending you to jail.  And not backing you up.  When August told me about the curse and that you were from the Enchanted Forest, I should have stayed with you instead of running away.”

Green eyes flicked to his face.  “August told me that he called the cops.”

“Yeah, but you went to jail for watches I stole,” he argued.  “He might have called, but it’s still my fault.  I…I just wanted you to find your family.  But I shouldn’t have done it that way, and I’m sorry.”

“I was mad at you for a really long time,” she admitted quietly.  “And maybe I still am.  But I get wanting to run away from all this crap.  It’s kind of unbelievable.”

She hadn’t accepted his apology yet, but that was okay.  Neal might have pressed, but he still had his _own_ words ringing in his ears, his own old demons and resentment.  He’d abandoned Emma just like his father had abandoned him, and he needed to be man enough to apologize without expecting anything in return.  _If Papa can manage that, I can, too._   So, he just took a deep breath and turned to the myriad of problems they faced.  He was okay with working for Emma’s forgiveness.  At least she hadn’t hit him yet.

“I’m gathering that Cora is the Evil Queen whose curse you were supposed to break,” he said, clearing his throat and trying not to sit back against the bug’s worn seat.  His back was still sore as hell, but he supposed he could find a healer here—or just go to the damned hospital.  _Man, I’m starting to think like the old world again in a hurry_ , he thought, and wasn’t sure how he felt about that.  “But have you broken it?”

“Yeah.  Just this morning, though it feels like a lifetime ago,” Emma answered with a sigh.  “So…you’re Gold’s son, huh?”

“Gold?”

“Rumplestiltskin, sorry.  That was his name here, though he seemed to remember who he was,” she explained, the old world name sounding odd on Emma’s very modern tongue.  “Unlike everyone else.”

“I’m not surprised.  He’s always been smart.”  _And sneaky.  And tricky._   Even before becoming the Dark One, Bae’s papa had been smarter than everyone else around them.  Rumplestiltskin just hadn’t had a lot of opportunities to demonstrate those smarts.

“So, is that why you came to Storybrooke?” Emma asked hesitantly.  “I mean, you two didn’t set this up?”  Her voice dropped to a whisper, and Neal’s head snapped around as she said, barely loud enough for him to hear: “Did you?”

“No!”  With an effort, he lowered his voice, swallowing hard.  “Emma, why do you think I ran the other direction as quick as I could?  I wanted to stay the hell away from magic and magical worlds, and suddenly here’s August, telling me that the girl I’m in love with his from there, and I freaked out, okay?”

Emma glanced at him, her eyes wide.  “Really?”

“Yeah, really.  I’m a jerk, but not _that_ big of a jerk.  I came to this world a long time ago—if I hadn’t taken a couple centuries long vacation in Neverland, I’d be dead as a doornail by now,” Neal explained.  “And I didn’t exactly leave on good terms with my dad.”

“Neverland?” Emma keyed in on the worst bits immediately, of course.

“It’s a long story.” 

“Right.  I guess it’s that’s not so important now, unless you don’t like Captain Hook,” she quipped.  “But anyway, about your dad.  I remember that you said he’d changed.  All of a sudden.”

Neal wasn’t sure how she remembered that conversation, their oddly honest one when they—two runaways and orphans, so far as they knew—talked about home and what it meant the first night they’d met.  _You remember it,_ he told himself, and then forced a casual shrug.  “Yeah.  He became the Dark One.”

Emma nodded surprisingly quickly.  “I remember that from Henry’s book.”  She snorted.  “I just had no idea the kid in that story was you.”

“Book? What book?”

Stopping the car, Emma turned to look at him, and suddenly _she_ seemed to be the nervous one.  “It’s a storybook,” she explained.  “Full of fairytales.  It tells the story of the curse and a lot of the people in town.  My parents are in it, and so are you.  And your dad.”

“I hope to hell no one’s published that,” Neal couldn’t help saying.  The idea of his story being written down in some book was kind of huge, but he’d spent centuries making light of things.  Why change now?

“Neal.”

“Yeah?”  Why did she look so hesitant?  He wanted to reach out and touch her, to say something comforting, but Neal was pretty sure he’d lost the right to do that more than ten years ago.

“Why did you come here, if Gold didn’t set this up?” Emma asked, her voice tiny.

He grimaced.  “August told me you were in trouble.  I guess it was just a trap all along, and he was working with that crazy Evil Queen you beat—speaking of which, she doesn’t look very defeated—but I believed him.  And I thought…ah, hell.  I thought that the best way to make it up to you would be to help you find your family.  To help you break the curse, even if I really didn’t want to be _anywhere_ around magic.”

“Oh.”

She was silent for several long moments, turning to stare at the dashboard like she was trying to make up her mind on something.  Once, Neal had known Emma pretty well, and he still could recognize the look on her face.  So, he waited.  With Emma, the best thing you could do was let her make up her own mind; if you tried to push her too had, sometimes she’d wind up doing the exact opposite of what you’d hoped.  Finally, Emma whispered:

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

“C’mon, it can’t be worse than me sending you to jail,” he said, trying a smile on for size.  But Emma only pulled her phone out, opening the photo gallery and pulling up a picture of a kid who looked around ten.

“This is Henry,” she said quietly, and Neal saw her swallow hard.  “I gave him up when he was born…but he’s my son.”

Had someone dropped an anvil on Neal’s head, it would have been less shocking.  Given the way today had been, the fact that this could flabbergast him was saying something, but for several seconds, his brain just shut down.  He knew his jaw had flopped open like a dead fish, but numbers were whirling in his mind, and Neal Cassidy had never been an idiot.

“How…how old is he?” he finally managed to ask.

“Ten,” Emma answered.  “Almost eleven.”

“Is he—is he _mine_?” Somehow, the words made it out around the lump in his throat, and part of Neal was screaming that it _couldn’t be,_ but Emma nodded minutely in response, and he felt the world drop out from under his feet.  _I have a son,_ he realized.  _One who I abandoned just like I was abandoned._

It was a good thing he was sitting down, because otherwise, Neal thought he might have fallen flat on his face.  Or thrown up.  And he wasn’t quite sure that he wasn’t going to do the later, either.  He was stuck in an emotional whirlwind, thinking about a son he’d never known about— _Henry_ , Emma had said his name was.  _His name is  Henry—_ and about how he’d inadvertently done the same thing his father had done to him.  Only Neal hadn’t even had the opportunity to screw things up, first.  He’d never even known.  _God.  I think I understand how Papa feels right now._

Illogically, and for the first time in at least fifty years, Neal really wished his father was there right now.  Because Rumplestiltskin had been a good dad, right up until everything had gone to crap, and Neal really needed someone to lean on right now.  Except he didn’t have that.  He was sitting in a car with the ex-girlfriend he’d betrayed, while his dad’s dagger was in the clutches of a psychopathic Evil Queen, and he had a son he’d never even met.  Hands shaking wildly, he reached out and took the phone when Emma offered it, staring at a little boy with messy brown hair and his own brown eyes.  Henry was smiling, and he looked happy.  He looked like a good kid.

“You never told me,” he finally managed to say, trying to keep his tone from becoming accusatory.  After all, she just _had_ told him, so whatever Emma’s previous intentions had been didn’t really matter.  Neal wanted to be angry, but he wasn’t sure he had the right, so he stepped on the desire to shout at her.  It wouldn’t help, and sure as hell wouldn’t make his crazy day any better.

“It was a closed adoption,” Emma explained, still not looking at him.  “I wasn’t supposed to ever see him again, until he showed up on my doorstep in Boston and dragged me to Storybrooke.”

“He _what_?” Despite the seriousness of the situation, Neal found himself smiling.   _Resourceful little bastard, my son is._   He barely managed not to laugh when Emma glared at him half-heartedly.

“Yeah.  He got adopted by—get this—my step-aunt and my _dad_.  Who Cora had married to one another under the curse.”

“So, your mom’s evil stepsister adopted your kid?” he had to ask.  He knew the common fairytale tropes as well as anyone, and although Snow White wasn’t supposed to have an evil stepsister, it kind of figured.

Emma snorted with laughter.  “No, actually.  Mary Marg—ack, my mom—and Regina actually get along really well.  Or so they both have said, anyway.”  She grimaced.  “Regina’s not around right now.”

“Dead?”

“Sleeping curse,” she corrected him, and Neal really wanted to bash his head into the car window.

Well, wasn’t _that_ typical?  “Damn.”

“Yeah.”  Emma grimaced again, leaning back in her seat and giving him a bemused look.  “Best I can figure, my mom and I are going to move in with my dad, into the house he shared with Regina.  Henry’s already got a room there, and it’s not like David and Regina were sleeping together, anyway, so we’ll all be one big happy family.”

Her voice got a little strained there at the end, a little high pitched with something almost like very well-contained hysteria.  Again, Neal burned to reach out to her, and finally gave into the urge, cautiously putting a hand on her arm where it lay on the armrest.

“It’s a bit much to get used to, isn’t it?” he asked quietly.

“Henry’s been telling me for _months_ that the curse was real and I was supposed to break it, but until I got to face down with the Jabberwocky this morning, it never really sank in,” she replied wryly.  “And now everyone’s awake, and this is _supposed_ to be the happy ending, but Cora’s still a bitch.  She also seems to have missed the memo that she _lost_.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t getting that vibe from her, either,” Neal chuckled, and Emma just sighed again.

“You want to meet him?  Henry, I mean.”

Of course he did.   More than anything.  But Neal had been Baelfire back in another life, and he’d learned an awful lot about deals and loopholes in Neverland.  Pan had been a right bastard who never did anything he didn’t _specifically_ promise to do (and sometimes not even that).  His father had been better, meticulously adamant about keeping his promises, save the one, but Neal knew from several lifetimes’ experiences that magic users were notoriously capricious.  Every last one of them.

“Yes, but…um…” he muttered thoughtfully, turning the facts over in his mind.

“You don’t have to be worried about if he’ll accept you or not.  Henry’s a good kid.  I’ll tell him I never told you about him, and he won’t be mad.  Not at you.”

“It’s not that,” Neal said quickly.  “It’s just, well, do you know the terms of the deal my dad made with Cora?”

Emma shrugged.  “His dagger for you.  Why?”

“Because if she knows Henry’s my kid—and papa’s grandkid—that could really endanger Henry.”

“Yeah, she _would_.”  The words were a hiss, and Emma’s posture immediately went rigid, with all the protectiveness of a fierce mother bear radiating from her.  _I’d always thought she’d be a great mom,_ Neal thought a little sadly. _I just always thought I’d get to see it.  In Tallahassee._

But thinking like that wasn’t going to get him anywhere, so he pushed the thoughts aside.  He’d come to Storybrooke to help Emma, not to fall back in love with her.  He owed her an apology, not a romance—because there was no way in hell that she wanted that.  Not from him.  She’d probably found someone, anyway, because ten years had passed and Emma was one hell of a desirable woman.  She wasn’t wearing a ring, but a lot of women didn’t, and she didn’t have to be married for it to be serious. 

She was still wearing that swan keychain around her neck, though, Neal noticed.  He just didn’t say anything as they started to form a plan.

* * *

 

Cora’s magic took them to her summer house—or, rather, she teleported herself and her will _dragged_ Rumplestiltskin along.  That was an entirely unpleasant feeling, one he’d never experienced before and did not care to again.  They landed in the reception room of the large modern mansion, and Rumplestiltskin glanced around curiously, trying to shake the cold feeling of terror that the sight of _his_ dagger in Cora’s hand inspired.  He’d never been to this house, though he knew of it; most of Storybrooke’s residents didn’t even realize that Cora’s summer house _existed,_ but Gold had owned fifty-one percent of all real estate in the town.  That, and Rumplestiltskin had always known that Cora would want a bolt-hole.  She always did.

Thinking about his surroundings—wood paneled and elegant though they were—did nothing to distract him.  He still felt trapped, still felt like the invisible bars of a cage were pressing in on him.  His magic was off, unresponsive and sluggish, and even his senses were dulled.  There was a sickening sort of gravity pulling him in Cora’s direction, and Rumplestiltskin tried to resist it, instead focusing on the ornate table and chairs to his left, only to find the pressure growing and growing, until he found his feet taking him to Cora.  Gritting his teeth did not help him resist it.  Nothing did.

The pressure lessened when he was within arms’ reach, and Rumplestiltskin stubbornly rebelled against going any closer.

“This dagger is quite remarkable,” Cora said softly, stroking the blade carefully with the tip of one finger.  “You’ve never been truly controlled, have you?”

“No,” he ground out, not _wanting_ to answer but finding that the word came out almost automatically.

 _This is going to be dangerous,_ Rumplestiltskin thought as logically as he could.  He had to find ways to fight it, had to find loopholes, but he felt so trapped.  He knew his eyes were wide and his posture tense; his breathing was ragged and terrified.  _I did it for Bae,_ he told himself desperately.  _Bae is safe, and that’s what counts._

Perhaps clinging that thought could let him face what was to come with a little courage.

Cora smiled.  “You have to answer me, don’t you, Rumple dear?”

He tried not to, and pain reared up immediately, starting at the back of his skull and blossoming rapidly.  Snarling, Rumplestiltskin gave in: “Yes.”

“Oh, this is going to be _fun_ ,” she whispered, stepping towards him and reaching for his face.  Instinctively, Rumplestiltskin tried to jerk back, but his head only twitched imperceptivity.  Her expression curious, Cora stopped her hand just inches from  his left cheek, studying him.  “I don’t have to tell you to stay still, do I?” she asked.  “I can just… _will_ it.”

They both knew the answer, but she was going to make him say it. 

“Yes,” Rumplestiltskin admitted, digging deep within his anger to find a way to glare at her instead of showing his terror.  He snapped the next words.  “You can.”

Her hand continued its journey, and fingers traced his left cheekbone, the touch feather-light, but enough to make him shudder.  Enough to take him back to nights tied down and—

 _Don’t do this!  Not now,_ he told himself desperately, squeezing his eyes shut.  Rumplestiltskin had to control his fears, now more than ever.  What had happened in the past didn’t matter.  What was going to _come_ couldn’t matter.  He had to be strong, for his family.  And he could take refuge in his fury, could call upon his curse’s anger over being trapped like this.  Oh, it hated being controlled almost as much as he did—

“Open your eyes,” Cora commanded, and they snapped open before he could even contemplate fighting the order.  She smiled.  “Better.”

Cora’s hand drifted into his hair, brushing it back against his shoulders and then moving up to trace his jaw.  Again, Rumplestiltskin tried to pull away, trying to feed his anger and find strength in it, but her smile robbed him of that.  He would not shake.  He wouldn’t.

“I would hardly call this _better_ , dearie,” he snarled, just to fill the silence and force down his terror.

“But your opinion doesn’t matter, does it?” she asked, still smiling.  “This dagger”—it came up, still held in her left hand, to touch the bottom of his chin oh-so-lightly—“makes you my slave.  Doesn’t it?”

He didn’t want to answer that, but pain reared up, and again, they both knew it was true.  Teeth gritted, Rumplestiltskin spat the word out: “Yes.”

“Say it.” He could hear the power in the demand, the swell of her ego.

“No.”

Even a verbal refusal was hard to force out, and immediately, fireworks exploded in his head.  Crying out, Rumplestiltskin’s hands came up, and he tried to double over, but Cora had wanted him standing like this, so standing he would remain.  Black, red, and then white spots arced through his vision, and he staggered helplessly, unable to see through the pain.  The pressure kept increasing, too, and a part of Rumplestiltskin knew beyond a doubt that it would _keep_ doing that until he gave in.  Cora, however, was not so patient.

“Say it,” she repeated, and the pressure increased tenfold, drawing a ragged gasp out of Rumplestiltskin. 

“I am your slave,” he whispered, _hating_ himself and able to taste the shame, but he couldn’t fight this.  Soon enough, the curse would have forced the words out of him, one way or another, and the pain was excruciating.

Fortunately, the pressure subsided once he submitted, and after a few moments, Rumplestiltskin was able to see again.  Cora’s smile had only grown.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He snorted, a raw sound of pain and derision, fury rising to replace the agony now that it was gone.  Cora, however, did not give him a chance to find some way to defy her.

“Then get on your knees,” she told him, the words quiet but no less powerful because of it.  She could _force_ him, they both knew, send him crashing down with the mere power of her will and the dagger, but no, Cora wanted to make him do it himself. 

The pressure started to build immediately, before Rumplestiltskin could even decide if he wanted to try to resist or not.  Perhaps it was his imagination, but the pain seemed to build _faster_ now, spider webbing outwards from the back of his skull and radiating waves of agony into his mind.  He wanted to whimper, and then did before he could stop himself.  His eyes were watering by the time Rumplestiltskin lowered himself to his knees.  But he glared at Cora, refusing to let the pain escape still more, channeling his hatred and his fury into strength.  It almost worked.

She just looked down at him, his old lover who now commanded his soul, smiling contentedly.  But there was a mischievous little gleam in her eyes that made his stomach roll.  _Think of Bae.  Think of Belle, of Gabi, of everyone you have to fight for,_ he told himself desperately.  _You have to be strong for them._   Yet here he was, on his knees before Cora, utterly unable to fight her.  And then she dug into their shared past, knowing exactly how to utterly humiliate him.

Cora was the only one he had ever told that story to, back when he’d thought he might be falling in love.  The command came whisper-soft and almost seductive:

“Kiss my boot.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful response to the last chapter! You made a bad week much better.
> 
> Now, a public service announcement! I’ll be on vacation next week, so I’ll be posting on Monday and Thursday instead of the usual days. I probably won’t have time to respond to comments while I’m gone, but so long as the internet holds up, I’ll get the chapters posted. But please don’t think I’m ignoring you or not grateful! I’ll just be very busy. :)
> 
> Up Next: Chapter Seventy-Nine—“Freedom and Families,” where Neal meets his stepmother and sister (making a hilarious mistake while he’s at it), Cora explores the limits of her new power, and Emma tries to make sense of everything. 
> 
> And now, an amazing piece of art by the incomparable Kamden, made for this chapter:


	79. Freedom and Families

“So, where are you taking me, anyway?” Neal asked as Emma drove the car around the edge of town, taking one residential street and then another.

“I promised Gold that I’d take you to his house,” she answered enigmatically, and that made him throw her a quizzical look.

“Why would you do that?”

Emma fidgeted, and the way her hands shifted nervously on the steering wheel made Neal a little suspicious.  Ten years might have passed since they’d see one another, but he still knew her tells; Emma wasn’t saying something, and whatever that was had to be significant.  Her eyes were suddenly very focused on the road, and she looked like she was searching for a careful answer.  Of course, Neal didn’t exactly have a leg to stand on when it came to demanding anything out of Emma, and he knew that, but he was still wary.

“Emma?” he asked when she said nothing, and his ex-girlfriend—the mother of his _child!_ —sighed.

“I’m really not the one who should tell you this,” she grumbled immediately. 

“Tell me _what_?” Neal couldn’t help pressing.

Emma swallowed, glancing his way as if to gauge his reaction.  “You’ve, uh, got a sister.”

“I’ve got a _what_?”  His voice might have gone a bit squeaky on that one, but who could blame him?  Out of all the things Neal had imagined Emma saying, that one hadn’t even been on the list.  The idea of his father having another child— _ever_ —hadn’t so much as entered his mind.  For all the mixed feelings he had about his father now (leftover anger, confusion, and unexpectedly deep worry), Neal had never once even thought that somewhere, somehow, his father might have made it so that he was no longer an only child.  _I’m not sure I want to know,_ Neal decided as the bug rolled to a stop in front of a giant pink house.  _And even if I do, I doubt Emma knows the details._

“Yeah, well, at least your dad doesn’t look _your_ age,” Emma retorted, putting the car in park and climbing out.

“You’ve lost me now,” he replied, unbuckling and getting out.  While he did so, Neal shot the pink house a dubious glance.  It was definitely a Victorian style mansion, nice and, well, _huge_ , but not exactly what he would have thought his father was into.  _Then again, I haven’t seen Papa for centuries.  A lot has changed…including him._

_I think._

Rumplestiltskin _had_ seemed different when they’d spoken, regretful and more himself than Baelfire had seen him in the months following his becoming the Dark One.  He’d been so like the father Bae had once loved so much that it _hurt_ , and now Neal wasn’t sure what to make of any of it.  Centuries of resentment and anger didn’t just vanish in an instant, but part of him wanted them to.  _And now I have a sister.  Damn._

“Coming?” Emma asked, and Neal abruptly realized that she’d made it halfway up the walk while he stared stupidly at the house.

“Yeah.  Sure.”  Somehow, he forced a smile, but Neal had no idea where it came from.  He hadn’t expected _anything_ like this to happen when he headed to Storybrooke; hell, he’d expected that someone would have offed his father by now, rather like his father had killed the previous Dark One, whatever his name had been.  That possibility had seemed logical enough, anyway.  _Instead of dying, Papa apparently reproduced,_ he thought wryly, jogging to catch up with Emma just as she rang the doorbell.

“You okay?” his ex-girlfriend asked.

Neal shrugged.  “It’s all relative, right?”

“Ooh.  Bad pun.”

For a moment, they grinned at one another, and just for a split second, it was like old times.  Once, they’d been so damned in tune with one another that they could read the slightest glance.  A slight shadow of that closeness still existed, and part of Neal burned to bring it back.  He almost opened his mouth to say something along those lines—undoubtedly something completely stupid, too—when the door opened, revealing a very attractive brunette who looked younger than he did.  Somehow, that was a relief.  The last thing he needed was a sister who looked _older_ than him.

_She definitely didn’t get those eyes from Pop,_ was his first thought.  His second was that she looked like someone who was devastated but trying to be brave, wearing a smile that said she was determined to be welcoming.  Her eyes widened as she looked at him, and then the brunette turned to Emma.

“Thank you for bringing him, Emma,” she said softly, in an accent that Neal couldn’t place at all.

“It’s, uh, no problem,” Emma replied, looking awkward.  “We kinda knew one another already.”

That made the brunette blink.  “You do?”

“Long story,” Emma said shortly, glancing at Neal, who shrugged.  He was about to open his mouth when the other woman spoke asked hesitantly:

“So…it’s done?”  She bit her lip, looking very young and vulnerable.

Emma winced.  “Yeah.”

“Right,” the brunette said brightly, turning to Neal with a smile he could tell was forced.  “You must be Baelfire.  I have to admit that you’re a little older than I’d expected.”

“Older—?” Blinking, he cut himself off.  “Right.  Yeah, no, I’ve been around a bit.  I actually go by Neal these days, though.”

“Neal it is, then,” she replied, holding out a hand.  “I’m Belle.”

He took the surprisingly delicate and soft hand, smiling wryly.  “And you’re my sister.”

“ _What?_   Oh, no.”  Blue eyes went wide, and the hand pulled out of his surprisingly quickly, leaving Neal confused.

“But Emma said…”

“You might as well come inside,” Belle chuckled.  “Gabrielle—your sister—is in the living room.  She’s three and a half.”

“Three and a—damn,” Neal managed, and somehow wrapping his mind around having a three-year-old sister was even harder than thinking that this attractive brunette might be his sister.  “Then, if you don’t mind me asking, who the hell are you?”

That made her laugh outright, and Emma mutter something under her breath that Neal couldn’t catch.  Turning to glare at her didn’t help; Emma only shrugged.

“Not my fault you’re an idiot.”

“You could have _mentioned_ it,” he shot back.

Emma smirked.  “Watching you flounder’s always been fun.”  Then she turned to Belle. “I’ve got to get going.  There’s no telling what’s going on in town right now.”

“Be safe,” Belle said quietly, and Neal turned to look at his ex.

“Call me in the morning?” he asked, wishing the question didn’t sound so much like a plea.

Thankfully, Emma nodded.  “I will,” she promised, and headed down the walk as Neal followed Belle into his father’s house. 

The mansion was as nice inside as out, tastefully furnished and with really nice stained glass around the front doors.  It sure didn’t look like even the nicer hovel they’d moved into after his father became the Dark One; that place had overflowed with pointless _stuff_ and everything had clashed.  This home, however, might have had antique decorations, but they somehow looked like they belonged.  Still, he wasn’t there to look around like the fifth grader he’d never been, so Neal cleared his throat, preparing to repeat his previous query, albeit less rudely.  Belle, however, got in first as she closed the door.

“To answer your question,” she said in that soft accent of hers, “I suppose I’m your stepmother.”

“My _what_?”  He’d expected a sister.  Not a sister _and_ a stepmother.  But one did kind of lead to the other, and Neal felt like an idiot for staring at her open-mouthed like this.  Not like he could stop himself.

“Your father and I married in four years before the curse,” Belle explained, but that only made things _more_ weird.

“Sparkly scales and all?” he couldn’t help asking.  After all, the dagger still could control his father, which meant he was still the Dark One.  And that meant the wild looks were still disturbingly on the table.

“And the annoyingly high-pitched voice,” she confirmed, and Neal just stared.  Belle shrugged.  “It’s a long and complicated story, but we fell in love.  We were separated for much of the curse—your father can be extremely paranoid when it comes to protecting those he loves—but he woke up when Emma arrived.  Rumple woke me up not long after.”

_Rumple._ Interesting.  Cora had called his father that, used the nickname that Neal remembered the Dark One completely abandoning.  He’d _killed_ someone for addressing him so familiarly, way back in the beginning, yet here were two women that did.  _Then again, if Belle’s_ married _to him, I suppose that would give her a good reason to.  I hope._

“Please say something,” Belle said quietly, which made him realize he’d been quiet for far too long.

“Sorry,” Neal replied.  “It’s…a lot to take in.  When I, uh, left, there wasn’t much loveable about Pop.”

“I know.  He told me.”

_I bet he didn’t._ “How much?”

“Rumple told me that letting you go was the worst thing he’d ever done.  He spent centuries looking for you,” Belle answered immediately, and the compassion in her eyes was almost unnerving.  “He loves you so very much.  I don’t know how much time Cora gave the two of you—”

“We got to talk,” Neal cut her off quickly, not wanting to get into details.  Thinking about what his father had done for _him_ hurt a surprising amount.  _“I chose this over you once,”_ Rumplestiltskin had said _. “Never again.”_

“Good,” she replied, and then reached over to pick up a vial off a side table in the hall without asking for details.  “Then drink this, and then perhaps I can introduce you to your sister.  Gabi is very eager to meet you.”

“She knows about me?”

“Of course she does.  She always has.”

That was…touching, somehow.  Neal had always imagine that his father had forgotten all about him after deciding he wanted power more than he wanted his son, but perhaps things weren’t that simple at all.  But he really wanted something more concrete to focus on, so he glanced at the vial Belle was offering.

“What _is_ that, anyway?” he had to ask.

“A potion that will heal your wounds,” Belle answered bluntly.  “Rumple figured that, knowing Cora, you wouldn’t be all right.  And that she probably wouldn’t give him time to heal you.”

“I’ve had worse,” Neal said automatically, but still accepted the vial and uncorked it.  The potion smelled unexpectedly good, like flowers of some sort.  Then again, he remembered a few plants and flowers in Neverland that could do the same kind of thing, even if they did take a few days to fix things up.  _Not that pain ever stopped Pan from playing his ‘games’,_ he thought bitterly, and then pushed the thought aside.  This wasn’t Neverland, and his father probably knew what he was doing.

“That’s not a reason to be in pain,” she pointed out bluntly, and Neal threw his stepmother (and wasn’t _that_ idea enough to break his brain) a crooked smile. 

“Guess not.”  This was the moment, wasn’t it?  He could choose to trust his father—to trust the man who had just given up his freedom to save the son he hadn’t seen in centuries—or not.  The answer was surprisingly easy.

Neal downed the potion.

 

* * *

 

Cora left him on his knees after he kissed her boot, looming over Rumplestiltskin and demanding answers to any question she could think of regarding his curse.  Stuck there and boiling with fury, Rumplestiltskin answered as simply and shortly as he could, but found that—much to his horror—he could not lie to her _at all_.  Oh, he could evade and play with words, but in the end, he always had to answer Cora’s questions.  Blinding pain greeted every effort to lie or resist answering at all, and Rumplestiltskin had found himself screaming more than once when Cora turned his curse on him, using it to punish him for even attempting to fight.  By now, Rumplestiltskin was breathing hard, struggling not to slump on his knees and give Cora the satisfaction of seeing him so weak.

Still, his vision was swimming and edged with red; focusing was getting harder and harder.

“Now,” Cora said softly, running her fingers along the edge of the dagger.  Was it just his imagination, or could Rumplestiltskin _feel_ that slight contact?  It felt like her nails were scratching at his soul.  “Tell me why you wanted the curse broken.”

“You know why,” he retorted, his voice a little hoarse from screaming earlier.  But Rumplestiltskin could still glare defiantly—at least until Cora stepped forward and reached a hand out to stroke his hair.

“Why not come to me and simply _ask_ to leave?” she asked curiously, her light touch coming right out of so many of his nightmares.  “Why back the Savior?”

Yanking away, Rumplestiltskin snarled: “Don’t touch me.”

“No,” Cora replied coolly, and Rumplestiltskin felt the dagger’s magic immobilize him.  “You will not pull away from me.  _Ever_.”

Eyes wide, Rumplestiltskin froze.  He couldn’t stop the shiver than ran down his spine as he stared at her, caught helplessly in his own curse’s trap.  All he could do was stay still as Cora ran her fingers through his hair, her touch growing hard and harder, until she was scraping her nails against his skull, all because she _could_.  And he had to take it, no matter how his skin crawled and he burned to shy away.  He just wanted to run away, to hide, to be _anywhere_ but here.  Because he knew what would come later.

“Now,” she said after a moment of ominous silence.  “Answer my question.”

From somewhere deep in a soul he hadn’t known he still had, Rumplestiltskin summoned up a dark and nasty smile.  “I don’t like to bet on losers, dearie.”

“Your judgment is clearly lacking these days, Rumple.”  Cora laughed softly, her hand fastening in his hair tightly enough to make Rumplestiltskin grunt.  “Now,” she said, a slow smile growing on her face.  “Tell me about Lacey French—or is she Lacey _Gold_ now that the two of you had your little clandestine marriage?”

“So you know about that,” he growled.  “What’s your point?”

Answering her question with a question was dangerous, and Rumplestiltskin could feel the pressure building inside his mind.  He was skirting dangerously close to the edge, but he _had_ to.  Cora already knew enough about Belle, and his formal adoption of Gabrielle in Storybrooke would keep her safe as well.  _Or will it?_ Rumplestiltskin was playing a dangerous game, and he knew it.

“I want to know about her.  You said she was your maid back in the Enchanted Forest.  Tell me her real name,” Cora ordered, her voice firm—and now, the moment Rumplestiltskin hesitated, pain rose to meet his resistance.

“Her name is Belle,” he ground out from between gritted teeth.  He couldn’t pull away from her, but he could turn his eyes away at least. 

“And what does this Belle mean to you?” she pressed immediately, and Rumplestiltskin tried for the quick and easy answer:

“I did marry her,” he said dryly, hoping to avoid the searing pain in his head and get Cora off the subject as quickly as possible.

“Look at me,” the Evil Queen demanded, and Rumplestiltskin’s eyes snapped to her face before he could even think about fighting.  Desperately, he focused on his anger, dug into the whispers of his curse, struggling to mask his feelings from this woman who could force him to bare his soul.  But it was too late.  A tiny smirk was already playing over Cora’s face, and she continued: “Why marry her here?”

That was easy.  He could even let his anger fuel the answer: “Because I wanted to keep her safe from _you_.”

“You love her.”

It wasn’t a question.  He could say nothing, even when pain rose.  Couldn’t he?

The pressure was building, slower than before, but steady and strong.  Rumplestiltskin felt an irresistible tug, but still he resisted.  Marriage he could admit to, because—particularly in their world—marriage was no true indication of an emotional connection.  Love, however, love was weakness, particularly in Cora’s eyes.  Belle was his strength, but his feelings for her were also a weakness he could ill-afford to have Cora exploit.  Especially now.  He’d written that contract carefully before he handed over the dagger, and Rumplestiltskin was fairly sure it would hold, but there was no knowing for certain.  He had not had much time to infuse the proper magic into the agreement, and there was no reason to give Cora a _reason_ to try to break it.  Even if he knew she would eventually.

So, he gritted his teeth and resisted the steadily increasing pressure, rationalizing with his curse that Cora had made a statement that did not need either confirmation nor rebuttal.  Rumplestiltskin was breathing hard, and his vision was swimming.  He still couldn’t look away from Cora, but the fact that he could hardly see her now was almost something of a bonus, particularly because he was _doing it_.  He was able to resist this compulsion, just enough, and—

“Answer me,” she commanded, and fiery pain made his vision go white.

Trying to bite his tongue, trying to focus on the pain and endure, Rumplestiltskin managed a short cry of agony, wordless and pained.  But then the answer came out, utterly against his will:  “Yes.”

One word, and the pressure relented, leaving him gasping and swaying on his knees.  A long moment passed as his vision cleared, and by then Cora was watching him contemplatively, her hand still fastened in his hair.

“You’re fighting to protect her,” she mused.  “And yet I can’t harm her, because you _are_ married.  So, there must be something else.”  Brown eyes narrowed, and then Cora laughed softly.  “Oh.  She loves you as well, doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” Rumplestiltskin gritted out, but he had to pick his battles, didn’t he?  Thinking his love for Belle was unrequited wouldn’t change how Cora approached the situation, and trying to tell her that no one could love the Dark One was fairly foolish, given their past.  Cora had seen him at his most vulnerable, and knew better than almost anyone that there was a man beneath the monster.

“That child is _yours_ ,” Cora breathed, and yes, she knew very well that he was perfectly capable of fathering a child, didn’t she?  After all, she’d once cheated him out of one.

A glare did nothing to reduce the pressure that rose; apparently, his responses had to be verbal.  “Yes,” Rumplestiltskin whispered.  He could protect Gabrielle with that much, at least, even if he burned to somehow stop the way Cora was flaying away at every secret he had.

“Oh, bravo, Rumple.  I truly never expected that,” she replied, patting his head like he was a pet.  That made Rumplestiltskin snarl, but Cora only laughed again.  “Were you married back in our world, or did you merely deflower your maid there?”

“Married,” he snapped, goaded by the implication that he would ever have taken Belle against her will.  “I think you know me better than that, dearie.”

Cora’s smile was full of sharp edges, and her fingers moved to under his chin, forcing his head up.  “I think it’s doubly delicious that I so repeatedly forced you to betray your little wife,” she purred.  “Now I’ve taken you away from her forever, and you’re no more than my slave.”  Fingers brushed over his lips.  “In every way.”

Rumplestiltskin shuddered, and was so very grateful that did not require a response.  She had the dagger.  There was nothing he could do to stop her if she demanded he submit to her sexually, and she would.  They both knew that.

He had no answer, not to Cora’s hungry smile.  Not when she stepped back and gestured him to his feet.  Rumplestiltskin simply got up, wary and tense, watching the Evil Queen through eyes that he wished were not so wide.  Even playing twenty questions was better than what was surely to come; resistance only meant pain there, not degradation or humiliation.  _Or rape._   Just remembering previous nights in Cora’s hands, both while cursed and after, made Rumplestiltskin tremble slightly.  Her control over him then had been bad enough; now, it was far more complete.  With the dagger, she could force him to do _anything._

“In fact,” Cora said softly, her eyes dark with lust and power.  “Let’s begin now.”

Swallowing hard, Rumplestiltskin tried to voice an objection he hoped did not sound too much like a plea:  “Cora…”

But she cut him off coldly.  “Take your clothes off.”

* * *

 

“Mother’s busy,” Zelena replied with a giggle, and Killian found himself really wishing for a bucket of water to throw at her.  _I wonder if she’d really turn into a screeching puddle of goo, or if that’s just another thing the Land Without Magic got wrong?_ The pirate thought idly.  _Then again, I’ve never worn a wig of  ridiculously long curls, so odds are against a bucket of water ridding me of this annoying witch._

Besides, it wasn’t like he would really have tried to do her in.  Zelena might be annoying, but she was Cora’s daughter, and right now, Killian was on Cora’s side.  Whether he liked it or not.  He hadn’t expected the crocodile to bring _Emma Swan_ , of all people, to that little meeting with Cora, but now she had Baelfire, and Bae was certain to tell her that Killian had played a prominent role in his own kidnapping.  And Emma had _also_ been in the bastard’s shop when Killian delivered his message, which meant he’d confirmed her suspicions that he was working with Cora.  _I do wonder if Her Majesty had any clue that would happen,_ he thought grouchily.  _I would not put it past her to secure my loyalty by removing my options like that._

Not that there wouldn’t be another opportunity to swap sides, but at the moment, Killian was not prepared to bet against Cora.  _Face it.  The heroes are far more likely to accept a ‘reformed’ villain if it comes to that,_ he told himself.  _Once you betray a villain, well,_ villains _don’t forgive or forget_.  _I can’t abandon Cora until I’m_ certain _she’s going to lose, or she’ll end me._

“She’s the one who told me to keep an eye on Baelfire,” he told Zelena a little testily.  “I’m merely here to deliver said information.”

“Well, you can tell me instead,” the redhead retorted primly.  “Mother’s busy with her new toy and can’t be deserved.”

“New…toy?” Killian wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Rumple, of course,” Zelena clarified, her eyes a little wild with victory.  Almost on cue, a cry of pain came from a few rooms away, made faint by distance yet obviously loud enough at its origin.  And that was _definitely_ the damn crocodile’s voice.

That realization, of course, made Killian smile.  Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t wish Cora on _anyone_ , but he’d make an exception for Rumplestiltskin. 

“Ah,” he said, shrugging.  “In that case, I’m happy to wait.  Unless you want to pass a bit of information along to her?”

After all, what he had come to share was no surprise whatsoever, and stroking Zelena’s ego was always useful.  So long as Zelena _liked_ him—which Killian knew she did—that provided a layer of protection.  If worst came to worst, she would pester her mother into keeping him safe.  And Killian had not allied himself with the Evil Queen without realizing how dangerous she was, particularly now.

“I’d be happy to,” the Wicked Witch beamed, so Killian told her all about how Emma Swan had driven ‘Neal Cassidy’ around town and then finally to Gold’s pink monstrosity.  Zelena was quick enough to pick up on the fact that the Savior hanging out with the Dark One’s son was as interesting as it was unexpected, and she promised to tell Cora once she was free.

For his part, Killian left Cora to play with her toy.  No way was he getting in the middle of _that_.

* * *

 

Belle had never expected their first meeting to be so awkward.  _Rumple was supposed to be here for this,_ she thought, feeling tears prickle up behind her eyes.  Instead, her husband had given himself to that horrible woman, and Belle could hardly even focus on the fact that she _should_ be worried about what horrors Cora would use the Dark One’s power to visit upon the town.  She was too worried about what Cora would do to Rumplestiltskin as a man, not the Dark One.  They hadn’t spoken of it beforehand—Belle knew that Rumple hadn’t wanted to so much as think about it—but that didn’t mean she had no idea what Cora would do.  In fact, Belle had _far_ too good of an idea of what Cora would do to her husband.

But she couldn’t afford to focus on that right now.  Rumple’s beloved son was here, his lost Baelfire, and Belle needed to take care of him because Rumple could not.

“So,” she said as casually as she could.  “Would you like to meet Gabi now?”

“Sure,” he replied after a moment, looking like he wasn’t sure what to make of the situation, and Belle couldn’t help feel a little sorry for him.

“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Neal said, giving her a crooked smile that reminded her painful of his father.  “So, if you don’t mind me asking, how’d you and Pop wind up falling in love?”

Despite the worry churning in her gut, Belle chuckled.  “He saved my people from ogres, and in return, I agreed to come with him as a maid,” she answered.  “He was prickly and difficult at first, but once I got past that, I saw the man under the curse.  And we fell in love with one another.”

“Sounds like a hell of a story.”

“It is.”  Thinking of their odd little courtship made Belle smile, if only for a moment.  Then she reached out tentatively to lay a hand on Neal’s arm.  “Your father can be difficult sometimes, I know.  And he will always be locked in a battle with the darkness within him.  He’s better now than he was, though he still struggles.”

“He wasn’t always like that, you know,” was the immediate response.

“I know,” Belle said simply.  “But there’s one thing you also need to know.  The Blue Fairy gave you a bean to bring you to this world because there was no magic, yes?”

A slight frown marred Neal’s handsome features. “Yeah.”

“She didn’t tell you the whole truth,” Belle replied, knowing that Rumplestiltskin might not thank her for telling his son this, but Neal _needed_ to know.  “In a world without magic, Rumple would not have been able to _use_ his powers, but he still would have been the Dark One.  The darkness, his curse, would still have been there.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he objected immediately.  “Without magic…”

“As near as we can tell—and there isn’t much information on the curse of the Dark One available—the core of the curse is a primordial darkness.  It can exist in any world, and your father still heard the ‘voice’ of his curse even when there was no magic here.  Just as he would have if he’d gone through that portal with you,” she explained.  “I’m not excusing his actions, but you should know the whole truth.”

Neal was silent for several long moments, staring blankly at an antique vase that Belle had always hated.  Finally, he shrugged.

“Ah, hell.  I always knew it was too convenient for her,” he grumbled.  “I popped out in the late 1800s and lived on the streets for almost a month.  I would have died out there if a family hadn’t taken me in when they found me stealing, and there’s no way Papa could have been that lucky.”  Something crossed his face, and Belle saw old pains rising to the surface, only to be forcibly suppressed.  “I suppose that if I can forgive him for letting me go, I should try to dump the rest of my bitterness, too.”

Her heart leapt.  “You forgave him?”

“Yeah.”  Neal gave her that crooked smile again. “He apologized…and he meant what he said.  And—I mean, he gave up his _freedom_ for me.  I know what he did.  It’s hard to keep hating him and thinking he’d always choose power over me when he does something like that, y’know?”

“I know,” Belle said softly.  _At least one good thing came of this day,_ she thought, so glad to hear that Baelfire had forgiven his father.  _Rumple was so worried.  Maybe this can make it a little easier for him to hold on to hope._ Neal was obviously still angry—and rightfully so—but this was a start.  And on the topic of beginnings, she had siblings to introduce, so she cleared her throat.  “So.  Are you ready to meet your sister?”

“Better late than never, right?” he quipped, and Belle led her stepson (who was obviously older than her; she hadn’t missed the reference to landing in the nineteenth century, which meant there were some _major_ gaps in Neal’s story, since something had to explain how he was still alive) into the living room.

“Mamma!” her little girl greeted her cheerfully, looking up from the picture book she’d been flipping through.  Gabi was just starting to be able to read a few words, which proved to be yet another example of how children in Storybrooke were advancing more quickly than they should.

“Hey, you,” she said with a smile, going to sit down on the floor next to Gabrielle.  “How’s your book?”

“Good.”  Brown eyes, so very like Rumple’s—and like Neal’s, now that Belle thought of that—turned to look at her, going a little sad.  “Is Papa coming back now?”

“Oh, sweetie…” For a moment, Belle had to blink back the urge to cry.  Rumple had said goodbye to Gabrielle earlier, had explained to her that he had to go away for a little while, but such concepts were hard for even an advanced three and a half year old to grasp.  Swallowing hard, she forced her voice to be steady.  “Not yet.  Papa can’t come back yet—but someone else is here to see you.”

“Is it Bay-fare?” Gabi asked immediately, taking Belle’s breath away.  Rumple had told her that he had to go to keep someone from hurting her brother, but neither of her parents had mentioned that Baelfire might be coming to see her.  Neither had dared hope, and Gabrielle had come to that conclusion all on her own.

“Baelfire,” Neal spoke up to correct her before Belle could find a way to explain that her brother’s name was now Neal.  Gabrielle looked up at him, and he gave her a smile a smile that was hauntingly like their shared father’s before plopping down to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of them.  “But you can call me Bae.”

“Bae,” Gabi tried the name out as Belle fought back a smile.  “Okay!  I’m Gabi.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Gabi,” he replied.

Her smile was sunny, and Belle found herself so grateful that there was someone there to distract her from the fact that her father would not come home tonight.  “Nice to meet you,” Gabi grinned in that precise way only a child could manage as she learned to put full sentences together.  “Papa said you were gone.”

“I was.” Neal swallowed.  “But I’m back now, and I’m gonna help your Mamma get Papa back.  Okay?”

“Okay.”

Belle couldn’t help the way her eyes got a little watery when they met her stepson’s.  The moment Rumple had left to meet with Cora, Belle had felt so terribly alone, like she was facing off against the world without any allies.  Her father—even if he might be released from police custody that the curse was broken—had no love for the family she’d chosen, and the heroes were likely to be absorbed in their own problems.  She would _always_ fight for Rumple, but she’d had no idea how she was going to do that alone.  Now, however, it seemed like wouldn’t be.

Gabi returned to her book almost immediately; she was a loving girl but had a short attention span these days, particularly when she loved the book she was reading.  This one was one of her favorites, and Belle was fairly sure that Gabi might be learning to read via sheer memorization.  Meanwhile, Belle looked questioningly at her stepson.

“Would you prefer I call you Neal?” she asked quietly.  “It might confuse her, but Gabi’s likely to assume it’s a cursed name and be all right with it.”

He looked down at his hands and sighed.  “I spent a long time running from that, you know.”  Looking up, he seemed to come to a decision, and finally shrugged.  “But I guess maybe I was running from the wrong things.  Bae’s okay.  If I’m going to accept all this”—he gestured at the house—“I might as well be Baelfire again, too.”

“All right.  But now that that’s settled, I insist you stay here with us,” she told him, knowing that Rumple would never forgive her if she let his son stay at Granny’s.

“You sure you have the space?” he retorted teasingly, and Belle found a real smile crossing her face again.

“I think we can find a corner for you.”

* * *

 

Emma wasn’t sure what to make of _any_ of this, so she took a drive around the town just to clear her head.  It had been a hell of a day in _so_ many ways; she’d started the morning by staying up all night and taking Keith’s shift, then missed breakfast saving Henry—and breaking the damn curse while she was at it—stopped a lynch mob and watched Maleficent turn into a dragon, forgotten to eat lunch, and then ended the day by realizing _Neal_ was Gold’s freaking son.  She felt like six or seven years had passed since she’d fought goblins and that terrifying Jabberwocky, but it had really only been sixteen hours or so.  But now she had to deal with the fallout.

First amongst those issues, of course, was Neal Cassidy.  She’d loved him, once, with a depth and an intensity that _today’s_ Emma Swan found discomforting.  She had been so much more open back then, young and in love, trusting and so certain that they would have a life together.  Then everything had gone to pieces, and (as far as she’d known), Neal had dumped his own crimes on her head and gotten away scot-free.  Of course, August had thrown another dozen monkey wrenches into her long-held bitterness on that front by admitting that _he_ had called the cops and had been the brains behind that stupid little plan.  None of that absolved Neal from the choices he’d made—and apologized for—but it did put things in a little bit of perspective.

_I just wanted you to find your family,_ Neal had said, and Emma’s heart clenched.  Damn it all, she _had_ found her family, even if she hardly knew what to do with them at the moment.  Her parents were probably still trying to impose order on the town, and Mary Margaret—or Snow, Emma supposed, because damn the woman was different now!—was probably going to be rather disappointed that she hadn’t managed to wrangle an alliance out of Gold.  _No, instead I watched him hand himself over to Cora, who apparently can now make him do_ anything _she wants,_ Emma thought, snorting to herself.  Yeah, it had been one hell of a day.

But it was time to face things, head back to Regina’s house (where she and Mary Margaret were both now staying), and start figuring out how they were going to beat Cora.  Her own complicated feelings about Neal could wait for another day, because Emma was so not ready to face them right now.  _For all I know, he’s with someone else, anyway,_ she thought cynically.  Sending someone to jail was a hell of a way to break up with a girl, after all.

“Screw this,” she muttered to herself, pulling into the driveway, bleary eyed and barely able to see straight.  “I’ve got to get some sleep.”

Too tired to remember to eat, Emma wound up sleeping straight through dinner.

* * *

 

Cora had sent him to a cage in her damn cellar when she was done with him, though at least she had given him the dignity of his shirt and trousers afterwards.  Nothing else, though.  Well.  Nothing else save the pair of shackles holding his hands behind his back and already making his shoulders ache.

It wasn’t that Cora _needed_ to bind him.  No, she just knew he hated it, knew it made Rumplestiltskin feel helpless and trapped.  She’d already woven tight commands around him that he could not escape: no using magic without explicit permission from her, no leaving the cage without the same, and no healing himself (or allowing his curse to do so).  The last command left him aching and shaky, feeling vulnerable and violated in addition to being in pain.  He’d had to lower himself into a sitting position carefully.  It was amazing how badly his balance was impacted by having his hands bound behind him, and there was absolutely no way to get comfortable.  Having Geppetto in the cage to his left, and having the old man witness the latter half of his humiliation only made things worse.

At least Cora had seen fit to rape him in private.  Geppetto had only seen the rest of it, after Cora had grown sick of sex and brought him downstairs to ‘punish’ him.  Now, Rumplestiltskin remained silent, stubbornly ignoring the old man’s attempts to start any sort of conversation and staring at the far wall. 

The door opened, and heels clicked on the wooden stairs, growing louder as they approached.  Unable to help himself, Rumplestiltskin tensed, struggling to get up—and almost falling—because he refused to meet Cora sitting down.  The concrete floor was cold against his bare feet, and burns and cuts ached fiercely when he moved, but he was _not_ going to let her turn him into some broken toy that cowered in the corner when she approached.

Even if a large part of him wanted to do just that.

But it wasn’t Cora who approached; it was Zelena.  Half relieved and half worried, Rumplestiltskin forced his chin up, again digging into his anger and his darkness, letting his curse out to play in the forefront of his consciousness.  He _needed_ the darkness now.  It could protect him far better than he could protect himself.  Yet he had to be careful not to let it go too far, because with someone controlling him, with someone using _his_ soul to control his curse and its power, he was at greater risk to losing himself to the Dark One than ever before.  Rumplestiltskin had never imagined that he could feel so trapped as when someone else was in possession of the dagger, but Cora didn’t have to shackle him to make him feel like he was in chains.  He had been from the moment he gave the damned thing to her.

“Defeat looks good on you, Rumple,” Zelena giggled, and he let himself snort.

_Play at being strong long enough, and maybe it will become real_ , Rumplestiltskin told himself desperately.  “You might have missed the fact that I gave that dagger up of my own free will, dearie,” he said as lightly as he could.  Yet his voice still caught.

“And now you’re Mother’s slave.”  She smiled brightly, stepping forward to wrap her hands around the bars.  “Tell me how it feels.  Tell me how much you _hate_ obeying her every whim, while your little wife sits and home and cries for you.”

“I don’t have to tell you a damn thing,” Rumplestiltskin snarled, his anger too close to the surface to keep from being goaded.  But he wouldn’t play her game.  He _wouldn’t._

“Shall I go get the dagger from Mother and force you?” Zelena asked, and there was a dangerous glint in her eyes.  “Mother already said that I can borrow it later to have a bit of playtime of my own.”

Swallowing hard, Rumplestiltskin could only stare at her for a long moment.  He couldn’t believe— _No_.  He could.  He knew his eyes were wide, then, but he was too shocked to get that initial reaction under control for a long moment.  Then, of course, his only recourse was to lash out.  “Given that we both know how well our _last_ encounter went, we both know you’ll need it to get the better of me.”

Magic lashed out, and too late, Rumplestiltskin realized he was defenseless.  Instinctively, he called on his defenses, but they wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ —answer, and Zelena’s furious attack slammed into him, throwing him hard against the concrete wall at the back of the cage.  The impact was hard enough to stun him, and Rumplestiltskin fell to his knees before he could catch himself, coughing painfully. 

“Who has the power _now_ , slave?” Zelena snarled furiously, already preparing another blow that he wouldn’t be able to defend against.

Rumplestiltskin forced himself to his feet, swaying slightly as he looked right into her eyes.  “Technically?” he asked, smiling nastily.  “Your mother.  But then, you never were going to ‘win’ without her, were you?”

Taunting her would only make things worse, but what else could he do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: Chapter Eighty—“Last Gestures,” in which Henry meets Neal, Cora decides to use Charming’s heart, Rumplestiltskin lashes out in foolish defiance, and the Jabberwocky gains a new target.
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who is still reading this story, and please forgive me for not responding to comments right away while I’m on vacation!


	80. Last Gestures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Heavy mentions of rape and torture in this chapter.

The doorbell rang, and Henry raced to answer it.   His house had become the central hub for running Storybrooke, and that was pretty cool.  Of course, everyone knew that you had to be careful what you said in front of David—or Charming, now, Henry supposed—since Cora had his heart, but the house was still _the_ place to be.  Everything important going on happened there, and Henry was so glad to be in the middle of everything.  This was what he had been waiting for ever since he’d realized that the curse was real, and he was so excited to start the first real day in a new Storybrooke where everyone remembered who they were.

So, he flung the door open without preamble, excited to see who would be the first to stop by.  Emma was still in bed, as far as he knew—she’d pulled an all-nighter prior to breaking the curse, and she’d looked like she’d been run over by a truck when she’d come in, mumbling something about Cora having the Dark One’s dagger.  Henry’d tried to explain what that meant to Snow and Charming, even if he wasn’t sure of the details, but none of them had seen Emma so far that morning to ask for more.  Hopefully, whoever was at the door might have some answers—but the thirty-ish year old man standing on the doorstep with a small bag in his hand had one of the few faces in town that Henry didn’t know.

“Uh, hi,” he said awkwardly, his enthusiasm suddenly tempered by the fact that this guy might be on the Evil Queen’s side.  What if he was one of her guards or something?

A long moment passed as the stranger just stared at Henry, and then he seemed to shake himself.  “Hey,” he said, sounding a little shell-shocked.  “Are you…Henry?”

That didn’t make sense.  Pretty much everyone in town knew he was.  Maybe this guy was having problems with his two sets of memories, but Henry still shot back: “Who’s asking?”

“My name is Neal Cassidy,” was the response.  “I’m an old friend of Emma’s.  We, uh, traveled together for a while.  And she helped me find my family last night.”

“Okay…” He trailed off, peering at Neal suspiciously.  “That doesn’t tell me why you’re here.”

Neal snorted.  “I guess it doesn’t,” he shrugged.  “Emma called me about fifteen minutes ago and asked me to drop by.  I _am_ at the right house, aren’t I?  It says Nolan on the mailbox.”

“Henry?” Emma’s voice suddenly called from down the hallway, getting in before he could answer the newcomer.  “Is that Neal at the door?”

Oh.  Well, that answered that question.  Henry twisted around to see his birth mother coming around the corner, looking a lot better than she had last night.  “You want me to let him in?”

“Probably a good idea, yeah,” she smiled, and Henry stepped out of the way.  Neal seemed to be giving him a funny look, and then he and Emma exchanged a glance that Henry couldn’t read. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Neal said as Henry closed the door, and it took the boy a minute to realize that he was talking to him.

“It’s, uh, nice to meet you, too,” he answered a little confused.

Now Neal looked embarrassed and awkward.  “Emma told me a lot about you last night.”

“I’m glad she told _someone_ something last night,” Henry said, and immediately felt guilty for how bratty he sounded.  He looked back at Emma.  “Sorry.  You were really tired and kind of out of it.”

“Some of that’s probably my fault,” Neal said quickly, and Henry again looked between the two of them.  _Old friends?_ he wondered.  _Looks like more than that to me._   “We, uh, had a lot to talk about.”

“Emma?” Snow’s voice came in from the other room.  “Do we have a visitor?”

“Yeah,” Emma replied, and then gestured at Neal.  “Why don’t you come on in the living room?  I, uh, guess you should meet my parents.”

Somehow, that seemed to make Neal a little nervous, which Henry found really weird.  But when Emma’s ‘friend’ didn’t say anything right away, he piped up:

“Are you gonna try to tell me to go to my room for this?”

Emma snorted.  “Would it work?”

“No.”

“Then you should probably come, too,” she retorted with the glimmer of a smile on her face.  Henry hadn’t _really_ thought that his birth mother would try to keep him out of things, but he really didn’t want his family to start being overprotective now.  He’d _known_ Emma would save him, otherwise he never would have eaten that apple, but the way his newly awakened grandparents reacted when he saw them for the first time said that they were _all_ feeling worried about everything.

The three of them walked into the living room together, and Henry really didn’t miss the odd looks Emma and Neal were still exchanging.  Snow apparently didn’t, either, because she came to her feet in surprise when they walked in.

“Hello,” Henry’s former teacher—and now probably the legitimate queen in Storybrooke, assuming they had one—spoke up warily.  “I don’t think I know you.”

“This is Neal,” Emma said quickly.  “He’s an old friend.”

“From outside Storybrooke?” David asked immediately, looking interested.  Henry’s heart leapt into his throat when his adopted dad wore that expression, and apparently Snow thought the same thing.

“David, are you…?”

His face fell.  “I don’t know.  I don’t think so, but would I be able to tell?  I mean, it’s not like Cora couldn’t make me say this, anyway.” 

The adults all gulped, and once again, it fell to Henry to say the obvious.  “I’m not sure we should say anything in front of Dad—err, Grandpa.  It sucks, but—”

“I actually might be able to help with that,” Neal cut in, making all eyes turn to him as he hefted the black silk bag in his hand, offering it to David.  “I think I have something in here that belongs to you.”

Henry’s adopted father took the bag warily, and then he and Snow peered inside together.  Charming’s head snapped up.  “There’s a heart in here.”

“It’s yours.”

“How the hell did you get that?” Emma demanded seconds before Henry could ask the same question.  (Except the swearing part.  There was no way he could have gotten away with swearing.)

“Belle,” Neal answered simply, earning himself four confused glances.  “Actually, it was—ah, hell, I suppose I have to start at the beginning for everyone else, huh?”

Emma looked like she might have caught on, but she nodded.  “Yeah.  Assuming you want to.”

“Well, it’s not like Cora doesn’t already know who I’m related to here,” he sighed, and that made Henry perk up.

“I thought you were from outside Storybrooke,” he said skeptically.  “ _Everyone_ who was in the Enchanted Forest came over with the curse, except for Emma and August, who came through the enchanted wardrobe.  You couldn’t have been from outside Storybrooke if you’re related to anyone here.”  He felt his eyes narrow.  “Not unless the Evil Queen _let_ you leave.”

“Henry…” Emma gave him a Look, but he wasn’t going to back down.  Neal, however, smiled.

“You’d be right if I’d been in the Enchanted Forest when the curse came through, but I left before that,” he explained, shoving his hands into his pockets.  “I think I’m actually in your book, based on what Emma says.”

“You are?” he asked eagerly, his suspicions almost vanishing with this new information.

“Yeah.  Back home, my name was Baelfire.  And, uh”—this was directed at Snow and Charming—“you guys know my father by the name of Rumplestiltskin.”

“You’re _Baelfire?_ ” Henry managed to gape right before his grandmother got in with:

“Rumplestiltskin has a _son_?”

“He does in the Book!” Henry reassured Snow, and Neal—Baelfire!—laughed.

“Yeah, though we hadn’t seen each other in a long time,” he explained.  “I, uh, wound up in another world where time doesn’t really run, which means I haven’t been in the Enchanted Forest since _way_ before any of you were born.  Long story short, I didn’t know if he was alive or dead, but Emma and I met a few years ago.  And I met August before Emma did.  He got ahold of me a couple of weeks ago and told me that Emma was here, and I figured I should come help.  Unfortunately, August kinda sold me out to Cora.”

“August _what_?” Emma snarled, looking ready to go punch the puppet in the face.

“I think Cora’s got his dad.  His name’s Geppetto, right?”

Henry nodded while the adults exchanged glances.  “He is.  Now that the curse is broken, anyway.”

“Well, then Cora’s got him squirreled away in the basement of some house outside town,” Neal answered. 

“How long has August been working for Cora?” Emma demanded, her voice hard.

“Hell if I know.  I’ve only been here three days, and two of them were spent locked in that same basement,” he said with another shrug.  “But, look, before I say anything else, it’s probably a good idea to put that heart back in, yeah?”

“How can you be sure that it’s David’s?” Snow asked suspiciously.

“Because my father went and stole it before he gave himself up to Cora,” Baelfire replied bluntly.  “I’m no expert on hearts, but I figure Pop would know.”  He glanced at Emma.  “Belle said you’d put one back in before?”

“Not like _that_ was the most pleasant experience of my life, but yeah,” Emma sighed, “I have.”  She glanced at David.  “You mind?”

“Not at all.”

Fascinated, Henry watched as Emma took the bag from Snow, pulling the beating red heart out and looking at it with wide eyes.  No one spoke as Emma carefully lined the heart up, although David seemed to brace himself.  After taking a deep breath, Henry’s grandfather nodded, and Emma shoved his heart back in.  Somehow, David managed not to gasp.

“Wow,” he said after a moment, grinning.  “That feels a lot better.”

Beaming, Snow squeezed his hand, and for a moment, Henry was transfixed watching them.  They had the perfect True Love, the love that had won wars and literally changed the world.  They were his _grandparents,_ and although David Nolan had been Henry’s adopted father and would always also be his dad, _Prince Charming_ was an awesome grandfather to have, and Henry wanted to get to know the real man now that he wasn’t cursed.  Or heartless.  David looked more alive now than Henry could ever remember him being, even when he’d been with Mary Margaret under the curse.  He just seemed _better,_ stronger, and more confident.  He was everything he was supposed to be, and it made Henry’s heart race.

David spoke up again, looking at Baelfire.  “So, I guess the real question is what Rumplestiltskin wants in exchange for stealing my heart back from Cora.”

“Honestly, I’m pretty sure he didn’t do it as a favor to you,” the Dark One’s son answered with a crooked smile that really reminded Henry of Mr. Gold.  “More like it was Pop’s last jab at Cora.”

“Last jab…?” Snow asked, her eyes narrowing in confusion.

Baelfire sighed.  “Emma told you about the dagger, right?”

“She said Cora has it, but she didn’t say what it meant,” Henry piped up when his grandparents looked a little hesitant.  “The dagger’s in the book, and I know it can kill the Dark One. That’s what Mr. Gold—Rumplestiltskin—did, right?  Is Cora gonna kill him now?”

“I don’t think so, bud,” Baelfire answered quietly, glancing down at the floor and seeming to study his scuffed up sneakers for a long minute.  “Look, I’m not sure exactly what’s in that book of yours, but I’m betting the fact that the dagger can _control_ the Dark One didn’t make it in there.  Papa was always really careful about not letting that one out.”  He looked up.  “But now you’ve got to know.  Cora has the dagger, so she can control him _and_ his magic.”

“Wait, what?” Snow demanded, staring at Baelfire like he’d gone insane.  “Why would Rumplestiltskin give her that?  Has he been working with her all along?”

Henry opened his mouth to agree with his grandmother—because the Dark One was _the_ most powerful sorcerer in the Enchanted Forest, and this was really, _really_ dangerous—but surprisingly, Emma got in first. 

“He gave it up because Cora was going to kill Neal,” she cut in before either of her parents could say more.  “They made a deal.”

* * *

 

Taunting Zelena had been a bad idea.  Taunting her—even if indulging in his sarcasm and anger had shielded Rumplestiltskin’s fragile soul a tiny bit—had wound up with him screaming in pain and violated once more.  Of _course_ Cora had been willing to loan Zelena the dagger, which meant Rumplestiltskin had endured round two with the daughter instead of the mother, and found Zelena far more vindictive and impulsive.  The only consolation was that Zelena was no exhibitionist, either, which meant she’d knocked Geppetto unconscious for the worst parts of it.  The old man had still been out when Zelena had finally left, shoving Rumplestiltskin back into his cage well after midnight, again clad in nothing but shackles, trousers, and a half-buttoned shirt.

 _I’m glad I wore black,_ he thought as he woke up the next morning, curled up on his side, arms burning numbly and all too aware of the several places he was bleeding from.  He’d known that giving Cora that dagger would be bad for his health, and truth be told, Rumplestiltskin wasn’t surprised by any of this.  But that didn’t mean he was in any way comfortable with that knowledge.  Or that it made what had happened any better.  _Don’t think about it,_ he told himself firmly.  _Dwelling on it won’t help._

But he’d give anything to be able to retreat into Belle’s arms right now, to feel safe and not vulnerable, to not feel like he was some toy for Cora to punish and then hand over to others when she felt like it.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” a gravely voice asked from the other cage, interrupting his morose thoughts.  “The Dark One.”

 _Damn_.  Zelena had called him by name, hadn’t she?  Not that it mattered particularly much, but he had enough pride to cringe inwardly.

“Yes,” Rumplestiltskin replied simply, a small corner of his mind amused that even here, even like this, Geppetto was afraid to use his name. 

With an effort, he levered himself into a sitting position, leaning against the bars of the cage and looking tiredly at the old man.  He’d barely slept at all, and while he didn’t _need_ sleep, living without it here in Storybrooke was unpleasant at best.  Not to mention the fact that any sitting position was exceedingly uncomfortable, but Rumplestiltskin tried to conceal that beyond the wince of pain he could not hold back.  His breathing was hard, too but there was no controlling that.

“How is it that the Evil Queen is holding you?” Geppetto asked, and Rumplestiltskin let out a soft snort.  At least the old woodworker didn’t think that he was on Cora’s side.

“Let’s just say that we made a deal, she and I.”

Geppetto looked him up and down, seemingly undecided on how to feel about Rumplestiltskin’s obvious physical discomfort.  _And it’s not like he didn’t see the beginning of what Zelena did to me, and that wasn’t pretty._ “Looks like you didn’t get the better end of that deal.”

“I got what I wanted.”  Briefly, Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes, the image of his grown son’s face dancing through his mind.  _He forgave me,_ Rumplestiltskin thought disbelievingly.  _My boy forgave me._   And Baelfire was safe.  Everything was worth it to keep him safe, along with Belle and Gabrielle.  His family was safe.

Those words made Geppetto give him a strange look, but Rumplestiltskin ignored him.  What did he care about what the woodworker thought?  He could easily imagine why Cora was imprisoning Geppetto—she needed a hold on August, and sometimes, holding someone’s heart was counterproductive.  Then you _had_ to control them to get what you wanted, and that took time.  It was far easier to hold a hostage, or, if you thought like Rumplestiltskin, make a deal with them.  _But Cora’s methods have always been a bit more…_ brutal _than my own,_ he thought with little amusement.

“I hope so,” the old man finally said quietly, and Rumplestiltskin tried not to bristle.

 _You don’t want his pity,_ the curse whispered inside his mind, quiet and furious.  _You’re not_ like _him.  He’s merely human, short-lived and weak.  Put him in his place._

But there was still too much humanity in Rumplestiltskin to reject a small flicker of pity when he felt so terrible.  “Me, too,” he said quietly.

“Why is she so angry with you?” Geppetto asked, clearly emboldened by the Dark One’s lack of antipathy. 

Old rage surged up, dark and violent, and Rumplestiltskin knew that his expression went cold, his eyes narrowed and dangerous.  Geppetto actually drew back a little, shivering, as Rumplestiltskin struggled to put his own personal demons back in their bottle. 

“I told her no,” he said, his voice hard.  _And I have never regretted it._

* * *

 

“I have a new target for you, dear,” Cora told the frightful creature in front of her.  She had never seen the Jabberwocky before, despite reading of the horror of Wonderland many times.  However, when Cora had begun preparing to cast the Dark Curse, she had known that the Jabberwocky might someday be instrumental to preserving that curse—or to reassert her power once the curse was broken.  Back then, the possibility of anyone breaking her curse was so very slim, but Cora had never been one to leave anything to chance.

And now she held the Vorpal blade in her hand.  So far a Cora knew, she was the only one to _ever_ possess both the Vorpal Blade and the dagger of the Dark One, to control elemental darkness and primordial fear, able to bend both to her will.  No one else had ever managed that, yet _Cora_ had, and the power was almost enough to make her giddy.  _Good thing I have left my heart safely outside my chest,_ she decided.  Otherwise, she might have allowed herself to say or do something foolish.  As things stood, she could dispassionately decide what needed to be done.  Revenge was simple, so long as you were not overly emotional about it.

Jabber sighed, cocking her head lazily, watching Cora through heavy-lidded eyes.  “What do you want me to do now?”

“I’ll have you start by showing me proper respect as your queen,” she snapped before she could stop herself, not liking the insolent look on her new servant’s face.

“And how are you going to manage _that_?” the creature drawled, laughing outright.  “The Vorpal Blade can protect you from me, but it can’t control me, _Your Majesty._ ”

“No, but it can sentence you to a long and agonizing existence pinned to a wall,” Cora purred in return, coming back on balance.  _I must be overwrought by the breaking of the curse and Maleficent’s attack,_ she thought coolly.  _I must be cautious._

“Which _might_ just seem preferable to doing your bidding, presuming it’s going to come accompanied by threats of pain and suffering,” Jabber shot back, and Cora forced her temper down.

 _I can take my anger out elsewhere,_ she told herself.  Perhaps pushing the Jabberwocky like this was foolish; she could change tactics.  It would not do for the Jabberwocky to turn on her, after all.  Cora was wise enough to know that even if she held the Vorpal Blade, the Jabberwocky could prove exceedingly difficult.

“I regret to hear that you’ve felt threatened,” Cora said smoothly.  The words were not an apology, but the Jabberwocky could be pardoned for thinking it was.  “That was never my intention, of course.”

“Of course not.”  Another insolent half-smirk crossed the angular face, but Cora ignored that.

“I would, however, appreciate your assistance in terrifying someone quite thoroughly,” she replied evenly.  “I understand such things feed your inner…darkness.”

“They do,” Jabber replied cautiously, but Cora could see the hunger in her eyes.

“Then go terrorize Snow White, but do not let her drop into incoherent terror.  Not yet, anyway.”

Dark eyes narrowed.  “Why not?”

“Because first I am going to make her watch her True Love die.” 

A shiver of anticipation ran down Cora’s spine, and she could just _feel_ Snow’s misery and heartbreak.  That would be utterly delicious, making Eva’s grasping little daughter suffer like that.  It would be her final victory over a spiteful princess who had ruined her life for no good reason.  Then, before she let Jabber finish Snow off, she would make Snow watch the noxious sheriff die.  Perhaps she would keep Henry alive; without the Charming family around, the boy was no threat, and he could wake Regina.  Regina would fall in line when she had no one else to turn to.  Cora felt the warm feeling of joy surging within her; she had made Snow suffer enough.  Now she would strike her final blows and kill her.

Smiling, she summoning Charming’s heart to her hands, but the box that landed in her palms was oddly light.  A sudden feeling of dread stole through Cora, and she opened the wooden box quickly…only to find it empty.

* * *

 

Emma had called Neal Cassidy an ‘old friend’, and Baelfire had said that they’d met sometime before Emma came to Storybrooke, but something wasn’t fitting.  If they were such good friends—and they really seemed to be, what with the way they were communicating without saying a word—why hadn’t Emma mentioned him before now?  And if they’d known one another, and Baelfire _clearly_ knew about the Enchanted Forest, why hadn’t he told Emma sooner?  That would have made Henry’s job a _lot_ easier.  _Then again, she didn’t really believe August, either,_ Henry thought, slipping around the corner.  Emma and Baelfire had snuck off when they thought Henry had been occupied talking to his adopted dad/grandfather (who had his heart back!), but he’d noticed.

And then he’d followed, only to find that they were in _his_ room.  And if eavesdropping was rude, well, they shouldn’t have been hiding in his room to talk.  That was at least as rude as eavesdropping.

“I’m not sure I can do this, Emma,” Baelfire was saying.  “Not telling him.  I thought I could, but after meeting Gabi, and thinking about what’s happening to my dad…”

“It’s hard, I know,” his birth mom replied, even as Henry puzzled out that ‘Gabrielle’ had to be Renee, given that Baelfire seemed to be thinking about his own family.  _Does that mean that he didn’t know he had a sister?  She is_ really _young._   “But what you said about Cora still stands, and—”

“I know.  I just…well, damn it.  He deserves to know.”

“We’re not talking about forever.  Just until Cora goes down,” Emma said.  Henry eased forward until he could get a pretty good look at both of them, and Emma looked irritated, stressed, and a little uncertain.

Baelfire ran a hand through his hair, his movements spastic.  “Yeah, assuming I’ve got any family left after this mess.”

“Look, I know Gold made Cora sign a contract.  You need to go read that before you freak out, okay?”

“You have it?” he demanded.

“No.  It disappeared once she’d signed it,” Emma answered.

“Great.  That helps a _whole_ lot,” Baelfire snapped, starting to pace.  “Papa didn’t come home last night, which means Cora wanted a hell of a lot more than just the dagger.  Belle wouldn’t say much, but I _know_ she’s worried, and I’ve barely even met the woman!  That means—well, hell, I don’t know what it means, but it can’t be good.  Not if she’s half as crazy as you people seem to think she is.”

“She is, but we’ll be okay.  We know what we need to do, okay?  I’ve been facing off with her for months, and we _can_ fight her, all right?”

Baelfire stopped cold, staring at the Book.  Henry had left it lying on his bed, but seeing it seemed to make Baelfire deflate.  “Sorry,” he whispered.  “I’m just worried.  And I don’t like lying to him.”

 _Lying to who?_ Henry wondered as Emma stepped forward tentatively to put a hand on her old friend’s shoulder.  Was he talking about Mr. Gold— _Rumplestiltskin?_ The idea of Rumplestiltskin’s son being here in Storybrooke took some getting used to, but he had the feeling that Baelfire wasn’t talking about his father.  He wanted to tell someone else something, but what?  And _who_?

“Tell me about it,” Emma breathed, and there was something hauntingly familiar in her voice that made Henry blink.  But then the pair headed for the door, and he had to duck into Regina’s room to keep from being seen.

And then seeing his mother’s empty bed brought a whole other set of emotions to the surface, and Henry forgot all about his curiosity.  For the moment.

* * *

 

“Hiding in your room now that the curse is broken, doll?” a voice said from the window, making August whirl clumsily.  He could move more fluidly now that the curse was broken, despite being almost completely wooden…again.  Still, being a full-grown puppet was uncomfortable as hell, particularly since his innards seemed to want to be human, which didn’t mix well with the wooden exterior at all.  But none of that mattered when there was a grinning witch hovering on a freaking _broomstick_ outside his window.

Zelena stepped through the window smoothly, invading his rooms with a smile.  Standing awkwardly from where he’d been sitting on the bed, August took an uneasy step back, watching Cora’s daughter with wide eyes.  She was unpredictable and more than a little crazy, and there was no telling what she was here for.

“What do you want?” he asked cautiously, mindful of the fact that Cora still had his father.  His papa had to remember everything now, and what did he think of his son?  August had no way to know, but as ashamed as he was of his own actions—and of turning back to wood—he would have given anything to see Geppetto again.

“You, of course,” she replied without preamble.  “You’re going to spy for Mother, find out what the heroes are up to.”

“Why would I do that?” August summoned up his courage.  “I don’t even know if my papa is still alive or not, and it’s not like your mother has kept any of her—”

 _Promises,_ he meant to say, but power slammed into him and threw August into the far wall.  The mirror broke, and everything fell off the dresser with a clatter, but August hit the floor harder than anything else did, and the thought he heard one of his wooden limbs crack a bit.  The splintering sound of wood was unmistakable, but he got up, anyway.

Every limb creaked in protest, but Zelena just kept smiling that insane smile of hers.

“Because otherwise your beloved papa _will_ die,” she giggled, turning to eye August coyly.  “And because Mother _always_ keeps her promises.  Drink this.”

A small vial flew through the air, full of a light blue liquid like August had never seen before.  His heart leapt with hope, but common sense told him that he shouldn’t spare Cora—or Zelena—even a tiny positive thought.  _They don’t want to help me, and Cora has no reasons to keep her promises,_ he reminded himself.  _Don’t be a fool._

“What’s this supposed to be?” he asked, shaking the vial cautiously.

“It’ll turn you human.  Fully and forever,” Zelena told him with a shrug.  “I told Mother that it wasn’t worth it, but _she_ said you’d make a better spy if you were human.  Properly motivated and all.”

Eyes narrowing, August looked between Zelena and the bottle, torn between hope and despair.  He would give _anything_ to be human again; that was why he’d started working with Cora in the first place.  He wasn’t supposed to be a puppet, and it wasn’t _his_ fault that the Blue Fairy had given him an impossible task!  A child never should have been sent through to take care of Emma, and August never could have lived up to all those expectations, even in his best moments.  Cora had been his only chance, but what if this was a lie?

 _You’re no good to them dead,_ an inner voice told him, and August knew that was right.  Zelena might give him a useless potion just to mess with him, but Cora wasn’t so petty.  Cora wanted useful servants, which was why she’d taken his father instead of his heart.  _But would she make this potion to make me_ more _useful?_ he wondered.  Fear stole through him, a shiver rolling through his entire body.  _If she needs me now, what_ else _does she have in mind?_

There was no telling, but August knew that he just couldn’t stay a wooden puppet.  So he drank the potion.

* * *

 

The first bad sign was the wave of magic that preceded Cora into the room and knocked Marco unconscious.  The second was the way she gestured him out of the cage with the dagger, her motions violent and sending pain reverberating through Rumplestiltskin’s skull.  He staggered a half dozen steps and then found his knees slamming into the floor; the impact almost made him topple, particularly since he couldn’t catch himself with his still-bound hands, and it did make him grunt in pain.

Rumplestiltskin had never dealt with pain well—most cowards didn’t—but the last day in Cora’s hands had left him with an appreciation that his pain tolerance was significantly higher than he’d ever thought possible.  Of course, that had to be his curse, and not him; Rumplestiltskin knew that he himself was not particularly strong, but the demon inside him could take a lot of punishment.   Even in this world, it would take a stab to the heart from the dagger to kill him.  Nothing else could, not even the high levels of electricity Cora had subjected him to the evening before.  Blood loss wouldn’t do the trick, either, as Zelena had helpfully discovered, although it did leave him feeling weak and slightly disoriented.

“Look at me,” Cora ordered, and while she held the dagger in her hand, he had no choice.  His head snapped up and his eyes found her on their own, blurry though his vision was.  “Focus.”

 _That_ also made his curse respond, and Rumplestiltskin’s equilibrium stopped doing laps and righted itself with a heavy feeling of wrongness.  Blackness still skirted around the edges of his vision, but he could see straight, now, unpleasant though the feeling was.  But being able to see the woman who had spent much of the last eighteen hours exacting a vicious ‘punishment’ on him for his refusal to choose _her_ all those years ago.  Of course, Cora didn’t phrase it that way; she said it was about magic and about power, but Rumplestiltskin was not such an idiot.  Had that been the truth, he knew that her first questions would not have concerned what Belle meant to him.  His only break had been when she’d had him make a potion to turn Pinocchio human again, and that hadn’t exactly taken long.

“Well, are you going to tell me what brings you down to my humble abode, dearie, or do I have to ask?” he drawled as casually as he could, unable to keep the sharp edge of pain out of his voice.

He was _still_ bleeding from Zelena’s ministrations, and Cora had left burns all over his body.  Rumplestiltskin was strung out and hurting, and the couple of hours of sleep he’d gotten had not been enough rest at all. 

The dagger twitched, and searing pain tore through his mind, fireworks exploding in front of his eyes and making Rumplestiltskin scream in pain.  Doubling over helplessly, he shivered and shrieked as Cora _willed_ agony to roll through him, turning his own curse against him to rend and tear.  Rumplestiltskin felt like his body was coming apart at the seams, like he was going to explode from the inside out.  None of it left any physical damage, but the darkness’ claws cut in deep, and even when the attack stopped, he was left shaking and panting.

“Do you know what happened to _dear_ Charming’s heart?” she snarled.

He couldn’t lie, so he dredged up his nastiest smile.  “Yes.”

This time the dagger sliced down, stabbing straight into his left shoulder, and Rumplestiltskin screeched wildly.  A stab wound was bad enough, and Cora had stabbed the dagger in almost up to the hilt.  But she’d angled it sideways, clearly not wanting to accidentally get his heart, but she _did_ twist the dagger viciously, and Rumplestiltskin made a broken noise that sounded inhuman even to his own ears.  Cora yanked the dagger out almost right away, though, and the pain that slammed into him _after_ that took him by surprise.  Screaming again, Rumplestiltskin found that once he started screaming, he could not stop; he felt like poison was bubbling in his veins, like acid was eating away at his soul.

He’d cut himself with the dagger before, of course.  It had been centuries earlier and Rumplestiltskin had been experimenting with various types of magic.  It had been an accident, but the wound had gone black and infected, remaining that way for weeks and laughing at all of his efforts to heal it.  Yet this was far, far worse than that wound had been, and Rumplestiltskin collapsed, convulsing and screaming breathlessly.  He lost himself for several moments, utterly absorbed in the poison radiating outwards from the shoulder wound, curling up helplessly on his right side and sobbing in pain.  Cora, however, was having none of that.

“Back on your knees,” she ordered, her voice cold.  It was like he was a puppet on strings; his curse took control of his muscles and suddenly Rumplestiltskin found himself back on his knees, swaying drunkenly and panting brokenly.  “What was that?”

“You’re the one who did it,” he snarled breathlessly.

The dagger twitched again, and pain exploded once more.  Compared to the stab wound, it wasn’t bad, but that was like comparing how terrible being light on fire was to being caught in a volcanic eruption. A sharp cry tried to get trapped in his chest, and then rattled out in short gasps, half choking him until Cora pulled the attack aside.

“Details,” Cora demanded imperiously.  _Truth,_ the silent command dug its claws in viciously, pressure ramping up until he felt like his brain was going to fold under.  _All of it._

“The dagger is the only weapon that can truly do damage to me,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, unable to muster up any more resistance.  “It’s like poison.”

“Can this kill you?”

 _I wish._   “No.”

“Well.  That’s good to know,” she commented idly, shifting the bloody dagger so that the point rested under his chin and forced his head up.  His shoulder burning madly, Rumplestiltskin complied; even moving his head made wound hurt more, and the room would have been spinning had Cora not wanted him to be focused.  “Now.  Tell me what happened to Charming’s heart.”

“I took it, of course,” Rumplestiltskin replied, letting the fury of his curse feed him, letting it at least give him the appearance of defiance when he knew he had no strength left of his own.  “By now, I imagine it’s back where it belongs.”

He braced himself for more pain, but Cora only arched an eyebrow.

“Why would you do that?” she asked calmly.

“You chose to make an enemy of me, dear,” he rasped, his body continuing to shake spastically in pain and blood loss.  This shirt was quite ruined, torn and bloody as it was, and a part of Rumplestiltskin was perversely satisfied by that.  “Now you get to reap the rewards.”

 _That_ did it; that taunted Cora straight into punishing him again, but now at least Rumplestiltskin was in control of the tempo, and that helped him preserve a bit of his sanity.  It would begin to fracture once more the next time she stripped him and used him like some pleasure toy, but Rumplestiltskin would take every victory he could get.  _Few they may be._ This time, however, Cora did not order him out of the doubled over mess he became when she turned his curse on him.  She just grabbed him by the hair and forced him to straighten once more, her grip hard and unforgiving.

“You’re going to pay for that, you know,” she told him, anger making her eyes sharp.

“I know.”

Then Cora smiled, releasing his hair and putting the flat side of the dagger—with his name facing him—right in front of Rumplestiltskin’s face.  “Lick it clean,” she smirked.

He blinked.  “What?”

“You heard me.”  Pressure rose.  “Do it.”

There was no reason for that, save for the fact that Cora wanted to humiliate him further.  She would treat him like he was an object, degrade him as far as she could.  She wanted to punish him, wanted to _own_ him, and Rumplestiltskin had no choice but to obey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Eighty-One—“Someone to Hold Onto,” in which Belle and Bae met with the Charming clan to come up with a plan, Rumplestiltskin is sent out to do Cora’s bidding, Robin runs into Will, and everyone meets in town hall to debate what should be done about Cora.
> 
> I just got back from vacation and I'm sorry for the delay in posting! Our hotel turned out to be the Land of No Internet, and things got so busy. But we're back now, and hopefully I can get back on track. :)


	81. Someone to Hold Onto

The first day after the curse had broken was quiet; Baelfire had headed over to the Charmings to talk to Emma, and then spent the evening getting to know his sister and stepmother.  He did the same the next morning, but the phone rang not long after that, inviting Belle over as well.

Belle wasn’t sure what to make of this invitation, but since Baelfire had been the one to call her, she figured it was at least relatively safe.  Still, she almost called Dove and Babette over to watch Gabrielle, not feeling particularly comfortable bringing her daughter into the presence of those who had once imprisoned her husband.  In the end, however, she felt safer keeping Gabi with her, so they went to the Nolan mansion together.  Gabi was excited to be going on an adventure, of course, though Belle wasn’t sure that was what this was going to be.  Still, she squared her shoulders, and drove to the Nolans’ house with as much confidence as she could muster.  _I’m glad Bae is there, at least,_ she thought.  It was odd how she felt safer with Rumplestiltskin’s son there, given how she barely knew her stepson, but she had at least learned that Bae shared his father’s protective streak where family was concerned.  At the very least, he wouldn’t let anyone hurt his little sister.

Mary Margaret—or Snow White, she supposed—opened the door with a smile on her face.  “Come on in.  It’s Belle, right?  Emma told me about that.”

“It is,” she replied, relieved by the friendly greeting.  “And this is Gabrielle.”

“Hello, Gabrielle,” Snow said immediately, looking her daughter in the eye.

“’Alo,” Gabi said softly, uncharacteristically shy.  But she’d never really met Snow before, so Belle figured that this might be awkward at first.

Snow led them into the living room, and Belle took the opportunity to look around the house that she’d never been in.  This had been the home that Cora had given Regina and David, of course, which meant it was decorated tastefully and expensively, but there were definitely signs that a ten year old lived here, too.  There was a stack of comic books on one end table, and a pair of shoes in the hallway, complete with a dried puddle of mud that Regina probably would have thrown a fit over.  But Regina wasn’t there; Snow White was instead, and apparently Emma had moved in, too. _Rumple would laugh so hard to see the entire Charming clan under one roof,_ she thought sadly, trying not to think about what might be happening to her husband today.

Fortunately, Bae was in the living room, standing next to Emma off to one side and talking quietly.  There was an odd sort of electricity between those two, the same that Belle had noticed when Emma had dropped Bae off the other night.  They _knew_ one another, or thought they did; there was an awkwardness to their conversation like they were trying to figure out if old pieces still fit in the same holes, but there was also a strange degree of comfort.  David— _Prince Charming?_ —sat on a couch not far away, watching with a smile as Henry flipped through the book Belle had given him so long ago.

“I’m glad you could come,” Snow said to Belle as they walked into the room, making heads turn.  She gave the gathering a smile.  “For everyone who doesn’t know, this is Belle, um…French?”

“Gold,” Belle corrected her firmly.  “Rumplestiltskin and I were married back in the Enchanted Forest as well.  Gabrielle is _our_ daughter.” 

Bracing herself for various reactions, Belle kept her head high and Gabi nestled on her hip.  The time for secrecy was over.  Rumple might argue with that, but he wasn’t there, and she had to make her choices.  They’d kept their marriage a secret to keep her safe from Cora and his other enemies, but Storybrooke was too small to lie to their allies.  People would _notice_ that she still lived with him, and unless Belle wanted to endure an endless string of would-be rescuers, the heroes needed to know the truth.

“You’re _both_ the people he referred to when he made that deal with me for mutual protection,” the prince said knowingly. 

Belle nodded.  “We are.”

“So, you’re with him by choice?” Snow asked, looking a little guilty.  “Just to be sure?”

“Yes.  And I always have been,” Belle replied firmly, bending to put Gabi down on the floor.  “Rumplestiltskin is many things, but he’s not someone who would force a woman to stay with him.”  Now it was time to change the subject before anyone started asking questions Belle didn’t want to answer.  She looked at David, saying:  “So, did you get your heart back?”

“I did.  Thank you—I understand that was your doing.”

“Rumple stole it.  I was just the middleman,” she answered as Gabi wandered towards Henry.

“You want to see my book?” the ten year old asked, noticing.

“Uh huh,” she answered quietly, giving him a shy look complete with big brown eyes. 

Henry smiled and patted the empty couch cushion to his left.  “Come on up, then.”

Grinning, Gabi climbed up next to him, and Henry shifted the book so that she could see it, too.  Belle opened her mouth to comment, but a sudden realization hit her, instead.  Henry had the _exact_ same brown eyes that Gabrielle did, and the same crinkle in his smile.  _No,_ she thought, blinking.  _It can’t be_.

But Baelfire was watching the two of them, too, and not because he was keeping an eye on his little sister.  He wore an very strange expression, and glanced helplessly—and hopefully?—at Emma, who sighed and shook her head.  _There’s definitely something there,_ Belle realized, filing that way for future reference.  This wasn’t the time or place to bring it up, but she needed to ask Bae for details later. 

“So,” Emma spoke up after giving Bae a look that clearly said ‘shut up’.  “We’ve got David’s heart back, but now what?  Cora’s still on the loose, and from what Neal tells us, her having that dagger is really bad news.  She now has Gold’s power in addition to her own, yeah?”

_And she can force him to do_ whatever _she wants,_ Belle added silently, but her husband would never forgive her if she said that out loud.  Instead, she nodded as calmly as she could.  “Yes, she does.  And you need to understand this—all of you do—that whatever Rumplestiltskin does, it’s not his decision.  He _can’t_ fight someone who holds the dagger.  It’s the nature of his power.  Even if he tries to fight her, he’ll wind up doing what she commands.”

“There’s no way around that?” Emma pressed.

“None.”  Belle glanced at Charming.  “Could you find a way around it when she had your heart?”

He grimaced, and his voice was full of remembered pain.  “No.  I couldn’t.”  Something crossed the prince’s face.  “But I did have free will when she _wasn’t_ actively controlling me.  Will it be the same for him?”

“I wish,” she breathed, and then forced herself to be strong.  “Commands given with the dagger…stick.  It’s not like the active control of holding someone’s heart.”

“You seem to know a lot about this,” Snow said quietly.

“I’m married to the Dark One.  You wouldn’t believe the books he has,” Belle replied honestly, but she could see the doubt in the others’ eyes—until Baelfire spoke up.

“She’s right.  Papa did everything he could to eradicate any books or references that could help someone explain his curse—or even tell anyone about the dagger,” he said, wincing.  “I guess he didn’t get everything.”

Belle didn’t correct him, even though she knew exactly how Cora had gained that information.  Now was not the time to educate the Charming clan about Rumple and Cora’s previous relationship. 

“Damn,” Emma breathed, and Belle thought that summed things up nicely.

“We need to tell people what’s happening,” Snow put in, taking control of the little meeting effortlessly.  “Everyone in town is frightened, and it’s our responsibility to put them at ease.”

“No offense, but there’s not a lot of ‘at ease’ going around,” Bae said dryly.

“No, but Snow’s right.  We have to do our best,” David agreed, rising.  “We need to call a town meeting.  Today.”

* * *

 

Belle wasn’t there.

Part of him was glad.  Not seeing her would keep her as far from this mess as Rumplestiltskin could, and yet… he burned to at least see his wife.  He didn’t have much time, but even a few minutes with Belle would have been heaven.  He needed her so badly, needed her gentle touch and her smile, just needed to know that the maelstrom of pain that he’d landed himself in was not the sum of his existence.   Yet she wasn’t home, and that was probably a good thing.  That would keep her safe.

Trying not to shake, Rumplestiltskin opened his closet and glanced at the various suits he had.  The one he was wearing was ruined, and Cora liked a good show.  She wanted him to look like his normal immaculate self for her next trick, and that meant clean and new clothes.  So, she’d ordered him to teleport himself home and choose a new suit—and a nice one.  Cora had a statement to make, of course.  She usually did, but at least this one was to someone _other_ than Rumplestiltskin.  Thinking like that, however, made him shudder, because she _had_ spent plenty of time grinding him under her heel.  He was stubborn, yes, both by nature and through the curse that lived inside him, but that didn’t make Rumplestiltskin strong.

He knew that he was breaking.  There was no way around that.  The constant physical and sexual abuse was already starting to wear him down, and it hadn’t even yet been forty-eight hours since he’d given her the dagger.  But he knew what was to come; Gold had lived that horror for twenty-eight long years, and now there was no way out.  He couldn’t go home at the end of any ‘session’, couldn’t escape her.  Now he got to live in that damn cage.  She wouldn’t even let him shower by himself, and the memory of her hands on his body made him flinch even now.

“I can’t do this…”

The words escaped before Rumplestiltskin could stop them, and he found himself gripping the closet door desperately, trying to keep his balance.  The roar of pain in his left shoulder had dulled to a stinging numbness, only agonizing when he tried to move his left arm.  His body would _work_ if Cora commanded it to, but that didn’t keep everything from hurting.  Not the burns, not the cuts, or the barely-sealed up stab wound in his shoulder.  Or the other injuries, the ones he _really_ didn’t want to think about.

Mechanically, he chose a black suit and a black shirt, completing the ensemble with a dark gray tie and matching pocket square.  He swapped out his shoes, too, replacing the dirty and scuffed ones he was wearing for a nicer pair.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t particularly _want_ to look nice for Cora’s shenanigans, but he also had no desire to show any weaknesses in front of this damn town.  None of them cared about him, anyway, so why let them know he was suffering?  _Except Belle and Bae,_ he reminded himself desperately, trying not to fall into the looming trap of depression waiting for him.  _My family cares.  My family matters._ Clinging to that thought helped him center himself a little, and Rumplestiltskin headed into the bathroom to run a brush through his hair.

Unfortunately, in order to get there, he passed by the robe Belle liked to wear at night, the silk one Gold had bought Lacey back when they’d been secretly seeing one another.  It was beautiful and expensive…and it smelled like her.  Stumbling slightly, Rumplestiltskin made his way over to where it was hooked over the closet door, and before common sense could tell him to stop, he found himself burying his face in the silk and breathing in her scent. 

“Oh, Belle…” he whispered brokenly, his voice cracking on her name.  “I need you now.  I  need you so much.”

But she wasn’t there, and the pressure in his mind was building higher and higher.  He’d changed his clothes and made himself presentable.  Now he had to leave, no matter how comforting the surroundings of his own home were.  Still, he delayed, holding the robe close to his face and feeling his tears wet it.  Rumplestiltskin needed someone to cling to, needed someone to help fight the horror back…but this wasn’t Belle.

And he wasn’t free.  Even if she had been there, Rumplestiltskin would have had to leave, so he regretfully let his magic sweep around him and pull him back to Cora’s summer house.

* * *

 

Word got around the town quickly, and Will had exactly one chance to do the right thing.  People were gathering at town hall, muttering and looking around nervously.  Snow White and Prince Charming had called this meeting, had invited the entirety of Storybrooke to come over and learn about what was going on.  Will supposed that made them good monarchs, but he didn’t envy them for having to deal with a town full of panicked people.  _It looks like half the bloody town is headed that way,_ he thought, holding onto Ana’s hand for dear life and watching the procession head down Main Street.

“There’s someone I’ve got to talk to,” he told his wife.

“Robin?” she asked, knowing him far too well.  Will gave her a half smile, but Anastasia shot him a serious look. “You know, he might not be too kindly disposed towards you after that stunt you pulled with the mirror.”

“It was the only way to get to Wonderland,” he pointed out.

“And that worked out _so_ well for us,” she countered.

“Point.”

After all, going to Wonderland had proven an utter disaster; Ana had almost married the bloody Red King, until Will had somehow managed to convince her to run away with him (again).  Then they’d wound up coming back to the Enchanted Forest, penniless and utterly without anyone to turn to.  Will’s family was dead, and Anastasia’s _lovely_ mother had told them a hundred times that she would never help her daughter so long as she was with that “good for nothing piece of scum”, which meant they’d tried to make it on their own.  They’d even done fairly well until Cora had up and decided to steal Will’s heart and make him into _her_ thief.  That little predicament, of course, had led them right into the mess they were in now.

“Robin’s not the grudge holding type,” he tried to argue when Ana just snorted.

“Tell that to Nottingham, who was found in a gutter this morning, having drunkenly tried to arrest _all_ of the Merry Men,” Ana said archly.

“Snottingham deserved it!”

“You weren’t even _there_ , Will.”

“Well, I know what kind of bloke he is,” he retorted, and then spotted the person he was looking for.  Robin of Locksley was walking through the crowd at “Little” John’s side, his arms full of a very rambunctious kid who looked ready to run away at any moment.  _Probably gets_ that _from dear ol’ Pa,_ Will thought with some amusement.  Fortunately, Ana didn’t argue when he stepped forward, instead heading over to talk to the wolf girl she’d befriended in the Basement.  _I’ll never forgive myself for that one,_ Will thought darkly.  _Even if Cora did have me heart.  I still was the one who sent her there.  Me, who promised to love and cherish her for eternity._

Yeah, he’d flubbed that one up good, and there was no reason for Ana _not_ to hate him. But somehow she didn’t, and Will was going to do his damnedest to make it up to her.  Somehow.

“Got a moment, mate?” he asked, quietly sidling his way up amongst the Merry Men.  He’d been one of them for a bit, and had known Robin even longer than that, but Will had ruined _that_ , too, by stealing something he wasn’t supposed to so that he and Ana could run away. 

“Will.”  Robin’s voice seemed a bit cold, but the man really didn’t hold a grudge.  Like he’d told his wife, Robin was a _good_ man, despite being an outlaw.   And he tended to think like a hero-type, which meant everyone deserved second chances in his mind.  “What can I do for you?”

“Just need a quick chat, I do,” he said, glancing around at the crowd. “Might want to hand the little one off first, though.  Nasty subjects and all.”

“Storybrooke’s a nasty place these days,” the outlaw agreed, passing his boy over to Little John, who was glaring just a little at Will.  But Will ignored it; he probably deserved that, anyway.

Together, the firefighter-turned-outlaw and thief-turned-newspaper editor  made their way to the edge of the crowd as it continued drifting towards town hall.  Once they were away from Roland, Robin turned his sharp eyes on Will. 

“Well?”

“I need your help.  Or to give you a warning, anyway.  You seemed mighty tight with Regina, before—an’ believe me when I say that I know not everything’s hunky-dory with her and her mother, and that she’d rather choose the good guys.  Figured the hero types might want this information,” he answered as bluntly as he could.

“Information?” Robin asked, and Will could see that his curiosity was piqued, despite suddenly distant and pained look in his eyes.

“Cora’s got me heart.  And not just mine—there are a bunch of others, too.  Some of ‘em I know, others I don’t.  But she’s got a whole collection of them,” Will explained. 

“She has your _heart_?” Robin gaped, and Will suddenly realized that the legendary outlaw must never have really believed the stories of the Evil Queen’s favorite trick.

“Yeah,” he tried a smile on, but it felt like a grimace.  “Look, bottom line is, don’t trust anyone.  Especially me, probably, since I know she’s made me do her dirty work before.  Back when I was Francis Scadlock, anyway.  I was a right bastard.”

Robin’s expression went distant for a moment, and then turned to pity that Will really didn’t want.  After a few silent seconds, Robin said:  “I figured that was the curse.”

“That, too,” Will confirmed.  “But there were things even Francis didn’t want to do, like sending his own bloody wife to the Basement.  Ana tells me you helped get her out of that, by the way, so thank you.  I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything for doing the right thing.”

Will snorted, watching Nottingham and his idiot friend (was that Guy of Gisburne?) try to impose order on the crowd, only to be told by Emma Swan to shut up.  _She might be the first Sheriff I ever_ like _a little bit,_ he thought, and then turned his attention back to Robin.  “You can say that, mate, but I know different.  Just, uh, don’t ask me to pay up until I’ve got me heart back, okay?  You never know when she might be listening.”

“I’ll help you get it back, Will,” Robin said suddenly, and _that_ made Will whirl to look at him.

“I didn’t—”

“I know,” his sometime friend cut him off with a smile.  “But that doesn’t mean we won’t find a way to help you.”

Will didn’t know what to say to that, so he just let Robin clap him on the shoulder, and then kept walking towards town hall.

* * *

 

Again, Dove and Babette had volunteered to stay in the house with Gabrielle, and this time Belle took them up on the offer.  She had a feeling that this town hall meeting that Snow and Charming had called for the evening was going to wind up with _some_ kind of fireworks, and even if that was just angry townspeople looking for scapegoats, Belle had no intention of bringing her daughter into that mess.  When she’d mentioned to Emma that Henry could stay behind the house’s magical protections, too, the sheriff had jumped on it, much to her ten-year-old son’s chagrin.  But that meant that Henry and Gabi were both as safe as they could be, at least for now. _Unless Cora sends Rumple after Henry, but I think she has bigger targets in mind at the moment_ , she thought, squeezing out of the back seat of the bug.  Emma had offered to drive both kids to the house, and Belle had taken her up on that…but not without taking notice of the fact that Baelfire had tagged along.

_There’s_ definitely _something going on there_ , she decided, watching Emma head over to commence crowd control.  That left her and Bae to walk into town hall together, where Snow waved them into seats near the front.  Exchanging a glance with her stepson—who looked far more comfortable than his father ever would have in this situation—Belle settled into her seat as the crowd filed in.

“So,” Belle said quietly.  “How _do_ you know Emma?”

Bae turned a deer in the headlights look on her that really did remind Belle of Rumple when she’d caught him eating the last of the chocolate. “What?” he squeaked.

_Oh, no.  Not hiding anything at all,_ she thought, hiding her smile.  “Emma,” Belle repeated, although she was pretty sure Bae had heard her the first time.  “How did you two meet, anyway?”

“We, uh, stole the same car,” Bae admitted. 

“What?” That didn’t make any sense.

“To be fair, I stole it first,” he said, coming back on balance.  “She tried to steal it when I was sleeping in the backseat.”

“That sounds like an interesting story,” she couldn’t help saying.  It might even be one that could distract Belle from the lead ball of worry in her stomach.

“Yeah, but not one I think she wants her parents to know,” Bae replied with a snort.  “Or Henry.”

“Speaking of whom…” Belle tried trailing off, her tone heavy with meaning, but Rumple’s son managed to look innocent.  Mostly.

The fact that his eyes were firmly on Emma Swan was _not_ helping his cause.

“What about him?” Bae asked, obviously trying to sound casual.

Sighing, Belle decided to try a different tactic.  A more blunt one.  “You love her, don’t you?”

“Who?” Finally, Bae looked back at her, but if he was trying for confused, he wasn’t managing it very well.

“Emma,” she said quietly, nodding at where the sheriff was speaking quietly with her mother. 

“I—” Blushing, he cut off, and then shrugged a little uncomfortably.  “I don’t know.”  His voice was so quiet Belle had to strain to hear him.  “I haven’t seen her in eleven years.”

Well, that answered _that_ question, and Bae seemed to realize it, too, because his eyes went wide and all the color drained out of his face.  _He’s so much like his father,_ Belle thought sadly.  _He thinks that secrets can protect those he loves, even when the opposite is true._   Bae looked torn between panicking and denying everything, but before he could grope his way towards an answer, Belle put a gentle hand on his arm.

“He looks a lot like you,” she said softly, and watched the so-familiar brown eyes get even wider.

“You can’t—I can’t—he _can’t_ know,” Bae stuttered desperately.  “Cora, if she knew… I mean, I saw the way she looked at Papa.  Like she wanted to hurt him in any way she could.”

“You’re so very like him, you know,” Belle whispered, squeezing her stepson’s arm.  “Willing to do anything, even to hurt yourself, to keep those you love safe.”  He didn’t seem to know what to say to that, and she could see terror warring with worry in Bae’s eyes, so Belle added: “Remind me to show you the contract your father made Cora sign.”

Thinking about something concrete seemed to bring him back on balance.  “Why?”

“Because it very particularly prohibits her from harming _anyone_ in his family,” she said, and watched that realization _click_ into place.  “I would say that a grandson qualifies as family, wouldn’t you?”

* * *

 

There had been an undeniable _tug_ forcing her to come to this infernal meeting, even though Ingrid had no interest at all in whatever Snow White and Prince Charming had to say to the town.  They were undoubtedly going to tell everyone how safethey were, when it was obvious that no one was anything of the sort.  The fact that _she_ was here indicated that Cora planned to be as well, and not for the first time, Ingrid cursed her own overconfidence.  She never should have been so careless as to allow Cora to get her heart, but now she was stuck doing the Evil Queen’s bidding while Emma was in danger.

Ingrid had not forgotten that Cora had tried to kill Emma.  Cora might think that the Snow Queen was her natural ally—and her foolish daughter might have said something about how ‘villains’ needed to stick together—but Ingrid had been Emma’s foster mother long before she had come to this infernal town.  She _loved_ Emma, and even if Elsa had not shown up here yet, she would do her best to protect the girl she still wanted to be a sister for.  She was so very proud of what she’d seen Emma do, after all, even if Emma had yet to exhibit the magic she knew lay within her.  Watching Emma talk to her birth mother (a magic-less princess who would never, _ever,_ understand her) burned a little, but Ingrid pushed her own pain aside.

Cora was going to go after Emma.  She knew that.  There was no world in which the Evil Queen would forgive the woman who had broken her curse.  Ingrid knew that.  She just needed to figure out how to warn Emma.

Before it was too late.

* * *

 

Snow White was talking, but Robin mostly tuned her out.  He’d liked her as Mary Margaret, and he knew David well enough, back home and here, to know he’d help them in whatever way he could.  But he couldn’t concentrate on what they were saying, not when someone so significant was missing from the meeting.  Regina _should_ have been there; he’d already figured out that she cared for the husband the curse had given her, and she’d encouraged those two to come together.  So, why was she missing?

Henry was, too, though, and Robin supposed that Regina might be with her son.  _Or with her mother,_ a traitorous voice said inside him, and try though he might, Robin couldn’t quash it.   A large part of him didn’t really give a damn who she had been in their world; here she was _Regina_ , and he’d fallen quite thoroughly in love with her.  Yet she hadn’t answered his phone calls since the curse broke, and did that mean she wanted nothing to do with him?  Robin didn’t know.  Maybe it meant she was in danger, or that she was convinced that _he_ wouldn’t want anything to do with her now that he knew.  But Robin had gotten to know her pretty well when he’d been Errol, and he was damn certain that he at least wanted to talk to her before he called anything off.

But she wasn’t here.  She wasn’t here at all, and Will had talked about the number of hearts Cora supposedly had.  Will talked like she had a big vault of them, hidden somewhere here in Storybrooke.  Robin had heard the tales before about how the Evil Queen could control people using the hearts she tore out.  Had that happened to Regina?  Robin had no way to know, but he was growing more worried by the moment.  _Even if it hasn’t, we’ve_ got _to help the people who Cora has enslaved,_ he decided.  Will had told him of several people whose hearts he knew Cora had: himself, Princess Abigail (Roland’s elementary school principal), the former sheriff/huntsman, and maybe that new author fellow, August.  There were undoubtedly others, but Will hadn’t known their names or faces.

Well.  Wherever those hearts were, they undoubtedly needed the best thief they had to get them back, and Robin was determined to do just that.  He’d talk to David right after this, because he knew that the prince he’d once broken into Maleficent’s castle with would be willing to help, too.

_I also got drunk with him here in Storybrooke,_ Robin thought with amusement.  _That would be a lot more awkward if he’d been my king._

“Look, I know that things are uncertain right now,” David was saying just as Robin tuned into the question-and-answer portion of the meeting.  “We _all_ feel that way.  But if we stick together, and we keep the town running, we can go on with our lives as we try to figure the rest out.”

“Look, there’s some nice things about this world and all,” Leroy—Robin had no idea who he really was—spoke up, “like penicillin, microwaves, and video games.  But when the hell are we going home?  I thought that was supposed to happen when the curse broke.”

Every eye in the room swiveled to Emma Swan, who shrugged.  “Don’t look at me.  I was a newborn when I came through.  I just broke the thing.  I didn’t write the rules.”

“Now _that’s_ a good question,” someone else shouted; Robin couldn’t see who.  “When are we going to bring Cora to justice?”

“I hear she’s hiding in the woods somewhere,” another voice said, and Robin fought back the urge to groan.  _If only.  Then I could find her and shoot her, and I wouldn’t regret_ that _for a moment._

“Or already turned into burnt queen by that dragon!”

“Cora’s still alive,” Snow White cut in before things could get out of control.  “We know that.  We don’t know what her plans are, but we’re going to do everything within our power to keep the town safe.  Right now, she’s retreated and—”

The doors slammed open, swept right off their hinges with enough force to send both flying into the room.  People screamed and dove aside, but the right hand door landed on a pair of old women with a sickening _crunch._ Several people moved to help them before a dark wind whipped into the room, sweeping hats off and almost blowing several people straight out of their chairs.  Leaping to his feet along with everyone else, Robin struggled to see through the wispy black wind as it continued to swirl viciously around the room, making people duck and yelp.  Those it came into contact with reeled away, bleeding from multiple cuts to their faces and their hands, crying out in pain and shoving one another as they tried desperately to escape. 

But the wind moved ever faster and faster, driving people away from the walls and towards the center of the room.  Those on the outskirts tried to dive for the middle, creating a frightened mess of humanity that had no way to fight back against the power tearing at their skin and clothes.  Out of the corner of his eye, Robin could see that Emma had her gun out, but she lacked a target, and then the power hit _her_ hard enough to knock her straight off her feet and into her parents, who barely caught her in time.  Its next victim was not so lucky; the black wind hit Leroy dead on, ripping his face open as the former janitor snarled in pain.  It aimed for John next, but Robin’s friend managed to dodge most of it, getting his shirt torn slightly but otherwise escaping unscathed.  Others were not so lucky, and as minutes ticked by, more and more people screamed and the room grew darker and darker.

Finally, however, the air seemed to clear and the wind stilled, revealing a slender figure standing in the gaping doorway.  He wore an immaculately tailored suit and yet looked _nothing_ like the irritable pawnbroker they had all known, radiating power and danger enough to make even Robin shiver.

“Cora,” Gold said softly with a nasty smile, “sends her regards.”

Snow White scrambled to her feet, and started to demand: “What are you—”

“And to you,” he cut her off, “she sends a special message.  You can try to rule all you want, but Storybrooke belongs to _her_.  And she’ll destroy your family one by one if you try to resist her.”

“Cora will do that, anyway,” Snow replied, looking terribly brave in the face of such a threat.

Gold laughed, and the high-pitched giggle awakened old memories in Robin—as it did in at least half the crowd.  Almost as one, people drew away, some hissing and whispering frantically.

“That she will, dearie.  Starting today.”

_Snap_.  Robin’s head barely jerked up in time to see the ceiling start to cave in, just as the floor beneath his feet started to tremble with the force of a major earthquake.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Eighty-Two—“The Darkest Days,” in which Rumplestiltskin finds a loophole in Cora’s commands, Robin learns where Regina is, Ingrid tries to protect Emma, and Maleficent visits Cora, determined to find her daughter.


	82. The Darkest Days

“That she will, dearie.  Starting today.”

Emma was so glad that Henry had gone over to the Golds’ house.  Although, seeing Gold— _Rumplestiltskin, this is_ definitely _Rumplestiltskin—_ here in all his dark glory made her doubt some of the wisdom of that decision, she knew in her heart that Gold would never harm his own daughter.  That restraint, however, didn’t seem to extend to the rest of the town, because a lot of people were already bleeding and some were even on the ground.  That nasty wind had scraped across Emma’s left arm when she’d tried to shove someone out of the way, cutting right through her leather jacket and slicing skin open like a giant rug burn.  The power in it had sent a chill down her spine; Emma had seen and felt magic before, but nothing so toxic and _dark_ as that.

Rising from her crouch, Emma remembered what Belle had said.  _“Whatever Rumplestiltskin does, it’s not his decision.  He_ can’t _fight someone who holds the dagger.”_   She really wanted that to be wrong, for there to be some way around that, but she had to trust the librarian.  Belle was married to the man, and she should know. _That, and Neal backed her up.  He’d know, too.  Gold’s his freaking father._  

Yeah, that was still a weird thought.

But that made Gold family in a roundabout way, which made Emma reluctant to fight against him, particularly if he wasn’t doing this of his own free will.  Gold had stolen David’s heart back, and he’d helped her—damn unexpectedly—when the Jabberwocky had tried to paralyze her with fear.  Emma felt like she owed him, and she didn’t like owing.  Still, there was no dagger and no Cora in sight, and they had to deal with this mess _now._ Before anyone got hurt worse than they already had.

“You got a purpose here other than terrorizing people?” Emma demanded before her mother could say something else.  She also drew her sidearm, but didn’t point it at Gold; from what Neal had told her, shooting him wouldn’t do a damn bit of good, and, well, Emma didn’t feel right doing it when Gold wasn’t in control of his own actions.

His chuckle was soft, and very dangerous.  “I’m glad you asked, Sheriff.  Because I certainly do.”

Gold’s right hand came up, and suddenly town hall started coming apart at its seams.  First to go were the rafters supporting the ceiling; they shook free with an ominous _ripping_ sound.  The ceiling followed right after, caving in before anyone could move away, falling towards the floor with a crash.  The far wall—oddly enough, the one the _least_ amount of people were near—collapsed, too, clouds of dust and debris filling the room.  Those almost muffled the cries of pain Emma could hear as she shrugged off plaster and ceiling tiles, jumping to her feet and making sure she hadn’t lost her gun in the process.  She’d been lucky and hadn’t been hit by anything more solid, but a rafter had hit David and Snow, and both were struggling to get out from under it, clearly disoriented and in pain.

Yet Gold stood in the midst of the destruction, completely untouched and emotionless—until Emma saw his eyes flick to the right, settling on the only other people who had not been pounded into the floor by the devastation the Dark One had wrought: his wife and son.  Belle and Neal were dusty, but unharmed, without even scratches from the dark wind Gold had called up.  Both looked horrified and worried, and Belle started to take a step forward before Neal caught her arm.

But by then, Gold had shaken his head, and a second dark wind roared into the room—again, Emma noticed, not touching Belle or Neal.  By the time it ended, Gold was gone, and Emma had her hands full dealing with the wounded.

The death toll stood at seventeen by the time they finished digging everyone out of the rubble hours later, including three fairies, Sir Frederick, Dopey, Mulan, Billy, and Hansel.

* * *

 

He’d yanked the outlaw out when the second wind had started, teleporting Robin of Locksley away from town hall and around the corner.  No one would be in this alleyway, now, and he could send Robin back into the mess after he was done with him.  The wind wouldn’t die down until Rumplestiltskin was good and ready for it to do so, and for now it served as an efficient distraction as well as fulfilling Cora’s commands.  _Hurt them indiscriminately,_ she had ordered.  _Surround them with darkness and make them_ fear _you.  Make them believe it._

Rumplestiltskin had done so, though he’d twisted her commands through as many loopholes as he could along the way.  He had no doubt that the entire town would hate him after this, because there were going to be at least a dozen dead (he’d counted four before he left, and that didn’t count the two old women the doors had flattened during his entrance and who would undoubtedly expire soon), but he had done everything he could to keep the death toll low.  He _could_ have killed hundreds without breaking a sweat, but Rumplestiltskin disliked killing for no reason, and causing terror was not reason enough.  Particularly when it was Cora who wanted to be feared.  _Don’t lie,_ his curse whispered, louder now than ever before.  _You love it._

_No,_ he thought heavily, remembering the horrified looks on Belle’s and Bae’s faces.  _No, I really don’t._

“What the—?” Robin cut off, wheeling to face him as he landed, hands up and ready to fight.

Sighing, Rumplestiltskin pushed his inner voice away, and with it the pain reverberating through his left shoulder and the rest of his body.  He didn’t have time for any of those problems right now.

“Calm yourself, dear, I’m not going to hurt you,” he snapped.  “And the longer this little conversation of ours takes, the longer your friends inside town hall are going to suffer.”

“Are you threatening _me_ with their lives?” Robin asked incredulously.

“No, I’m stating a fact.”  Not rolling his eyes was beyond Rumplestiltskin, so he didn’t even try to hide his exasperation. 

Backing off a step, the outlaw took a deep breath, then said: “Then what do you want?”

“To give you some information  you need.  Do with it what you will, but Regina’s under a sleeping curse.  Her boy should know that, but he doesn’t know where she is.  _I_ do.”

“And why would you tell me that?”  Robin was cautious.  Good.

Rumplestiltskin smiled darkly, and there was enough threat in the smile to make Robin take another step back.  “Let’s just say that I don’t want Cora to win.”

“You’re doing her bidding!”

“Indeed I am,”  he replied dryly, letting his rage make those words low and gravely.  “Now, do you want to complain, or do you want to know where she is?”

“Of course I want to know,” Robin replied.  “What’s it going to cost me?”

“Oh, we can let Cora pay the price for this one,” Rumplestiltskin decided aloud.  He didn’t have time for deal making; the pressure was beginning to build in the back of his mind, a slight reminder that he had to return to Cora as soon as his little bout of destruction was finished.  “Don’t argue,” he added when it looked like Robin would, and then continued tersely: “Cora has a house at the edge of town.  It’s a grand, ugly, Victorian-style mansion, about a half mile off the main road when you’re heading north.  Jefferson knows where it is, if you don’t.”

“I’ve seen it,” the outlaw replied, making Rumplestiltskin devoutly grateful that he’d grabbed the woodsman and not the man who ran the animal shelter. 

“Regina’s in the corner bedroom on the east side of the house.  It has two windows; one on the side of the house, and one on the back.  The curtains are red.  You understand?”

“I understand.”  Robin bit his lip briefly, and then asked warily: “What do you want me do to with this information?”

“Do you love her?”

Confusion colored the outlaw’s face, making him look away.  “I—I haven’t seen her since before the curse broke.  I…”

“Well, figure that out first,” Rumplestiltskin snapped, wishing the fool could see the magic weaving around him, the True Love just _waiting_ to be fought for.  But Robin would have to make that decision on his own; all Rumplestiltskin could do was put him on the right track.  _I keep doing this for other people.  When will it be_ my _turn for people to stop getting in the way of my True Love?_  Such questions were pointless, though, so he continued harshly: “And then go get her.  If you can’t wake her, get her sister or her son do to it.  Either will work, though the boy will probably be quicker about it.”

Snow White was going to be busy, after all.  Rumplestiltskin was certain he’d be seeing to that.  Henry, however, was a good boy, and loved his adopted mother.  Rumplestiltskin had no doubt that Henry’s love would be enough, if the outlaw failed, which at least meant his best student could be back in the game.  He worried for Regina, much though he didn’t like admitting that to himself.  Their relationship was complicated, but he... _cared_ for her, even if he’d never tell her that to her face.  Rumplestiltskin knew that a sleeping curse was no picnic, and Regina was undoubtedly suffering even now.  Cora had cursed her three days ago, and that was long enough.

Still, his worry didn’t extend to waiting for Robin to respond; Rumplestiltskin just waved a hand and sent Robin back into the mess that was town hall.  The likelihood of anyone noticing the outlaw’s absence was slim, and as much as he really wanted to extend that conversation—the better to stay away from Cora—Rumplestiltskin knew he could not.  His commands had been fulfilled; it was time to go back.

A terrified shiver shook his body before he teleported, but Rumplestiltskin had no choice.

* * *

 

The dragon had come while the Dark One was away, just as Cora had expected.  She’d been waiting on Maleficent, knowing that her foe would decide to strike when Rumplestiltskin was busy slaughtering peasants in town hall.  Under other circumstances, Cora would have enjoyed watching Rumple at his work—because _no one_ inspired fear better than the Dark One, particularly when he chose to terrify—but first she had to deal with the dragon.  So, she’d stationed August outside, tasked with delivering a message when Maleficent did deign to arrive.  In payment for which, she’d allow him a short visit with his father…provided he didn’t get himself burnt to death in the process.

Either way, it was a win for Cora.  The worst she lost would be a semi-useful spy, but in return for that, Cora would no longer have to keep an annoying old man in her cellar.  _I should just rip his heart out and be done with it,_ she decided, rising from her chair as she heard the distinctive dragon roar outside.  She would deal with Geppetto later.  If August lived, she would take his heart.  Otherwise, the old man was finished.

Cora walked outside with her head held high, to find her former puppet standing in front of a snarling black dragon, trying to back away without finding himself charbroiled.  Maleficent looked furious, with her tail lashing back and forth, endangering trees and Zelena’s car in the driveway, but the sight made the Evil Queen smile.  Maleficent might tell herself that she was biding her time, or not harming an innocent, but Cora knew what this meant.  Maleficent was _hesitating._ Her heart wasn’t into destruction, or she feared her daughter might be in the house.  Otherwise, the dragon would have burned it to the ground by now, given that she’d hardly chosen this moment—the moment when Cora did not have the support of the one sorcerer who could undoubtedly take on a dragon and survive (and had done so multiple times, if the stories were accurate)—if she wanted to talk _peacefully._

“I’m surprised you waited so long before showing up, dear,” she said with a smile, acting as if Maleficent had not tried to burn her to death just the day before.  “I would invite you in for a drink, but I fear you would not fit in your current form.”

A giant burst of fire filled the air, so close that it singed the ends of Cora’s hair.  But she stood calmly, waiting with one eyebrow raised, and finally, Maleficent returned to her human form, staff in hand and glaring.

“Cora,” the dragon-sorceress grated out furiously, waving a hand that picked August up off the ground and threw him to the side.  Maleficent stalked forward, but Cora only smiled.

“Won’t you come in?” she asked sweetly.

“I’d rather stay outside.”

“Very well.  If you _want_ to turn this into some macabre magical contest, I can’t stop you,” she said with a shrug.  “But if you prefer to learn of your daughter’s fate, I’ll be in the drawing room.”

Yes, that did the trick.  Cora didn’t even look over her shoulder as she walked inside, knowing that Maleficent would follow her.  After a moment, footsteps _did_ echo her own on the way up the stairs, through the door, and into her comfortable drawing room.  Turning in front of her favorite chair, Cora seated herself as Maleficent paused in the doorway.  The dragon-sorceress’ eyes were still afire with rage and ill-concealed worry, but at least she was thinking, now.  _And to think I almost left her alone when I planned the curse,_ Cora thought behind her calm smile.  _Maleficent’s silly attempt to ally with Snow prior to the curse showed me_ exactly _what she was willing to do, and now I shall use that._

“Where is my daughter?” Maleficent demanded without sitting down.

“Won’t you have a seat?”

“No.”

“Very well,” Cora sighed.  “Then I will keep this short and simple.  Your daughter—Lilith, I believe?—is safe and well.  For her to remain that way, you will have to assist me.”

“No.”  Cold blue eyes met her own, and Cora felt slightly taken aback.  She had not expected a refusal so quickly!  Maleficent, however, continued steadily:  “You don’t need my help, and I’ll be no one’s lackey.  You return Lilith to me, and I will remain neutral.  Otherwise, I will burn this house down around you and take my chances.”

She  _was_ toying with fire, and Maleficent was offering the precise bare minimum Cora had been prepared to accept.  Cora had anticipated the negotiations being more drawn out and far more interesting, but she would take what she could get.

“As you wish,” she said.  After all, Maleficent would have been a tricky ally, and if Cora had had to constantly hold her daughter’s safety over her head, things would have undoubtedly gotten messy.  Her end goal had always been to keep Maleficent from allying with Snow and her nauseating little allies, anyway.

“Lilith has been well cared for?” Maleficent demanded, her eyes suddenly wide and urgent, and Cora resisted the urge to tell the dragon-sorceress how very _weak_ that made her look. 

“Of course she has,” Cora reassured her instead.  “I will have her delivered to your home immediately, provided I have your word that you will not act against me.”

“You do.”  Anger replaced the worry on the beautiful face, and Maleficent scowled.  “You didn’t have to take my daughter to guarantee that!”

“I did,” Cora replied, rising.  “And we both know why.  Please do tell your friends that they are more than welcome as my allies—as are you, once you are less angry with me.”

Maleficent snorted.  “I’ll tell them, but don’t count on the help.”

“I don’t.”

“No, why count on anyone else when you have the Dark One on a leash?” the other woman asked rhetorically, rolling her eyes.  “A word of advice to you, dear.  I’m older than you are, and I’ve known Rumplestiltskin a very long time.  Perhaps not as _intimately_ as you have, but I know him well enough to understand this: you’ll lose control of him, and he will _ruin_ you.”

“I thank you for the advice,” she replied solemnly.  _But you have no idea how badly I will_ break _him, now, do you?_ Cora added mentally, suppressing a smile at the thought.  “Now.  Let us reunite you with your daughter, shall we?”

* * *

 

They spent the entire evening and most of the night digging through the rubble, and everyone pitched in.  By the time Belle got home that evening, she was too tired to talk much, let alone think.  David came with them to pick up a very sleepy Henry, which let Dove and Babette head home while Belle and her stepson trudged up the stairs. 

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Bae asked quietly, his face pale and dirty.  “What she’s doing to Papa.”

Belle nodded, not sure she trusted her voice.  “Yeah.”

“He looked terrible.”

“It’s…it’s a long story,” she whispered.  “But I think he probably is.”

“I’m gonna ask you about that when I’m less tired,” Bae warned her tiredly, and Belle could only nod again.

* * *

 

“Seventeen,” Cora said softly, standing outside his cage.  She’d been busy when he returned, first returning Maleficent’s daughter to her and then taking Geppetto’s heart while August watched in horror.  _Good riddance to him,_ Rumplestiltskin thought, knowing the puppet had betrayed his _son_ to this bitch.  That, of course, had led to Geppetto being freed by Zelena after a harsh little lesson for August in how badly someone could be harmed when their heart was in another’s hands.  Still, that little lesson had kept both Mills women out of the cellar for hours, and Rumplestiltskin had been grateful for that.

“You only killed _seventeen?_ ” the Evil Queen continued, her voice low and furious.  She held the dagger tightly; he could _feel_ that through his curse, could feel her fury beating at him as he stood inside the cage, unable to run from her and oh so wary.  “I told you to _terrify_ them!”

Her fury was growing to near-painful proportions, but Rumplestiltskin forced himself to sneer.

“And that I did,” he replied, leaning on his own snarky attitude for support.  “Hundreds of others were injured, and I created complete pandemonium.  They were _quite_ terrified, dearie.”

“I wanted a bloodbath.”  Now Cora’s voice was a whisper, and that was far more dangerous than any shout.

“Then you should have specified.”

A gesture with the dagger made his magic drag him out of the cage, teleporting him straight to his knees at Cora’s feet.  Not far away, Zelena lurked with a bright-eyed expression of rage marring her pretty features; she was mamma’s toady, and would gleefully follow wherever Cora led.  _Including hurting me,_ Rumplestiltskin thought, shivering.

He hated being helpless.  _Hated_ being on his knees like some damn slave, hated looking up at her and trying desperately to take refuge in anger, if only to hide his terror.  But two days in Cora and Zelena’s hands had proven worse than almost the entirety of the previous twenty-eight years combined, and he knew the pain was coming.  All he could do was try to delay it a little, and then use his own unrepentant attitude to try to control _when_ they hurt him more.

“You’ll pay for that,” Cora said, still quiet.

Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard.  “I imagine I will.”

“Oh, Rumple,” his old lover whispered, reaching out to stroke his face.  He burned to pull away, but that early command stuck; he _couldn’t,_ and all he could do was shudder at even this gentle touch.  “Why do you fight me so?  You know that the only way I _won’t_ hurt you is if you cooperate.”

“You’ll hurt me anyway,” he snorted.  “We both know that.”

“I do enjoy it,” Cora admitted with a shrug.  “But you do love to earn your punishments.”

“Not really,” he said, his throat suddenly dry.

“Well, earn them you have,” she snarled, suddenly angry again, and Rumplestiltskin could only brace himself.

* * *

 

“Leave her alone,” Ingrid pleaded hours later.  “Emma is no longer a threat to you.”

Zelena laughed, Cora sat back in her chair and studied the Snow Queen.  “Now, why would I do that?  What _does_ Miss Swan mean to you, anyway?”

Cora held her heart; Ingrid had no choice but to reply honestly: “I was her foster mother,” she whispered.  “I meant to adopt her.”

“Well, you should have,” Zelena giggled, running a rough hand through the Dark One’s hair.   Rumplestiltskin was on his knees at her feet, looking at none of the women, save for when he spared Zelana the rare mutinous glance.  Ingrid supposed his presence was some sort of lesson aimed at her; if Cora could bring the Dark One so low, what chance did she have?

He looked terrible, but Ingrid was not there to pity Rumplestiltskin.  She was there to save Emma.  Meanwhile, Zelena yanked on Rumplestiltskin’s hair, but when he only reacted with a grunt of discomfort, she looked back at Ingrid and added: “Then she wouldn’t have been a problem here, now would she have?”

“Why did you want to adopt her?” Cora asked, and Ingrid could _feel_ the fingers tapping on her heart.  Every time a nail hit, she twitched involuntarily in pain.

“She was”—No, she didn’t want to say how she’d been told that the Savior would be the sister she’d always wanted.  She _couldn’t_.  “Emma was just a girl,” Ingrid answered, and that was honest enough.  “I came to love her.  I wanted to be her family.”

“And you still do?”

“Of course!”

“Make her kill Emma, Mother.  That would be _beautiful_ irony,” Zelena cooed, and Ingrid wished more than anything than to be able to freeze that bitch’s heart right now.  _She’s insane,_ Ingrid thought, watching the witch in horror.  _And she wants to hurt anyone who has something she doesn’t, like the genuine ability to care for another person._

“No.  Not yet.  Later, perhaps,” Cora mused, and Ingrid froze.

“Please don’t,” she whispered.  The next words came out desperately.  “I can convince her to leave with me.  I know the outside world.  I can get Emma to bring her son and we can leave.”

Perhaps they would never find Elsa if they did that, but Ingrid would take that risk.  She had to save Emma at all costs.  Cora, however, laughed.

“Oh, no.  I want her mother to suffer, my dear Snow Queen, and that means that she’ll watch her daughter die.  I have plans for Miss Swan, and they don’t involve letting her—or anyone else—escape.  This is _my_ town, and no one leaves without my permission.”

“But—”

The hand clamped down on her heart, and Ingrid screamed.

* * *

 

People started heading to the town line before dawn, eager to escape a Storybrooke terrorized by the Dark One.  Yet they were cautious, because none of them had ever actually _left_ town; some had memories of having been elsewhere, but they all now knew that they never really had been.  So, no one was quite brave enough to step over it until the dwarves—now six in number, with the loss of Dopey, and haggard after having been up all night helping find survivors and mourning their dead—stepped up.  Immediately, Leroy pulled a can of spray paint out and marked the line, plain as day for everyone to see.

“This, gentlemen, is our mission,” he said tiredly.  “The great barrier of our existence, the one thing that keeps us in this town with a psychopathic Evil Queen and her pet Dark One.  Does it remain?  We must investigate the line.  If we don’t, we’ll all be stuck here with the crazies.”

“Why do we have to do it?” Walter, formerly Sleepy, asked nervously.

Leroy pulled out a small bag with straws inside and ignored the question.  “I made straws.  Short one crosses.  Draw.”

Happy reached in the bag, looking hopeful.  “With the curse broken, we can cross, right? Should be no problem, yeah?”

Walter just shook his head, looking mournful.  “With magic back, it could be even worse now.  And the Evil Queen might have _done_ something to it.  No one has seen her in two days, not since Maleficent tried to kill her.”

“And failed,” Leroy pointed out, still handing out straws.  His brothers took them, at least, even if they were arguing. 

“Like, vaporize us,” Doc pointed out.

Immediately, Bashful piped up:  “Let's go home.”

“Guys! We are the royal guard!  Dwarves loyal to Snow White!”  Leroy snarled, barely able to keep his anger in.  “This is our chance to prove ourselves to everyone, and make sure that _no one_ else has to die like Dopey did.  If we can leave, we can everyone to where there’s no magic, and then we can filet that bitch of a queen.  We _must_ do this.  Show your hands.”

The others did, all except for Sneezy, who promptly sneezed.  Twice. 

_Well, that’s fitting._ “You're up, Snotty,” he said as kindly as he could.  Which wasn’t very nice.  Leroy knew he was taking Dopey’s death hard, but they _all_ were.  They hadn’t lost someone since Stealthy, and losing a brother was like losing a limb.  Only worse.

Sneezy smiled nervously.  “You know, what if we found a turtle and sort of nudged it over first?”

“Oh, for the love of—” Cutting off, he reached out and shoved Sneezy over the line, maybe a little harder than he needed to, but there was no time to lose.

They all waited a moment as Sneezy blinked and staggered, turning to stare at them with wide eyes.  Leroy kept _waiting_ for Sneezy to speak, but the idiot just stood there.

 “Sneezy, you okay? Sneezy!”

Their brother blinked.  “Who the hell is ‘Sneezy’?”

The crowd behind them froze, and soon enough, word started getting through that Sneezy was now Mr. Clark, and that no one could leave Storybrooke without losing their true selves.  No one was sure if they were more afraid of _that_ or of Cora…but they knew they could not continue to live in a town like this.

No one else crossed the line that morning, and by the time someone tried that afternoon, there was new magic in place.  No one spontaneously burst into flames; no, that would have been crass.  Instead, Zelena’s magic simply turned them into flying monkeys, doomed to serve the Wicked Witch of the West and her beloved mother until someone broke them free.

As it so happened, Doctor Whale was the first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has continued to read this story, particularly those of you who left me comment while I was on vacation! Seeing them when I got internet again really made my life. 
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Eighty-Three—“Hope in Strange Places”, when Belle and Baelfire take a look at that contract, the Jabberwocky goes after Snow, Hook and Tink have a heart to heart, Henry stumbles upon a secret, and strangers come to Storybrooke.


	83. Hope in Strange Places

By the time she woke up on March 9th, Belle was refreshed and ready to find ways to bring Cora down.  She already had an idea, but first she needed to fix breakfast for a hungry three and a half year old.  Fortunately, although Lacey hadn’t been a gourmet cook, she’d been better than Belle had been back home, and Gabi was on an oatmeal kick, anyway.  Making oatmeal was easy, even if they didn’t have any instant oatmeal in the house.

_Rumple hates the instant stuff and won’t let me buy it,_ she thought before she could stop herself, and almost burst into tears before she managed to take a deep breath.  Gabi was deep in a coloring book at the moment, but would undoubtedly  notice her mother sobbing.  Biting her lip, however, did not keep the image of Rumplestiltskin’s drawn face out of her mind. 

_He looked terrible,_ Belle remembered, thinking back to the day before.  _Tense and exhausted, and there was something wrong with the way he held his left arm._   She had been able to see the strain in her husband’s brown eyes, had seen the desperate and longing way in which he had looked in their direction.  Worse yet, Belle _knew_ what Cora had to be doing to him, and her imagination had cooked up plenty of horrible scenarios the first two nights after he’d given himself up.  She’d been too tired to do the same last night, but now she was fully awake and unable to stop thinking about how Cora had to be hurting her husband.  _I’ve got to get to him somehow,_ she thought desperately, even though she knew it was foolish. 

_No,_ the voice of reason pointed out.  _I’ve got to find a way to take down Cora.  And fast._ Rumplestiltskin had been convinced that Cora would try to break her deal eventually, thus freeing him, but Belle was not going to wait.  Waiting would endanger the town—but more importantly, every day she waited, Rumple would be hurt more.  And Belle was _not_ about to stand by and let that happen.  Not for one moment more than—

“Morning.”

Startled, Belle whirled around to face Bae, knowing that her eyes were wide and stupidly shocked.  Frantically, she tried to bottle up her emotions and smile normally.  “Good morning.”

 “You okay?” Bae asked, glancing Gabi’s way.  Fortunately, she was still engrossed in coloring, and paying no attention to the adults’ conversation.

“As much as I can be,” she replied, trying to smile bravely.

“He looked pretty bad,” Rumple’s son said quietly, wincing.  “I remember days where…well, I guess that doesn’t matter, now.  But I need to know what’s going on.  I can’t help if I don’t understand.”

“It’s not really my story to tell.”  Biting her lip, Belle thought back on the story Rumple had shared with her, on how he had trusted her with things he’d never shared with anyone else.  Then she glanced at her young daughter, who had never seen her father as anything but perfect and fearless.  “And now’s not a good time.”

“That bad, huh?”

She looked out the window, blinking back the need to cry.  “Worse.”

“What can I do?  I need to help,” he asked, making Belle turn back to face him.  “I…”

“He was so afraid you’d hate him, you know,” Belle couldn’t stop herself from saying.  “That you would never forgive him.  He hates himself so much for letting you go.”

“Forgiveness is hard,” Bae admitted, and she could see shame warring with centuries’ worth of hurt on his face.  “But I kind of get it, now.  I used to think that when he became the Dark One, everything _good_ about him vanished, but I think I was wrong.  He’s still in there, my papa.”

“He is,” she said softly, reaching out to squeeze Bae’s arm.  “And speaking of things he does, there’s something you need to see.”

“The contract?”

Goodness, he was quick; seeing Rumple’s quick mind in Bae made a smile cross Belle’s face.  “Henry deserves to know who his father is, assuming you want him to know.  And I’ll show you why that’ll protect him.”

* * *

 

“She has your heart, Papa,” August objected, praying that neither Cora or Zelena was listening in just now. 

“No one knows that better than I,” Geppetto answered, laying a hand on August’s shoulder.

“I can’t help them against her,” he protested.  August had risked too much to save his father, had betrayed too many friends.  He wouldn’t risk Geppetto now.  Not after they’d come this far.

“Of course you can, son,” his father said, giving August a look that said he was acting like a child.

“I can’t.  She’ll hurt you, Papa.  Or worse—”

“That’s a risk I can take,” Geppetto interrupted.  “I won’t hold my boy back from doing the right thing.  Not this time.”

“I’m not sure I can,” August whispered brokenly, bowing his head.

A gnarled hand touched his cheek.  “I believe in you, Pinocchio.  I always will.”

* * *

 

She’d taken her time stalking her prey.  After all, the Evil Queen could tell her what to do, but she couldn’t _force_ her to do it her way.  Jabber couldn’t be controlled by the Vorpal Blade, much though she feared it.  The sword could only trap her, and as long as Cora was distracted by the Dark One—a delicious meal, if Jabber did say so herself—Jabber was free to take her time.  So, she spent two days watching the Fairest of them All, watching her sickeningly sweet love with her husband and her growing bond with her daughter and grandson. 

Jabber had nothing against Snow White as a person; she seemed perfectly nice and fairly strong.  But she wasn’t really a person, or at least Jabber refused to think of her as one.  Snow was a _meal_ , a way to feed her own demon side and banish the gnawing hunger.  So, she climbed the outside of the fancy house that misty morning, feeling the vibrations of despair and heartbreak radiating outwards from the town line, and she’d already spotted a flying monkey or two flapping their way towards their new mistress.  Under other circumstances, that might have been enough to sate her, but Jabber was not foolish enough to ignore Cora for long.  That would have been very bad for her health, so she crept through the window, after making sure the prince was gone.

Snow stood in front of the mirror, brushing her ridiculously short hair, but she whirled around as Jabber landed lightly on the floor.  Immediately her prey’s eye went wide, and Jabber smiled.

“Am I interrupting?” she asked softly, gliding forwards and _reaching_.  As always, fears and insecurities jumped out to her, leaping into her mind like old friends.  When Jabber had been younger— _so_ very long ago—telling others’ fears apart from her own thoughts had been difficult.  Now, she had no such difficulties.  “Are you afraid someone might… _hurt_ you?”

Oh, this one was beautiful.  She was strong, yes, but the strongest people often had the most horrible fears.  Snow White blamed _herself_ for her mother’s death as well as her father’s, and she had never quite gotten over the fear that those she loved would hate her—or be turned against her.  _It’s happened so many times._   The words burned into Jabber’s mind, and she shivered in delight, grabbing ahold of them with her power and drinking in the sweet terror.  Snow loved so very strongly, and she tried so hard to be confident in love returned to her, but with the way her stepsister had been forced to repeatedly betray her, that possibility would never leave her mind.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Snow replied, probably in what she hoped was a firm voice.  It wasn’t.  Her lip trembled and her breath was short; Jabber could feel her special magic working already, forcing Snow to _feel_ every fear she’d ever had. 

Oh, and Snow had been through a Nightmare Curse.  That made this even simpler. Even as a mere child, Jabber could have destroyed her easily!  Why had Cora not mentioned that?  There would have been no need to watch her if Jabber had known that; those fears were so very easy to resurrect…just like the fact that she had nearly killed her own True Love while under that curse.  _Oh, delicious._   She shivered again, coming around the bed while her prey remained frozen in her sights.

“No, you don’t fear me for yourself,” Jabber whispered, smiling as she read every emotion like a treasured book.  “You fear what I might do to those you love.  Or what I might make _you_ do to those you love.”

Snow tried to argue.  “I know you can’t—”

“Can’t I?”  _So brave,_ Jabber thought a little drunkenly.  _So frightened._ “I don’t need to force you to do anything, Snow White.  Those you love will betray you in the end without my help.  They always do, after all, because you never come first, do you?  For Regina, there was Daniel, who she sacrificed _you_ to save.   Or your father, who married Cora because he wasn’t strong enough to resist her.”

“No.  No, they…” Snow trailed off, and then Jabber felt something even sweeter rear up. 

“Or even your daughter,” she whispered, stepping in close to whisper in Snow’s ear and feeling something break inside her prey.   “Your _Emma._   She has Henry, though, and she grew up without you.  She doesn’t _need_ you.  She doesn’t care about you.  You were just a pity case, someone who needed help and then got too clingy to shake.  Now, she’ll walk away.  You know she will.”

“Emma won’t.  She won’t.”  But there were tears gathering in Snow’s eyes, and Jabber could feel the power racing through her, because Snow was terrified that Emma would do just that. 

“How do you know?  You don’t really _know_ her,” Jabber replied, putting power into the persuasive words.  “You held her for five minutes after she was born.  You never mattered to her.  You put her in an enchanted wardrobe and sent her away.  How can she _not_ hate you for that?”

The tears were falling openly, now, and Jabber started digging deeper.  Crushing Snow White would be _easy_.  Almost disappointingly so.  But at least she could enjoy herself, and feed.  _Someday,_ she thought in a distant part of her mind, _I will choose who I want to harm.  Not be directed like some beast by others._ But now was not the time for her own thoughts.  Now she would shatter the small woman before her.  So, Jabber focused all of her concentration on Snow’s deepest levels of fears, drinking in the despair.

“None of them care about you enough.  Regina wanted Daniel more, and now Henry is the center of her life.  That’s something she and _your_ husband share, isn’t it?  Perhaps Cora was right, and those two were meant to—”

“No,” a new voice cut in, making Jabber whirl to face the now-open bedroom door.  She hadn’t expected an interruption; the prince was supposed to be gone!

And the one magic she _couldn’t_ bypass was filling the air, poisoning the sweet fear she’d been feeding on.  The moment Prince ‘Charming’ strode in, Jabber’s effectiveness reduced; she could feel Snow pulling back, could feel the princess returning to herself.  Hissing, Jabber backed away, her eyes on the sword now in Charming’s hands.

She couldn’t focus on both of them, not together.  Particularly not when they shared _True Love_.  The very presence of that damn magic made Jabber want to run away, but she gritted her teeth and turned to attack Charming before Snow could recover, pulling the threads of his fears and doubts quickly.

“Have you come to fail to save someone else?” she inquired, moving to circle him, her liquid smooth motions betraying none of her distaste.  “You’re good at that, aren’t you?”

“No.”  Surprisingly, this was Snow, and Jabber’s head snapped around to glare at the princess who still had tears on her face.  “He isn’t.  He’s always saved me.”

“We’ve always saved each other,” Charming confirmed, and Jabber felt their fears dance out of her grasp.

Their love was too strong.  It was just like the other two, only less tainted by darkness.  She had been surprised to find the Dark One with a True Love—that such a thing could happen defied comprehension!—but she had known about these two.  That was why she’d gone to such great pains to make sure the prince was gone before she came after the princess.  Yet here he was, and she would never finish Snow off like this.

“Because that’s what we do,” Snow said, her voice growing stronger.  The two joined hands, and wasn’t that sickeningly sweet?

Still, it didn’t pay to make enemies, and Jabber was nothing if not wise.

“I’m not the last who will come for you,” she warned them, backing towards the window and offering a half smile.  “She’s the determined sort, Cora.”

“Why do you help her?” Snow asked curiously.

For a moment, Jabber contemplated lying.  But these two where heroes, and if she played things right, maybe she could escape.  “She has the Vorpal Blade.”

“The what?” Charming asked.

“Pity,” Jabber sighed, wishing they knew more.  Or even enough.  “And there I thought you were more than just a pretty face.”

She’d reached the window, and ducked out it without another word.  She didn’t care to bandy words about with the Charmings; no, if she couldn’t feed here—and her third consecutive failure to destroy someone she’d targeted only  made the burning hunger stronger—she would have to find someone else.  Both shouted after her, but she swung lightly to the ground and slinked away before they could follow.

* * *

 

His eyes swept quickly over the contract, reading it a second time.  It was clear and concise, not full of fine print like one from a used car dealership, straightforward and not at all open to interpretation.  Then again, Bae supposed his father had known exactly what type of psychotic woman he was dealing with.  There was obviously some history between Rumplestiltskin and Cora, and he made a mental note to ask Belle for the details.  For the moment, however, he wanted to read and reread the contract to make sure Belle had been right—but she _was_. 

_Should the undersigned (Cora Mills, Queen of Hearts, Queen Cora, Mayor of Storybrooke, et al) harm anyone in the family of Rumplestiltskin (Mr. Gold), this contract shall be null and void, as shall the deal it governs.  In terms of this contract, family is defined as anyone related by blood or by marriage.  Harm is defined as any and all painful, disfiguring, sickening, incapacitating, and/or fatal actions by the undersigned, her employees, servants, allies, family members, or anyone encouraged, compelled, or ordered to do so by the undersigned.  It also includes physical, psychological, magical, or any other methods of doing harm or altering the mental state of any individual who meets said relationship requirements.  The undersigned shall also not imprison nor take the hearts of said family members, nor separate them from one another by any means._

The contract went on in excruciating detail about what Cora could or could not do, and about how she couldn’t force (or ask, or in any way encourage) anyone else to do any of those things, either.  It was pretty damned airtight, actually.  Bae had gotten damn good at loopholes in his messed up life, and he couldn’t find one there.  Most importantly, there it was, right in black and white.  Henry was safe.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, looking up at Belle as another idea formed in his head.  His stepmother smiled.

“I did tell you, but I understand.”

“I do have a question,” Bae said, thinking fast.  “Emma…her family is Cora’s main targets, right?  I’m still playing catchup on all the details, but Cora is Emma’s evil step-grandmother, right?”

Belle chuckled softly.  “Yes.  In simple terms, she’s the Evil Queen from _Snow White._ ”

“Yeah, August said.”  Thinking of the puppet made Bae want to strangle him, though, so he shoved those thoughts aside.  But then something else occurred to him, the loophole that was right there in plain sight.  There wasn’t a loophole that _Cora_ could exploit, but there was one _he_ could.  Had his father done that on purpose?  “Emma’s Henry’s mom.  Will this protect her?”

“I’m not sure.  I don’t think so,” she answered slowly, biting her lip thoughtfully.  “I know Rumple would have put that in there if he’d known, but he didn’t.”  Belle cringed.  “He still doesn’t.”

_Because no one has so much as_ seen _Papa since he gave Cora the dagger, unless you count him destroying town hall,_ Bae thought.  More than once, he’d contemplated borrowing a gun and trying to put a bullet in Cora, but he’d always been better with crossbows than guns.  And the crazy mayor had magic, which would make killing her a lot harder.  _I tried so hard to run away from magic, and yet here I am, right in the thick of it._ But at least magic would force Cora to keep to this contract, wouldn’t it?  And if it didn’t, then his father would be free, and that would actually be a good thing.

“So…” he said hesitantly.  “If, uh, Emma and I were to get, say, married…this would protect her and her family, too?”

Belle was pretty unflappable, but her blue eyes went huge on that question, and her mouth dropped open slightly.  She blinked, but answered with a firm nod.  “You know, I think it would.”

Now he just had to convince Emma of that.

_Fat chance, cowboy.  You are truly_ screwed _if you try that one._

* * *

 

They’d met down by the docks, mostly because Killian had to get away from the increasingly toxic atmosphere in Cora’s summer house.  Oh, he wasn’t staying there—Killian was not barking mad—but he did wind up spending a lot of time there.  His role in capturing Baelfire wasn’t going to be something the heroes forgave easily, and he knew that.  He hadn’t meant for things to get quite so out of control, hadn’t meant to wind up on Cora’s side this firmly.  He really had expected Bae to see reason.  After all, the boy hated his father—he’d even told Killian how to kill the Dark One!—and it stood to reason that Bae would help them.

Until Baelfire had proven himself annoyingly loyal to the demon that had abandoned him, and had promptly told Emma (and half the bloody town, undoubtedly) about Killian’s role in his kidnapping.  That meant Killian was now persona non grata with the hero types, and he wasn’t particularly eager to run across them until he had something they wanted.  _If I decide to help them, it’ll be bearing information they can’t ignore,_ he thought, staring out at the water and waiting for Mirabella— _Tink_!—to arrive.  _Cora’s not worth betraying if she’s going to win, because I am damn well going to be on the winning side this time._

Nevermind the way his conscience was nagging him, the way the things Cora was doing and planning made his stomach roll.  That wasn’t important.  _Winning_ was.  Killian had waited long enough for his revenge, had waited long enough for a happy ending.  He was damn well going to take one this time, no matter what it took.

“Hi,” a familiar voice said, and he turned, feeling his heart stutter a strange little beat that Killian hardly recognized.

When was the last time he’d genuinely felt anything other than attraction for someone?  Oh, he’d been attracted to Emma Swan—and to all of the women he’d slept with, honestly—but that had been a physical reaction to beauty and strong personality.  This…this was something different.  Something he hadn’t felt since Milah, and all it took was turning around to look at Tink.

She didn’t even _dress_ like Mirabella.  Mirabella had always been composed and properly coifed, like any good courtesan should be.  Tink, however, wore her hair in a loose ponytail, and was dressed in a yellow shirt and a green sweater over a simple pair of jeans.  But she looked beautiful.

“Hi,” he managed to answer around the sudden lump in his throat, feeling utterly inadequate and foolish.  Where had his suave manners gone?  Killian Jones was a ladies’ man, not a mumbling idiot!

“I’m glad you came,” Tink said, sounding as awkward as he felt.  “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to, given how things are now.”

“What do you mean, love?” Killian asked, blinking.  Of course he would want to see her!  She had to be mad to think he wouldn’t; in a logical world, _Tink_ wouldn’t want to see him, given what had passed between them during the curse.  She’d said that she didn’t blame him, but Killian was no fool.  He’d been drawn to her, yes, but he never should have kept _buying_ her from Madam Merryweather.

“I’m a fairy,” the petite woman said bluntly, looking up to fiercely meet his eyes.  “You’re…well, I don’t know what you are.  But everyone knows you’re allied with Cora.”

“Do they?”  It was hardly unexpected, but Killian had hoped his own role would be less obvious, what with the attention Cora, Zelena, and the Dark One were getting these days.

Tink just nodded.  “August—Pinocchio, I suppose, though he doesn’t like being called that—came to Blue this morning to confess everything.  He said that you’ve been working with Cora the entire time, too.”

“Ah.  That.”  Killian forced a casual shrug.  “I am a pirate, you know.  My allegiance to Cora was hardly unknown back home, either.”

“I remember.  I met you there.”

_I should have helped her then,_ Killian thought, his heart heavy.  _Then maybe she would never have wound up in that thrice-be-damned Basement and we might actually have a chance.  Maybe I could have become a better man before it was too late._ “So, does this  mean you don’t want to see me again?” he had to ask.

“No,” she whispered, stepping forward.  Suddenly there was a hand on his arm, warm and gentle, and Killian wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.  “I just wish…I just wish it didn’t mean we were on opposite sides.”

“Perhaps there’s a certain spice in bedding the enemy, love.”  The words were automatic, as was the suggestive wagging of his eyebrows, and for a moment, it made Tink snort with laughter.

“That’s not exactly the spice I’m looking for,” she retorted, rolling her eyes—but they were sparkling with amusement, and Killian found himself smiling a much more natural smile before she turned serious.  “But, honestly, what holds you to her?  Why can’t you help us beat her?”

For a moment, Killian could only stare.  “I…Tink, I…”

How could he explain to her that he’d burned for vengeance for three hundred years, and Cora was the only avenue for acquiring said revenge?  _Not like she’ll let me kill the crocodile,_ a traitorous voice inside him whispered.   _She won’t even kill him herself, saying Rumplestiltskin is ‘useful’._   Seeing the crocodile brought so low was certainly satisfying, even if Killian intentionally avoided the details of what Cora did to him.  He’d thought that he would rejoice in any amount of pain and degradation that Cora heaped upon the Dark One, yet he found that even his very rusty conscience squeaked when presented with the barest hints of how depraved Cora truly was.  Because of that, his revenge had grown tainted, even if Milah’s shade might have been satisfied with the abuse Cora heaped upon her ex-husband. 

“I want to be on the winning side,” Killian found himself saying, and almost hated himself for the stark honesty of that answer as Tink looked at him with pity.  That made him scowl, and add defensively: “Cora seems to be the best chance I have at that.  She’s rigged the deck, love, and none of her enemies are going to get out of this alive.”

“Then help us beat her.”

“It’s not that simple!” he protested.

Tink leaned in and kissed him gently, completely taking Killian by surprise.  Her smile was soft.  “Why not?”

 

* * *

 

“You saved me,” Snow whispered, leaning her head against her husband’s chest and finally letting out the breath she had been holding.  Snow had been in a lot of dangerous situations in her life, and she’d always faced them bravely, but the Jabberwocky was like nothing she had ever faced before.

It was like that monster crept inside your soul and wouldn’t let go.  Snow could _still_ feel her there, could still feel every doubt and every fear she’d ever had lining up to take over her mind.  Shivering, she clung to Charming just a little bit tighter, needing his warmth and his love.  His arms tightened around her as well, and Snow could sense that he needed her, too.  The creature had tried to attack them both, but she’d proved unable to beat them when they united, and had fled.

“We saved each other,” Charming replied, bending down to kiss her.

Somehow, his kisses always made her feel better.  Most of them weren’t True Love’s kiss, but they didn’t have to be.  Those kisses were their love made real, a connection between them that no one could break.  Snow could hardly remember how she’d ever lived without him; her life as Mary Margaret had always been full of a howling emptiness she could never understand.  Now, however, she knew that was because Charming hadn’t been with her…and Snow was never going to let him go again.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“And I will always love you,” he replied, cradling her cheek in his hand as Snow leaned into his touch.  “No matter what tries to get between us.”

* * *

 

“So, are you gonna tell me what you’ve been hiding?” Henry asked just as his father was trying to figure out how to convince his birth mother to do something crazy.  Henry didn’t know that, of course; he just watched Emma jerk up short from the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she’d been making for lunch and stare at him with wide eyes.

“Hiding?” she squeaked, and Henry knew that he had definitely hit on something.

“Yeah,” he replied, trying to sound casual.  “Like about how you know Baelfire.”

Henry wasn’t an idiot, after all.  There was obviously _something_ between those two, and he was still curious about the conversation he’d overheard when they’d been hiding in his room.  The fact that his mom had known Mr. Gold’s son before coming to Storybrooke was like a giant flashing sign over Emma’s head saying ‘there’s something important right here!’, and Henry wasn’t going to let her get away with not answering him.  Again.

“We, uh, met when we were younger.  Like, teenagers,” Emma said with a twitch that looked like it was supposed to be a shrug.  “I was seventeen.  He was…I don’t know, eighteen?  We traveled together for a while.”

“Why?”

Emma looked away.  “Because neither of us had anyone or anywhere else to go,” she whispered, and Henry felt his heart clench.  He’d never thought of what kind of life his birth mom must have had before she came to Storybrooke, not really.  He’d found her alone in a one bedroom apartment in Boston, and no friends had ever tried to look her up since she came here, had they?  He knew from the book that Pinocchio was supposed to stick with Emma and help her, but August hadn’t done that.  Instead, apparently, she’d found Baelfire.

“Then why’d you go your separate ways?” Henry had to ask.

“I went to jail,” was the quiet response, and somehow that made a jolt of realization run up Henry’s spine.  That was important, somehow, for some reason that was just beyond his reach, but Emma continued before Henry could quite figure out what.  “I thought it was Neal’s fault, at the time, but it turns out that it was August.  But I blamed Neal for a long time.”

_He broke my heart,_ Henry suddenly remembered Emma saying.  She’d promised to tell him about his father someday, never implying that whoever it was had come from anywhere but the Land Without Magic, but…what if Emma hadn’t known?  For a week or so before the curse broke, Henry had actually wondered if _August_ might be his father; Pinocchio had been trying pretty hard to get Emma to date him, after all.  But Emma’s blasé reaction to the mysterious man with the bike hadn’t given any weight to that theory, so Henry had discarded it.  Baelfire, on the other hand…

“Do you still blame him?” Henry asked, just to have something to say to mask the wild way his heart was pounding.

“I don’t know.  He was”—she seemed to catch herself before she said too much—“I mean, we were good friends once.  Now it’s just weird, though.”

_It’s got to be him,_ Henry thought to himself, desperately biting back a smile.  Emma hadn’t said as much, but Henry just knew it.  She’d tell him eventually, but when she did, Henry would be ready.

* * *

 

Her little girl was _beautiful._   Cora had, at least, been true to her word and brought Lilith back to Maleficent personally, reuniting daughter and mother the day before.  Maleficent wasn’t terribly happy that her Lilith had been left with Fagin, of all people, but she could always roast the man later if she found any evidence of abuse.  Meanwhile, she concentrated on getting reacquainted with her little girl.  Much to Ursula and Cruella’s annoyance, Maleficent had spent most of the last day with Lilith, holding her, playing with her, and singing to her.

“You don’t pull off terrifying dragon bitch very well when you’re singing to her, you know,” Cruella finally said, barging into the sitting room where Maleficent cradled her sleeping daughter.

She arched an eyebrow at her friend. “Who says I want to?”

“C’mon, Mal, get it out of your system.  There’s an entire town of people just _waiting_ to be terrorized,” Cruella sighed, flopping onto the couch across from Maleficent’s chair with a theatrical sigh. 

“I’m not stopping you,” she pointed out mildly.

“It’s no fun if you don’t come along.”

“Ursula will go with you, I’m sure,” Maleficent replied, looking back down at Lilith’s perfect face.  Her daughter slept onwards like a champion, happy to be in her mother’s arms once more.  Cruella, however, tended towards the bombastic, so she added: “And keep your voice down.  Lilith is sleeping.”

“Motherhood does _not_ become you, darling,” her friend complained.  “Leave the girl with a nursemaid—well guarded with magic, of course—and come help Ursula and I make Cora miserable.  _Someone_ has to stop her before she gets _all_ the power.”

Maleficent shook her head regretfully.  “I made a deal with her.”  _One I ought not have made, but I was too worried for Lilith to think straight.  And besides, when have these heroes ever cared what happened to us?  They wouldn’t blink if Cora killed my daughter, because I’m a villain._   “I promised not to move against her.”

“Then perhaps we should just work with her?  Cora’s not a fool, and she rewards her allies well.  As long as we’re strong enough to make her, anyway.”

“Go ahead,” she said, looking up from her daughter and holding her just a little closer.  “I’m not getting involved in a war when my daughter is so vulnerable, Cruella.  Certainly you understand that.”

Cruella’s glare said that she didn’t, but at least she was a good enough friend not to say so aloud.  But Maleficent could see that _something_ else had to be said to appease Cruella’s hungry inner demons, so she added:

“I will, of course, be there if you or Ursula needs me.  Any time.”

“Of course,” Cruella grumbled, but then Ursula wandered into the room and the two started debating about which side to jump in on.

* * *

 

If someone had asked Robin to guess who might tell him how to rescue Regina, it would not have been the Dark One.  Given his own past experiences with Rumplestiltskin in the Enchanted Forest—even if his mission of thievery with Charming had supposedly cleared the air between them—Robin possessed a healthy sense of mistrust where the Dark One was concerned, and yet he’d told Robin _exactly_ where to find Regina.  Assuming he was telling the truth, of course, but Robin didn’t think that the older man had been lying.  Had he been, it would have been easier.

Regina was under a _sleeping curse_.  Everyone from the Enchanted Forest knew exactly what that meant, and what it would take to wake her.  _Do you love her?_ Rumplestiltskin had asked pointedly, and even though Robin had stuttered and prevaricated, he knew the answer.  He knew that he loved Regina, no matter who she had been before the curse or who her mother was.  Robin couldn’t explain it, and he didn’t want to.  This love wasn’t as simple or as easy as his love for Marian—who he would never, _ever_ forget—but it was love all the same.  Love pure and love true.  He knew that he loved her like he knew his own name, and now he knew where she was and how they could save her.

But Robin also knew that he couldn’t save Regina alone.  Knowing where she was wasn’t enough; he would have to go to the Charmings and get their help.  He wasn’t certain how Regina felt about him now that the curse was broken, but that didn’t matter, did it?  Knowing that she might not feel the same way about him didn’t change Robin’s heart; it only meant that he might not be able to wake her up.  Yet the Dark One had proven helpful again on that front, and now Robin knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who would wake her if he failed.  _Regina’s more important than my pride,_ he thought, nodding to himself.  _She’s more important than almost anything._

“John?” he called to his roommate as he walked into the living room where Roland was playing with his action figures under Little John’s watchful eye.  “Let’s call the Merry Men up.  I think we have a job to do, and heroes to help.”

After all, if he was going to creep into the lion’s den, they might as well piss the Evil Queen off while they were at it.

* * *

 

Regina continued to dream. 

Somewhere inside her existed the knowledge that this was the fifth day she had been under a sleeping curse.  Yet it felt like an eternity.  She floated in darkness, pacing back and forth in that lonely mirrored room, with only her own screams of frustration to keep her company.

There was no way to know what her mother was doing, no way to know what horrible things Cora was planning.  Regina had tried beating on the mirrored walls in the beginning, had tried everything she could think of to break her way out, but nothing worked.  No matter what she did, she remained stuck in the same damned room, stuck _sleeping_ while her family was in danger.  There was _nothing_ she could do.  Zelena had seen to that, and the one person who could have woken her up was long dead.  _Daniel…_   Pain rose at the mere thought of her True Love.  She hadn’t thought of him in for so long; she’d been caught up in her blossoming romance with Errol—Robin!—to remember the man who had once meant everything to her.  But she hadn’t forgotten him.  Regina never would.

Daniel would always own a piece of her heart; he would be the love she had lost and the True Love who had been connected to her soul.  A part of Regina had died with him, and she could picture his death like it had happened yesterday.  She would _never_ forget him, much though she had come to love Robin.  Because Regina knew that once you loved someone like that, you would never receive a second chance.  Errol loved her, but Robin probably didn’t.  And even if he did…there was no chance that their untried and fledgling love would be enough to wake her.  _Henry could,_ Regina knew.  But there was no way her mother would let Henry near her.

“Henry…”  The word slipped out as she leaned her face against the nearest mirror, tears slipping down her cheeks.  For all Regina knew, he was already dead, and yet again, she could not save someone she loved.

* * *

 

As dawn approached on the fourth day after the curse broke, a car pulled up just short of the spray painted town line, and two people climbed out.

“You sure this is where it is, Greg?” Tamara asked, looking down at the orange line.

“Yeah.  Otherwise, why would there be a line on the road in the middle of nowhere?” her real boyfriend answered, crossing his arms.  “And I remember this place.”

Now wasn’t the time to point out to ‘Greg’ that he’d been a child when he’d last been in Storybrooke, or that their superiors at the Home Office often didn’t even believe that the place existed at all.  Tamara loved him, so she was going to help him prove that Storybrooke was real.  _Besides, Neal ran off to somewhere off the grid, and we_ were _watching him because that August guy contacted him,_ she thought.  So, Tamara just nodded and gave him a smile.

“Let’s do it, then,” she said, nodding back at the trailer behind her SUV. 

Greg grinned back.  “Yeah.  It’s time to destroy magic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who has stuck with this story for so long. I continue to be floored by the response, and it makes me giddy inside. 
> 
> Next up, Chapter Eighty-Four—“The Best Laid Plans,” in which Greg and Tamara enter Storybrooke, Belle and Jefferson start conspiring, Cora gathers her allies, and the heroes hold a war council. And someone dies.


	84. The Best Laid Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for rape/torture in the first scene.

“You’re going to be good, aren’t you?” Cora asked with a smile, leaning over him as Rumplestiltskin stared up at her, trying not to shake.  He’d spent the night of the 9th in her bed— _not_ a place he wanted to be—and had gotten very little sleep.

“Define good,” he whispered hoarsely, and Cora’s eyes gleamed ominously.

“Do I need to get the electric wand?”

“No.”  Rumplestiltskin hated that the word became a whimper, but he was hurting too badly for defiance.  His body was already covered in burns; Cora and Zelena had gleefully discovered that even the highest levels of electricity they tried out wouldn’t kill him.  He was trembling and couldn’t help it, but Rumplestiltskin was still on her bed with his hands bound behind his back and legs pulled far apart.  Today was only the fourth day since he’d given Cora the dagger, but it felt like a lifetime had passed, and he was going to pieces.

He had never thought it could be this bad.

“Excellent,” Cora purred, her hand coming to rest on the inside of his left thigh as Rumplestiltskin gasped in pain.  Her touch was gentle—for now—but he’d been caned and then burned and then caned again.  The slightest breath of air on his skin was enough to make him want to cry, but he couldn’t pull away.  That command still burned in, making his head spin with agony when Rumplestiltskin even _thought_ about trying to escape Cora’s touch.

Instead he could only lie there, tense and breathing hard, his eyes watering and just praying she would _stop touching him._   Four unbroken days of pain and violation left him in a mental tailspin that could not end well, and sometimes only thoughts of vengeance kept him sane at all.  _She’ll break the contract,_ Rumplestiltskin told himself for the thousandth time.  _She won’t be able to resist, and_ then _I’ll be free.  I just have to hold on._   Even if doing so was getting harder and harder by the second.  _Then I can kill her, and I’ll be safe._ He had to believe that, or he would never last.

“I’m inviting my allies to a meeting today,” Cora said after a moment, running her hands over his body as he struggled not to whimper.  “You’re going to behave yourself and _not_ act out in any way, or I will leave you naked and on your knees for the meeting.”

“You wouldn’t.”  The protest came out on its own, but Cora’s smile was as sweet as it was hungry.

“Don’t test me, Rumple,” she warned him.  “I do so love demonstrating my power over you, and if you won’t be a player on my side, you _will_ be nothing more than my slave.  Understood?”

Anger warred with terror for a moment, but the thought of having Cora’s allies—magic users he knew and who respected _him_ —see him like this was downright paralyzing.  Rumplestiltskin had spent three centuries hiding his weaknesses and his fears from the world, playing at being strong and untouchable.  The idea that Cora would show off what she had done to him threatened to send him into a blind panic.  His vision started going white, and he could feel the world closing in on him, could hear the voices of people from  his old town calling him _coward, worthless, weak_.  Then the whispers of his own curse joined in, with: _You have never been anything without magic.  Now you’re just her slave.  A vessel for the power, nothing more._ Rumplestiltskin was shaking, trapped in his own mind and imagining everything that could go wrong if Cora forced him to—

A thumb pressed hard into the still open wound in his left shoulder, and Rumplestiltskin’s world exploded into a cry of pain.

“Do you understand?” Cora repeated, and Rumplestiltskin nodded miserably.

“Yes,” he whispered, and hated himself.

* * *

 

Squaring her shoulders, Tamara tucked the cell phone back in her pocket.  “Home Office says we’re good to go,” she told Greg.

“No last minute instructions?” her lover snorted.  “That’s new.”

“Nothing worth mentioning,” she agreed.  “Just destroy the town and get out as fast as we can.  There are other problems to deal with after we’re done here, something about some shadow that keeps stealing kids.”

She could see Greg tense; anything that separated kids from their families was a sore spot with him, Tamara knew.  The man who had been supposed to kill Kurt and Owen Flynn had killed his father and then let him go, but Greg had never been grateful for that little act of so-called mercy.  Watching his father die had left scars that would never heal, and gave Tamara still more reasons to want to see magic eradicated from _their_ world.  But he had his game face on and was focused, and they climbed back into the car without another word.  Still, Greg turned back to her one last time as he put the SUV into drive.

“What happens if you run into your ex-‘boyfriend’ while we’re here?” he asked.

Tamara shrugged as the nose of the SUV crossed the orange line on the road.  “We’ll improvise, I guess.  Neal isn’t exactly—”

The screech of a monkey finished her sentence, and suddenly there were two very confused monkeys flapping their wings inside a wildly swerving car.

* * *

 

Baelfire had grown up in the Enchanted Forest and spent far too many years in Neverland to count, but it was still really weird to sit in the living room with Belle from _Beauty and the Beast_ and the Mad-freaking-Hatter.  Believing in magic was one thing, but watching fairytales collide like this really did make his head hurt, since apparently the Hatter had actually _worked_ for his father back home, and his dad had somehow been the Beast in addition to being the Dark One (though Disney had, rather wisely in his opinion, not done a fairytale about the latter).  Storybrooke really was a kind of insane place, but Bae had learned to roll with the punches during his own wild life, so he was at least able to sit back and follow the conversation.

“The question is where to send her, then,” Belle mused, glancing through the book in her lap. 

“You really want me to pack the Evil Queen off in my hat _against_ her will?” Jefferson asked skeptically.  “She’ll fillet me, Belle.”

“Not if she’s unconscious.  Rumple’s got all kinds of potions and spells in the shop, you know,” Bae’s stepmother shot back.  “Even if the fairies won’t help us, I’ve got enough to knock an elephant out for weeks.”

“I’m not worried about _elephants_ ,” the portal hopper muttered mutinously, but he didn’t  argue further, aside from saying: “I’m not doing this alone.  No way.”

“No one would ask you to,” Belle replied quickly, but she didn’t speak fast enough to get in before Bae could say:

“I’ll go with you.”  Both Belle and Jefferson turned to stare at him, and he could see Belle gathering arguments, so Bae added: “Papa would _kill_ me if I let you go off with her, and besides, I’ve traveled between realms before.  Besides, you need to stay here and keep Gabi safe.  She barely knows me.”

Belle glared, but he could see that he had her.  _Good, because if Emma’s even halfway right about how Papa seems to feel about Belle, I can’t let her risk herself.  Not with what Belle_ isn’t _exactly saying Cora’s doing to Papa_ , he thought to himself, meeting Jefferson’s eyes as the portal jumper gave him an evaluating look.

“You got some of your father’s magic?” Jefferson asked.

“Not a bit of it.  But I do know a place where we can dump Cora without it coming back around to bite us in the ass,” he answered bluntly.

“I’m not sure such a place exists.”

“Oh, it does.”  Bae grimaced, but forced himself to continue.  “Neverland.”

“No way,” was the immediate response.  “I’ve been there, and I’m not crossing paths with Pan again.  He’s more insane than Cora is!”

“Yeah, and that’s why it’s the perfect place to leave her.  Look, I know Pan’s a psychopath—I spent centuries in his happy little playground—but there’s no way in hell he’s going to put up with Cora for long, and she’ll try everything she knows to get the better of him.  But you can’t beat Pan by brute force—or by magic, for that matter—which means they’ll keep each other busy for a damned long time.”

“Sure, but what if Pan drops in right when we’re busy dropping her off?  There’s no wayI’m bringing _him_ back with us,” Jefferson protested.   “The rules of the hat are simple: the same number that went in has to come out again, which means we have to bring someone back.”

Bae hadn’t know that—he’d always traveled via shadow or magical bean—but coming up with an answer to that problem is easy.  “Almost any of the Lost Boys will jump at the chance.”

“Last time I was there, they all seemed pretty keen on doing Pan’s bidding.”

“That’s because they don’t have a choice.  Unless it’s someone like Felix, who worships the air Pan flies through, we’ll be fine,” he shrugged.  Bae could think of a dozen Lost Boys off hand who would jump at the chance to get out of that hellhole.

“Are you sure, Bae?” Belle asked quietly, having already flipped to the Neverland section in her book and reading rapidly.

“Yeah.”  A cold chill ran down his spine.  “Trust me on this one, okay?  I was one of them.  I know how it is, and I know who to ask.”

* * *

 

They had arrived just as planned, some singly and others in groups, but all coming at her call.  Watching them walk into her wood paneled reception room made Cora smile; _this_ was power.  The foolish heroes in Storybrooke had no idea what true power was, but Cora did.  Here she stood with Zelena to her right and Rumplestiltskin to her left, with the Dark One’s dagger held firmly in her hands and watching some of the world’s most powerful magic users walk in.

Jafar arrived first, always suave and on time.  He was not the type to be trifled with, carrying his snake-shaped staff that used to be his former mentor.  Jafar was undoubtedly the most powerful of her allies, and he had joined her of his own initiative, for which Cora was always careful to express her appreciation.  Like her, Jafar had run afoul of one too many heroes, and while he didn’t think that Cora knew about his plan to use the Spell of the Three Genies to break the laws of magic, he would be useful up until he tried to double cross her.  For the moment, Jafar had no friends amongst the heroes, and Cora intended to keep it that way.  He was intelligent and creative, and she would make sure to reward him.

Bo Peep walked in after him, her beady little eyes greedy and sharp, watching warily as the Jabberwocky wandered in from another room.  Jabber, for her part, simply smiled at the former warlord, which made Bo Peep back up a step.  Bo Peep really was a sorry piece of work, and barely useful for Cora’s purposes, but her actions would distract the heroes, and that was at least a little worthwhile.  She and Fagin—who had promptly sidled up to her as soon as _he_ walked into the room—were low-level thugs, people that Cora wasn’t proud to call her allies but useful all the same.  She had yet to figure out what she would do with Fagin now that he wasn’t responsible for keeping an eye on Maleficent’s child, but she supposed he was always good for some low-level mischief.

Next came Hook, her ever-useful pirate.  He was seeing that fairy, still, of course, which Cora found irritating, but so far Hook had never shown even the slightest inclination to ever _truly_ leave Cora’s team, which meant he could be trusted a moderate amount.  She would continue to use him to keep an eye on her brigade of heartless minions, because the pirate really was quite good at frightening people when necessary.

The last two to enter were somewhat of a surprise, although a pleasant one. 

“Cora, darling, it’s so good to see you again,” Cruella smiled, walking forward to kiss her cheek as Ursula trailed along, looking far less pleased to be there.  Maleficent’s two friends were indeed welcome in her alliance—Cora had made that plain to them long ago—and although she _had_ cherished a slight hope or two that Maleficent would join them, she was delighted to see that the utterly amoral Cruella had dragged her lover the Sea Witch along.

“I’m so very glad you could join us,” she replied, returning the gesture coolly. 

“I’m sure we won’t regret it,” Cruella said, her eyes twinkling hungrily.  “Mal regrets that she can’t come, of course, but she’s busy playing mother.  Sooner or later, she’ll come to her senses.”

“Do tell her that she’s welcome whenever she does,” Cora answered, and with that, the pleasantries on _that_ front were over.  Cruella and Ursula took places near Jafar, and Cora stepped forward to address the semi-circle of her followers. 

They were an interesting group: her unpredictably attention-hungry daughter, the furiously breaking Dark One, a sorcerer who had trapped his own teacher in a staff, a pirate, a woman who could control animals, a sorceress with tentacles, a mythical creature of fear, and two lowlifes who would create as much trouble as Cora let them.  But they were exactly what she needed to rule Storybrooke, and Cora already knew exactly what she was going to do.

“Welcome, everyone.  I thank you for coming,” she began smoothly.  “We have much work to do now that the curse is broken, but first, I trust you all were comfortable during the curse?”

Nods came from around the circle, and Cora gave herself a mental nod.  She’d been very careful where she placed her potential allies, giving them comfortable lives as people favored by the mayor.  Now that paid off; no one in the room (save Rumple) was angry with her, and they _were_ annoyed with the heroes for upsetting the status quo.  They’d been rather satisfied with their riches and their status, but Snow White and her little cronies were already trying to take that away.  That, of course, was why Cora had waited four days before gathering everyone together.  She had wanted to give them time to grow annoyed.

“I am glad to hear that,” Cora smiled.  “Now before we get down to business, I will offer a demonstration of the many reasons you should continue to be my allies.”  She did not turn, instead merely bringing the dagger up slightly so that it caught everyone’s attention.  “Dark One.”

Cora could _feel_ his fury and his desire to resist her, but Rumplestiltskin kept his face admirably neutral.  Still, his voice was a growl, one that sent shivers running down her spine.  “Yes?”

She gestured with the dagger, and now it was an unspoken command that brought Rumplestiltskin out from behind her and forced him to face her.  Dark eyes burned into hers, as wary as they were angry but Cora had long since learned how to cow him, and she flicked the dagger, sending Rumplestiltskin to his knees.  Hard.

Jafar’s eyes widened, and Cruella let out a little giggle of delight that warmed Cora’s empty heart.  The others simply looked intrigued, but Cora did not make them wait.

“I believe our dear heroes are gathering for a war council,” she said mildly.  “Go fetch Snow White’s nursemaid and bring her here.  Without delay.”

The magic swept out from the dagger, her willpower reinforcing the command.  Cora could feel it wrapping around Rumplestiltskin, could see the power _driving_ her desires into his mind.  It really was the most marvelous feeling, the headiest form of power she had ever exercised.  Having the most powerful sorcerer any of them had ever met kneeling at her feet was utterly intoxicating, and the fact that others were there to see _her_ commanding the Dark One only made it that much sweeter.

“As you like,” Rumplestiltskin ground out, and immediately disappeared in a cloud of dark purple smoke.

Cora smiled and turned to the others.  It was time to discuss how to make Storybrooke miserable.

* * *

 

Their talk with Jefferson had been more than useful, and now they had a plan.  Belle felt rather satisfied by that, for her skin was crawling with worry and terror on her husband’s behalf.  She burned to see him, needed to know he was all right, but at least they were doing everything they could to get him back.  _I should talk to Robin about stealing the dagger,_ she thought to herself as she spotted the outlaw whose life she had once saved—and who had unknowingly returned the favor when he leapt into a fire to rescue Belle and her daughter.  _He might be able to help us with that_.  It was worth a try, anyway.  Anything that got Rumplestiltskin away from Cora sooner was better.

“Hey, Belle,” Robin greeted her with a smile as they walked into Granny’s back room.  “How’s your daughter?”

“Good,” she replied.  “I think she misses Jam—oh, I’m sorry!  I don’t even know your son’s actual name.”  Belle felt herself flush.

“It’s Roland, and I think he’d like to see his friend, too,” the outlaw replied.  “Maybe when things calm down a little—or if we get some breathing room—we might let them get together.”

“That would be wonderful,” she said feelingly, thinking that a little normalcy would be good for Gabi.  “Maybe…maybe when we do that, you can I can talk about your particular skill set?”

“Apparently thieves are in high demand these days,” Robin laughed lightly.  “But I’d be glad to help with whatever it is.”

Belle wasn’t going to mention it here; although she was fairly sure everyone in this small-ish war council knew what was going on, she still didn’t feel like advertising her husband’s weakness like that.  Besides, she, Robin, and Baelfire seemed to be some of the last to arrive, and they were out of time to talk.

A quick glance around the room told her that all of the Charmings (save Henry) were there, along with the woman who Belle thought had once been Snow’s nanny.  Granny and Ruby were already sitting down, although the innkeeper was toying with her crossbow like she expected Cora to walk through the door at any moment.  Next to Granny sat Grumpy, who definitely looked the part today, and to his left was the Blue Fairy, who Belle noticed sent Bae a _very_ searching look.  Next came Prince Thomas—not exactly a fan of her husband’s—and then Archie before she, Baelfire, and Robin rounded out the group.   Snow spoke up as soon as the door shut behind Robin.

“Thank you all for coming,” the young queen said with a smile.  “I know things are very uncertain now—particularly after what happened in town hall—so I wanted to get everyone together and talk about what we should do and where we should go from here.”

“Our first order of business,” David picked up where his wife left off, “is ensuring the safety and security of everyone inside Storybrooke.  None of us know enough about the curse to know why we haven’t returned home, so for now it’s best that we focus on keeping everyone safe while we’re here.  That isn’t just limited to bringing Cora down, either.  We also have to keep fights from breaking out amongst citizens over what’s happened in the past, particularly during the curse.”

“That’s why we believe the best course of action is to start with a general amnesty for everyone,” Snow said firmly.  “Regardless of what someone might have done under the curse, they were not responsible for their own actions, and they cannot be held accountable for them.  Agreed?”

“Excepting Cora, of course,” Grumpy muttered, and Granny snorted.

“Damn straight,” the old woman agreed, and Belle watched plenty of people nod as her stomach did a little flip.

_I suppose this means Papa isn’t going to stay in jail,_ she thought.  For the most part, Belle was glad to hear that, because she had no doubt that Cora had stretched the curse to its limits to force Moe French to attack Rumplestiltskin.  But at the same time, Belle knew enough about the curse to know that her father _had_ had a choice, which meant that she was still uneasy.  She didn’t think he’d do it again—or at least hoped he wouldn’t—but Belle’s anger over that horrendous attack still hadn’t faded.  _They can pardon him all they want,_ she decided, _but I’m not going to brush it under the rug until he shows genuine regret_.

“Are there any objections?” Snow asked the room, and no one spoke up.  “Good.  Next on the agenda—”

Years of exposure to magic meant that Belle felt his presence a split second before the swirl of black smoke invaded the room, which meant she was already looking the right way when he appeared.  Right away, she could see that he was hurting, could see the lines in his face and the exhaustion in his eyes.  He was tense and miserable, moving like an angry puppet on invisible strings, and striding across the room almost before anyone else registered his presence.  But there was something so _off_ in the way he walked that it hurt Belle to see it.

“Rumple,” she whispered without meaning to, and that stopped him in his tracks.

Their eyes met, and Belle could feel the whirlpool of pain and loneliness pulling her in, could feel his raw _need_ for her eclipsing her own soul crying out for him.  _Can I free him?_ she wondered suddenly.  _Right now?  If I kiss him, can it free him?_   Rumple had always wanted to keep his power before, but she knew him well enough to know that he burned for his freedom right now.  That thought made her feet move, and Belle started forward until Rumplestiltskin shook his head brokenly.

He strode forward again, the delay having taken less than five seconds, and Belle wanted to lunge forward and grab him.  But the table was in the way, and even as Emma started to speak up, Rumplestiltskin reached out and grabbed Johanna by the arm.

“Gold, what the hell are you doing?” Emma demanded, her gun already drawn.

“What I have to,” Belle’s husband replied as Johanna yelped in terror.

“You don’t have to do this,” Snow objected, stepping forward quickly. “Tell Cora that this fight is between us, and—”

“I’m sorry,” Rumplestiltskin cut her off softly, and the second cloud of black smoke swept Johanna away with him.

* * *

 

Cora’s plans were pretty solid, Killian had to admit.  He hated being the one expendable person in the room, though—allied with a bunch of magic users, who thought the pirate would really be a player?  The situation was really starting to look worse and worse from his perspective; Bo Peep and Fagin were too stupid to realize what small fish they were in this very big pond, but Killian Jones was not.  He wanted to be on the winning side, yes, but he preferred to be a valued ally instead of a pawn.  So far, Cora hadn’t treated him like anything other than an associate whose input she respected, but Killian was smart enough to realize that might not last.

After all, now she had Zelena, Jafar, Cruella, and Ursula to back her up (though Killian wouldn’t bet on the Sea Witch staying for long).  She also had the Jabberwocky, a thoroughly terrifying creature that Killian resolved to steer well clear of .  Against that sort of power, what good was he?  Perhaps it was time to tack before the wind sent him careening off in a direction he did not want to sail.  Until then, however, he would be a good little boy.  And he would listen.

“I suggest we take the Hatter,” Jafar was saying.  “His talents might not be necessary now, but the last thing we want is Jefferson gallivanting off to other realms and trying to get help.”

“Ooh, can I deal with him, mother?” Zelena spoke up immediately.  “I did so enjoy traveling with him before.” 

_Enjoyed tormenting him, you mean,_ Killian thought to himself, but he was far more interested in the suddenly pinched expression on Jafar’s face.  _Hm. He wanted that job.  I wonder why?_   However, Cora had noticed the same thing, and spoke up smoothly.

“Why don’t you and Jafar work together on that, my dear?” the Evil Queen suggested.  “And if Jafar should come up with any useful side trips for you to take once the Hatter is under your control, I certainly trust the two of you to do what you believe is necessary.”

Zelena glowed; Jafar looked intrigued.  Killian sensed something behind Cora’s words, there, and there was that slight glow in her eyes that always came around when she expected something to happen to give her more power.  Clearly, this Jafar—who Killian had never met until today (save for his cursed persona)—had something or would do something that Cora wanted, which meant Killian needed to keep an eye on it.  _And that’s more useful information if I can dig it out,_ he thought.  Killian wasn’t quite ready to jump ship yet, but he was really starting to want to.  He would reevaluate once the first crack in Cora’s powerbase evidenced itself, he decided. 

“I’d be delighted to work with Zelena,” Jafar replied, his dark eyes hiding something all too well.  The smile the sorcerer bestowed on Zelena was even perfectly amicable, and perhaps a little sultry.  Cora’s daughter beamed.

“We’ll do whatever you need, Mother,” she agreed, batting her eyes at Jafar.

_You’re welcome to her,_ Killian thought judiciously.  Zelena was far too crazy for him, and besides, there was no way Cora would want her daughter to settle for a mere pirate.  By this point, everyone knew what had happened to the unworthy stableboy her _other_ daughter had fallen for, and Killian had no desire to go down that particular road.

“Excellent.”  Cora smiled.  “Before you go, dearest, would you be so kind as to drop in on our former sheriff?  He requires a bit of healing now that there is magic, and I have a job for him do to.”

“Of course.  I—”

A swirl of black smoke interrupted Zelena’s answer, and suddenly the Dark One and a terrified older woman stood at the center of the circle.  Killian vaguely remembered the woman as Jane Wells, a seamstress or something of the sort.  She’d been utterly harmless during the curse, so why would Cora bother sending the crocodile to fetch her?  And why would the old woman now turn to Cora with such terrified and knowing eyes?

“Johanna,” Cora purred, tapping the dagger lightly against the palm of her left hand.  “Welcome to my home.”

“I—what—what do you want with me?” Johanna stuttered.  She tried to back up a step, but Rumplestiltskin still had a hand on her shoulder, and he stopped her cold.

“Your death,” the Evil Queen answered bluntly.  “For too long dear Snow has escaped the consequences for her actions.  Now I will begin to kill everyone she cares about.  Starting with you.”

“But I’ve never done anything to you!”

“Snow loves her old nanny.  That’s enough for me.”  Dark eyes burning, Cora turned to the crocodile.  “Kill her.”

“Kill her yourself,” Rumplestiltskin spat, much to Killian’s surprise.  His old enemy looked furious and miserable, but Cora never gave him a chance to object.  She flicked the dagger and the Dark One staggered, his head snapping back violently as he made a breathless sound of pain that _should_ have satisfied Killian.  Yet it did not.

He should have delighted in seeing Milah’s murderer brought so low, but instead it just made a slightly sick feeling brew in his stomach.  Rumplestiltskin looked dizzy and a little broken, but here the monster was, refusing to kill an innocent woman.  Or trying to, anyway.  However the dagger’s control worked, it obviously didn’t leave a lot of room for defiance, because after his initial objection, the Dark One moved forward like he was a puppet on strings, his hand reaching out to rip the heart straight out of Johanna’s chest despite her protests.

The old woman stared at her beating red heart as Cora smiled, and the Evil Queen never said another word.  She just gestured minutely with the dagger, and Rumplestiltskin crushed Johanna’s heart even as the old woman’s cell phone started ringing.

No, Killian didn’t plan on remaining Cora’s crony for much longer.  Not a chance.  Though he did notice the _other_ heart in Rumplestiltskin’s hand, and the way the Dark One handed it to Cora without a further word.

* * *

 

Watching fairy tale people use cell phones was going to take some getting used to, but Bae was glad when Snow took his suggestion that she call her old nanny and find out what the Evil Queen wanted.  Unfortunately, it was Cora who answered the phone on the third ring.

“Snow, I’m so glad you could call,” the psychotic bitch’s voice rang out from the speakerphone, and Bae found himself shivering a little bit as he tried hard not to imagine what that woman was doing to his father.  _He looked worse this time, worse than I think I ever saw him, even as a kid_.

“What have you done with Johanna?” Snow White demanded.  Her voice was strong but Bae could see the fear in her eyes.  Emma and David had both stepped up close to her for support, though Emma looked like she wanted to reach through the phone and throttle Cora here and now.

“Killed her, of course.  She can’t come to the phone with her heart crushed, so I’m afraid you won’t be talking to her ever again.”

“She never did anything to you!” Snow protested, looking broken.  David put a hand on her shoulder, but the young queen clearly refused to let herself break down.  “How could you?”

“Oh, _I_ didn’t,” Cora’s disembodied voice said easily.  “Our dear Dark One took care of the trash for me.  You can thank him, and meanwhile be grateful that he didn’t start with your darling daughter, instead.”

_Click._

Several moments of stunned silence passed as everyone stared at one another—though Bae didn’t miss the number of hostile stares coming _Belle’s_ way during that silence, and that made him want to punch someone.  Snow leaned on her husband for a moment, silent tears running down her face, before she pulled away, obviously determined to keep fighting.  _She’s a lot like Emma, isn’t she?_ Bae thought to himself, watching the two together as everyone else tried to gather themselves. 

“This control thing is obviously a lie.  There’s no way Gold’s not working with Cora willingly—he’s been on her side all along!” Granny spat after a few seconds, making Bae’s head whip around.

Emma, however, got in first.  “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that they were _sleeping_ together under the curse,” Grumpy spoke up, and Bae turned to stare at Belle before he could stop himself.

“Belle?” he whispered as she winced. 

“Not his choice,” his stepmother replied quietly, looking defeated.  “They’ll never believe it, but it wasn’t ever his choice.”

“You’re damn right we won’t believe that, sister,” Grumpy snorted.  “I know you think he’s not as bad as he is, but maybe this is a blessing in disguise for you.  You can finally get away from him, and everyone sees him for the monster he is.  Hell, that ‘giving up the dagger’ thing was probably an act, anyway, because who the hell could ever see him having another kid?”

“That kid would be _me_ ,” Bae interjected before the dwarf could continue, stepping forward and barely stopping himself from throttling the other man.  “And it’s not a lie.  You want to live in your own stupid little fantasy world, fine.  I can’t stop you.  But why don’t you let the rest of us get on with coming up with a real plan?”

“I was there,” Emma said, and the fact that she backed him up almost immediately made Bae’s heart skip a beat.  “I saw him give the dagger up, so we’re not gonna have this conversation, okay?  Gold’s on our side, even if he doesn’t have any choice in helping Cora right now.  So, instead of casting stones, why don’t we worry about how to get that dagger back before she uses him do destroy the whole town?”

Grumpy glared, but David spoke up quietly, one arm still around Snow.  “He stole my heart from Cora.  Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t do that if he didn’t want to help.”

“He also told me where Regina is,” Robin volunteered suddenly, and that made Bae twist to face the outlaw he’d only just met.  Snow perked up, too, and he could see hope entering her eyes for the first time since Johanna had disappeared. 

“Where is she?” Snow demanded breathlessly.

“Cora’s house,” the outlaw said, and then smiled.  “But I’ve got a bit of a plan on that front, if you’re willing to give me a bit of time to work things out.”

Snow nodded decisively.  “Start talking.”

“Actually, I’d rather wait until I can talk to a few folks,” Robin replied thoughtfully.  “And, well, for any caper, the less people who know the truth, the better.”

“We’ll trust you to let us know what we need to,” David said after exchanging a glance with Snow, and Bae took that opportunity to look at Belle.

“You want to tell them about your idea?” he asked.

His stepmother nodded.  “I do.”  Her slightly nervous smile made everyone turn to look at Belle, and Emma obviously couldn’t stop herself from asking:

“You have a way to get the dagger back?”

“I hope so,” Belle answered.  “And at the very least, it’s a solution of what we can do with Cora.  Jefferson and I have been talking…”

* * *

 

“Where did _you_ two come from?” Zelena mused, looking at her two newest monkeys.  They’d apparently been involved in a car crash; she used magic to follow their trail back to the town line after the typical compulsion brought them to her.  The only question was if they’d been leaving or _entering_ town.  The later wouldn’t normally have occurred to Zelena, but the SUV and trailer full of very odd equipment was facing the wrong direction for someone who had tried to leave, and wasn’t that just interesting?

Both monkeys squawked at her, and Zelena sighed.  “Of course you can’t answer,” she said, rolling her eyes.  “So I have to turn one of you back.  But which one of my lovelies should I talk to?”

Well, that was easy.  One was male and one was female.  Given how women were always smarter than men, she chose to turn the female back.  Temporarily.

A wave of her hand revealed a slender, dark-skinned woman who was quite pretty in her own way, but the way she was retching and shaking after the transformation utterly ruined her appeal.  Zelena gave her a moment to adjust before wrapping magic around her and pulling her off the ground, which made the woman yelp and turn hugely terrified eyes on  her.

“What the hell are you doing?  And where’s Greg?” the woman demanded.

“Oh, he’s still a monkey.  And he’ll stay that way unless you answer my questions,” Zelena lied to her.  Of course ‘Greg’ would stay that way, and Zelena would happily turn this woman back.  But she had to give her victim hope if she wanted answers.

“I’ll answer whatever you want.  Just don’t do that to me again,” the woman said quickly.

“Wonderful!” Zelena declared, and proceeded to quiz Tamara for all she was worth.  Very quickly, Zelena had quite a wonderful tale to share with her mother, one of people who wanted to destroy magic and who had come to Storybrooke from the outside world.  Even more interestingly, the man had apparently been here before, back when he’d been a child.  His father had been killed by Killian “O’Malley”, but the boy had been allowed to escape, and mother would _definitely_ be interested in hearing all about that.

Once Tamara had no more to share, Zelena turned her back.  She squealed and screeched, but the nice thing about her lovely pets was that they didn’t have words to  protest.

* * *

 

“ _Neverland?_ ” Cora said to herself, snorting as she watched the little war council through the heart in her hand.  She had dismissed her allies—save for her ever-useful Dark One, who she’d left kneeling at her feet—and now settled in to watch the Charmings’ little planning session. 

None of the heroes had noticed when Rumplestiltskin had frozen them all in place, stolen a heart, and _then_ proceeded to steal Johanna away.  His skills certainly were very useful if Cora carefully controlled him; Rumplestiltskin was prone to defiance, but she would break that out of him eventually.  Still, this time he had done exactly as she’d bid, stealing a heart away so that she could eavesdrop when she needed to.  She simply hadn’t thought that her plan would bear fruit _quite_ so quickly.

Knowing that the heroes wanted to drop her in that dank little dreamworld was certainly useful.  Cora didn’t know much about Neverland and would have to do a bit of research, along with having Zelena and Jafar take ownership of the Hatter and his hat.  Giving the heroes any type of advantage was not in her best interests…particularly when it was Rumple’s little wife who had proven brilliant enough to come up with a plan that might actually work.  She hadn’t thought his former maid would be quite so intelligent, but Cora supposed she should not be surprised.  Rumple had a type, after all, and even if he had gone with sickeningly _good_ this time around, he certainly wouldn’t marry an idiot.

_Or fall in love with one,_ she thought, surprised at the surge of fury she still felt on that front.  He _loved_ that little wench, a girl who had begun as his mere maid.  And there had to be more than met the eye on ‘Belle’, too, otherwise an innocent little girl would never have fallen for the Dark One in exchange.  Oh, Cora knew how intoxicating his power was, how marvelous it felt to have _Rumplestiltskin_ look at you like you were the center of his universe.  Knowing that the Dark One would destroy worlds for you was a heady feeling, and that slip of a girl had taken it away from her!

Cora had no doubts that Rumple had refused her because of Belle, and that burned.  He had come to love someone who was utterly unworthy of him, had had a _child_ with the wench.  Knowing that made her wildly envious, even without her heart in her chest, but Cora had a plan.  Whatever Rumple felt for this Belle was nothing compared to what he had felt for her; _Cora_ had let him reach his full potential.  They had reveled in the darkness together, had completed one another.  She had been a fool to leave him for Henry, and Cora could see that now.  And if she could admit her mistakes, clearly Rumple could as well.  Together, they would be unbeatable, even if he resisted her now.  In time, she would break him down until he embraced the darkness once more.  _Then_ he would see her for who she was: his perfect match, the one who would stand beside him and bask in the evil they wrought.

Turning towards her Dark One, Cora studied him contemplatively.  She knew _just_ what to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Greg and Tamara have been temporarily distracted, the heroes are planning, and Killian wants to betray Cora. What could possibly go wrong?
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Eighty-Five—“Loopholes and Proposals”, in which Neal pops the question, the Jabberwocky makes a deal, two powerful sorceresses pay Graham a visit, and Cora realizes that she’s been distracted.


	85. Loopholes and Proposals

“Hey, Emma,” Henry greeted her breezily as Emma fought with the waffle maker the next morning.  Her _own_ mother made this look so easy, but somehow she’d managed to burn the first three waffles into particularly crumbly hockey pucks, and she wasn’t about to ruin the fourth.

Still, Henry’s optimism always made her smile, so Emma twisted to face him. “Morning,” she said.  “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah, after a _really_ boring evening spent playing with a three year old,” her son complained, giving her a pointed look.

“Hey, it keeps you safe, kid.  Don’t argue.”

Emma’s heart wanted to twist into a knot every time she even _thought_ about Henry being in danger.  Only five days had passed since she’d had to wake him up from a Nightmare Curse, and Emma was _not_ going to let anything like that happen again.  Nevermind her own feelings about Henry, or the fact that her dad was also _Henry’s_ adopted dad.  They were going to rescue Regina as soon as they could, and if even a hair on Henry’s head was singed, Regina would go absolutely bonkers when she woke up.

Still, it would be really good to get Regina back.  Emma had become friends with her as much as she’d befriended Mary Margaret, maybe more.  She _missed_ her friend.  Regina had always been good for a laugh, and she was important to Henry.  She could also help them kick Cora into next week, and Emma was already more than ready for that to happen.  _It’s only a matter of time before Cora goes after Henry,_ Emma knew.  She’d spent a long time in denial on that front, but the fact that Cora had been willing to curse her own adopted grandson ended any delusions Emma might have had on that front.  Henry was in danger so long as Cora was alive, and Emma was more than willing to help end the bitch as soon as possible.

“I can _help_ ,” Henry proceeded to argue, despite what Emma had just said.  “I know these things better than you do, and I know the Book inside out.  I can help.  Please don’t make me get babysat by Dove again.”

“Gold’s house is the safest place,” Emma protested.

“Except for the fact that _Gold_ can get inside it,” her too-smart child retorted.  “I’ll be safe when the Evil Queen goes down.  Not before.  I helped break the curse!”

“Henry…”

“Fine,” he cut her off, his expression mulish.  “Is there something _else_ you want to tell me, then?”

The sudden shift in topic left Emma reeling a little, and there was something in Henry’s eyes that set off alarms in her head.  _He can’t know,_ the voice of common sense said.  _He’s fishing.  He knows I’m keeping something from him, and he’s fishing.  Nothing else._

“Why would there be?” she said evasively.

Henry crossed his arms and glared. “I think I inherited your superpower, Mom.”

_He just called me ‘Mom’._ Emma’s heart did a backflip; this was only the second time Henry had ever called her that, and she didn’t even think he realized that he had.  Warmth stole through her, tearing her guard down and almost making her blurt out the truth.  Barely catching herself in time, Emma tried to restrain the utterly stupid grin on her face and answered as honestly as she dared:

“Look, I can’t tell you right now, okay?  But the moment I can, I will.  I promise.”

“Secrets get people hurt in this town,” Henry pointed out wisely.

“I know,” Emma replied, reaching out to wrap an arm around him protectively.  “And we’ll tell you as soon as we can.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

Emma groaned.  “No hints!”

Henry pouted, but she held firm.  _I need to talk to Neal,_ Emma realized, ignoring the way _that_ thought made her heart beat a little faster.  _Soon._

* * *

 

Snow had spent hours crying, but when she left the room she and David shared, her back was straight and her eyes were clear.  She would mourn Johanna, who had been like a mother to her, by defeating Cora.  That was the best way to honor her old nursemaid—not by burying herself in David’s arms and sobbing her soul out.  She had to be strong.  There was an entire town depending on her leadership to get through this crisis, and Snow would not let them down.

“No more,” she said quietly to David, who squeezed her hand.  “No one else dies because of Cora.”

“We’ll stop her,” her husband agreed. 

He didn’t have to tell her that it was a nearly impossible promise to keep; Snow knew that.  But they still made that vow, _together_ , because they would do their best to save Storybrooke.  No matter what it took. 

* * *

 

The part-demon stared at Rumplestiltskin with unsettling eyes, but he couldn’t feel her digging into his psyche, which was a small blessing.  Zelena, thinking it would be rather amusing, had forbidden him from using magic to defend himself from the Jabberwocky, and Cora had refused to contradict the order.  That left him at the fear-mongering creature’s mercy, and just the thought of having Jabber rattling around in his subconscious was enough to make Rumplestiltskin’s skin crawl.

Not that there wasn’t plenty in his life these days to make his skin crawl.  Being stuck in a cage and utterly defenseless was enough to tear him to shreds, but Rumplestiltskin summoned up all of his anger and self-control to force himself to look the Jabberwocky in the eye.  _Make her yours,_ his curse whispered uselessly.  _Then you need fear her no more._ Pushing his inner voice aside, Rumplestiltskin rasped: “Here to visit the zoo, dearie?”

That sounded much more vulnerable than he’d meant it to, but Rumplestiltskin tried to hide his fears with a scowl and a dark look, pulling on his curse to give himself some semblance of strength.

“No,” the strange woman answered softly.  “I want to make a deal, Dark One.”

“I’m hardly in a position to keep one at the moment,” he spat with more vitriol than he should have.

The Jabberwocky shrugged.  “Neither am I.  And for a very similar reason,” she smiled without humor, her dark eyes more human than he’d ever seen them.  “So, I propose we help one another.”

“An exchange, if possible,” Rumplestiltskin breathed.  _This_ he had not expected, but the idea was a welcome one.  Jabber might have a better chance of getting the kris dagger than anyone, and if she did—and did not keep it—he might have his freedom without waiting for Cora to break their deal.

“Yes,” she answered simply.  “My freedom for yours, or vice versa.  In my case, all you need do is get the Vorpal Blade to me, and I will _take_ Cora’s sanity from her bit by bit—and your dagger with it.”

“My methods may be less artistic, but you can be certain that I’ll do the same if you are able to return the dagger to me.”

“Then we have an accord.”  For the first time, Jabber looked a little hopeful.  Rumplestiltskin was more of a realist, but even he felt the odd stirrings of possibility in this deal.

“That we do.”

* * *

 

Zelena waited until the day after her mother’s gathering to go visit the old sheriff; first, she had to get a healing potion out of the Dark One, and that meant getting him away from her mother long enough to have him brew the thing.  Mother had been particularly—and understandably!—angry at Rumplestiltskin, which meant Zelena had to wait.  But she was quite all right with that.  It gave her time to have a lovely dinner with Jafar in Granny’s pitiful little diner, and the two of them had a lovely time scaring the peasants.  They’d ripped the heart out of one of the waitresses and made her torment her lover mercilessly, which had proven very entertaining.  Jafar had even told her the story of his mentor, who he had turned into the beautiful snake staff he now carried, and Zelena found that utterly thrilling.

But now she had to get down to business.  Jafar had offered to come along, but Zelena knew that Mother would not approve, so she had declined.  She was perfectly capable of terrifying a cripple by herself, after all, and it might even be fun.  _Besides, what can a non-magic user whose heart mother has do?_

She appeared in Graham’s living room without bothering to knock on the front door, making the former sheriff look up at her with a resigned expression.

“I figured you’d show up eventually,” he said with a sigh.

“Don’t look so put out, doll.  I’ve got a potion that will heal you,” Zelena retorted, miffed.

“At what cost?” Graham countered. 

“Your obedience, of course.  Mother can force you, but she’d prefer you to be on your best behavior.”

“No.”

Zelena had been stepping forward, ready to hand him the potion, but the flat refusal stopped her cold.  “You don’t have a choice,” she said, slightly befuddled.

“No, I don’t,” the scruffy-looking man said with a shrug, lounging back in his wheelchair and staring at her with dead eyes.  “What’s Cora going to do, kill me?  She can force me to do whatever she wants, but I’m done betraying my friends just based on the fact that she _could_ make me.”  He scowled.  “Go bully someone else.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Sure I can,” Graham shrugged again.  “I just did.”

* * *

 

He’d tried to talk to Emma after the war council, but things had gotten busy by the time they’d all finished talking about how they were going to pop Cora into Jefferon’s hat and dump her in Neverland.  Someone had come to Granny’s to report that Bo Peep was starting to charge protection money, terrorizing shop keepers and demanding a share of their profits to keep her bully boys away.  That had made David head out immediately, since apparently they had a history.  Emma, of course, had gone with him—she was the sheriff—and Bae had been left trying to help Snow when she needed to mediate a dispute between Prince Thomas’ father and King Midas.  Then Zelena and Jafar had waltzed into the diner, which led to all kinds of shenanigans, and had promptly ruined any chance Baelfire had of pinning Emma down that night.

So, he’d settled for stopping by the Sheriff’s Station after breakfast that morning, hoping Emma would be in and—for once—by herself.  He knew she was busy, but they had a hell of a lot of things to talk about, and he really didn’t want to do this with an audience.  Fortunately, no one was there, even Henry, and that made Bae a lot more comfortable.

“Hey,” he said, ducking inside. 

“Hi.”  Was it his imagination, or did Emma actually smile when he came in?  Bae hoped he wasn’t imagining things; he’d loved this girl like crazy once, and he would have had to lie to himself to say that he didn’t still.  How Emma felt about him now, after everything that had happened, was anyone’s guess. 

“Quiet day so far?”

“Mostly.  I let Moe French go a few hours ago, and he seemed pretty happy about it.  So, now no more prisoners, at least until we figure out how to catch a few of the bad guys.”

“Who’s Moe French?” Bae had to ask.

“Your, uh…step grandfather?” Emma gestured vaguely.  “Families in this town are so weird.  He’s Belle’s dad.”

“Oh.  I didn’t know she had one.  I mean, still had one.”  Stumbling over his words like this made him scowl, but Emma snickered.  “Oh, you know what I mean!  What was he in jail for?”

“Beating the snot out of your dad,” she answered bluntly, and Bae blinked.  “I’m surprised Belle didn’t tell you.  Moe and another guy—Tony Rose under the curse; I have no idea who he actually was—got sent by Cora to shitkick your father.  They really did a number on him, at least until he or Belle brought magic here and Gold healed himself.”

“Oh.”  Damn, a lot of things had happened here, hadn’t they?  Bae felt like he was playing a game where only half the rules were available at one time, and he was really getting sick of not knowing things.  Still, he was here for a purpose, and learning about what had happened really didn’t change that. _Even if it is just one more thing that tells me Cora and Pop have some really nasty history between them.  I’ve got to ask Belle about that._

“So, uh, what brings you by?” Emma asked, coming around from behind her desk to perch on its edge.  Bae moved forward to meet her a little nervously, but at least she was still smiling.  “Not that it’s not good to see someone else who gets how weird this place is.”

“Tell me about it,” he breathed.  “I mean, I grew up in the Enchanted Forest until I was almost fifteen, but even that was nothing like this.”

Emma laughed.  “Modern appliances and all that making it hard to merge the two?”

“Something like that.”  _It’s now or never,_ he told himself firmly.  _Pony up and talk to the girl, or go home._   “Anyway, look, do you have a few?  There’s something I wanted to talk about.”

“We’re already talking.”

“You know what I mean,” Bae grumbled, but her teasing took him back eleven years to when a happy ending had actually seemed possible, and his crazy life had had _meaning._   He’d wanted to marry her so badly back then, had half of their life together planned out in his head.  Could he convince Emma to take the plunge now?  _First things first_.  “Look, I talked to Belle.  She’s got the contract Cora signed, and it says that anyone related by blood to my dad is safe, which means Henry’s safe.”

“He is?” Emma asked the question like all the air had been sucked out of her chest, but her eyes were wide with hope.

“Yeah.  If Cora goes after him at all, Pop gets the dagger back and he’ll _flatten_ her in a nanosecond.”  Bae knew that like he knew his own name.  Family had always been the most important thing in the world for his father, and from what Bae could tell, that hadn’t changed at all.  The moment his dad knew that Henry was his grandson, he would move mountains to keep him safe.

“I’ll cheer him on,” she replied immediately, and he could see the way relief suddenly made her slump.

“Me, too,” he admitted, thinking back on all the times he _hadn’t_ wanted his father to hurt someone. _This is different,_ Bae told himself.  _This will protect everyone, and Cora damn well deserves it._

“Thank you,” Emma said quietly, and Bae found that she met his smile with her own.  It was awkward, this thing between them; it was like electricity that worked in fits and starts, mostly when they weren’t paying attention.  He could see that she was alternately comfortable with him and sometimes wanted to be mad at him, and Bae could get that.  Really, he could.  But there was still something there, something powerful and deep.

“Hey, he’s my kid, too,” he answered. 

“You want to tell him, now?” She could still read him like a book.

“Yeah.  You okay with that?”

“He deserves to know,” Emma said, meeting Bae’s eyes.  His heart skipped a beat, and damn it all if he didn’t want to blurt his feelings out then and there.  _I still love you_ , almost slipped right out, but he managed to bite his tongue in time.  “Besides, he’s a lot like you.  And if we leave it too long, he’s going to guess.”

“You’re going to have to tell your parents, too, you know,” he pointed out, but Emma only shrugged.

“It’s not like they don’t already know I wasn’t married to Henry’s dad,” she pointed out.  “Nothing new there.  The only difference is that they know you, and at least you made a good introduction when you brought David’s heart over.  They might even be happy, though they’ll probably ask when we’re getting back together.”

She didn’t _quite_ grimace when she said that, and the wild stab of hope that hit Bae’s heart was probably the reason he blurted out:

“We could, you know.”

 Emma’s eyes went huge, and she looked like she’d swallowed a fish.  _“What?_   Neal, I—I mean, so much has changed and we haven’t seen each other in a decade.  I…I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly.  “I didn’t mean for it to come out so bluntly, but hear me out, okay?”

“This isn’t really a very romantic way to ask me on a date.”

“I’m not.  Not really, anyway.  Unless you want to?” Bae knew he sounded pathetic, but damn it all, he felt like he was wearing his heart on his sleeve right now.

_“Neal.”_

“Look, I get it.  It’s been a long time, but I was crazy about you,” he said quickly.  “I still am.  I know I was a coward, and I let August call the cops on you.  I’ll never be able to apologize enough for that, and if you want nothing to do with me because of it, I’ll shut up and leave you alone.”

“I don’t want you to go away,” Emma replied, the words so quiet that he could barely hear them.  They still made his heart pound faster in his chest, even as she crossed her arms and looked at him levelly.  “But this is no time for romance, all right?  Talk to me about it once Cora goes down.”

He couldn’t let himself get distracted by hope, by the fact that Emma might actually _want_ to get back together, given half a chance.  Instead, he took the plunge and went on: “That’s the point, though.   Maybe we shouldn’t wait.  The contract protects anyone related to my dad by blood _or_ marriage.” 

“Are you asking me to  _marry_ you, Neal Cassidy?” his ex-girlfriend gaped.

“Um, technically I guess I’m Baelfire now, and yeah, this is kind of the least romantic proposal _ever_ ,” he shrugged as casually as he could. “But it would keep you safe, and your parents, too.  Cora wants you all dead, but the magic will slap her in the ass if she goes after _any_ of you.  If we’re married.”

That finally seemed to shock Emma into silence, and ten long seconds ticked by without her saying a word.  She just stared at him, eyes wide and a little frightened.

“It can just be on paper, if you want,” Bae said softly.  “You don’t owe me anything.  But I want to keep you safe more than anything in the world.”

Yeah, if his heart hadn’t been on his sleeve before, it pretty much was living there now, and Bae knew that his feelings would have been obvious to a blind man. 

“Neal—Baelfire—whoever  you are,” she stuttered.  “Can I…can I think about it?  I don’t know what to say.”

“Of course you can.”  Biting his lip, Bae stepped forward and took her hand, praying she wouldn’t pull away.

She didn’t.  Emma just looked away for a moment, and then squeezed his fingers.  Hard.

“Let’s start by telling Henry, okay?  Then we’ll see how things go.”

_She didn’t say no_ , was all he could think as he nodded, and the pair headed out to find their son.

* * *

 

Seeing Robin at the war council had made a thought occur to Belle, so she spent the next morning rummaging through the shop while Baelfire entertained his younger sister.  Gabi was growing more and more cranky the longer Rumplestiltskin was gone, but Bae had a good touch with cheering her up, which meant Belle didn’t feel _too_ guilty leaving them home alone.  Besides, once she found the bow, it turned out to be a pretty quick trip across town in the Cadillac.

Fortunately, Belle had been to this apartment a few times back when she’d been Lacey, arranging playdates between Jamie/Roland and Renee/Gabrielle, which meant she wasn’t knocking on the wrong door with a cloth-wrapped longbow in hand.  _That would be a little awkward to explain,_ she thought with a smile, waiting.  Finding things to smile about grew harder and harder as time wore on, but she was determined to make a difference.  Jefferson had promised to take Bae to Neverland to catch the lay of the land sometime in the next few days, but Belle was going to do her part, too. 

“Belle,” Robin answered the door with a surprised smile.  “What are you doing here?  Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine,” she reassured him.  “And I can’t stay long.  But I wanted to give you this.”

She extended the bow, which wasn’t strung at the moment and was wrapped in linen.  Either Rumplestiltskin or the curse had stored it that way; Belle had found it in a chest that was buried under a load of musical instruments from the Land Without Magic.  So far as she knew, Rumple had never noticed it down there, but she was sure he wouldn’t mind what she had planned.

_If he does, I’ll apologize,_ she thought with a familiar pang of longing.  _After we get him back._

Robin accepted the package, his eyes wide.  “Is this…?”

“I thought you  might  make good use of it,” Belle replied, making herself smile.  “After all, an arrow from that bow always finds its target, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, but...I lost this fair and square.”  Robin was kind enough to mention that he’d also almost been skinned alive in the immediate aftermath of losing said bow, but Belle remembered.

“And now I’m giving it back,” she said.  “You might need it, and a magical bow doesn’t do any good buried in the back of the shop.”

“I promise I’ll use it well,” the outlaw said, meeting her eyes.  “And…thank you.  I owe you both now, probably more than I can ever repay.”

Belle blinked.  “Both?”

“I didn’t say it in the council, but it was your husband who told me where Regina is.  Anyone who thinks he’s working for Cora is an idiot,” he replied.  “If I can help you free him in any way, I will.”

“Thank you,” Belle whispered, her throat suddenly thick, and Robin reached out to squeeze her arm.

“Thank you.”

* * *

Cora hadn’t appreciated Rumplestiltskin’s cleverness until she realized that in the five days since the curse had broken, she had kept herself away from everyone in town.   Had he done that on purpose, provoking her ire and keeping her occupied?  Cora wasn’t sure if Rumple was  _noble_ enough to do that, but she supposed he might be hoping to keep her away attention from his family.  The man really was stupidly protective over his offspring in particular, and she knew from watching that war council that Baelfire had turned out to be annoyingly intelligent.  So, she wouldn’t be terribly surprised if Rumple was doing his best to shield them, but it  _was_ having the second order effect of keeping her from showing off her power to the rest of the town, too.

She would fix that today, of course, which was why Cora, Zelena, and Rumplestiltskin had teleported straight into the center of town.  Zelena had quite happily taken out her frustration on some foolish girl with extremely long hair, making her run away screaming after only a few moments.  Cora, however, had bigger plans in mind—and none of them involved letting Storybrooke see Rumplestiltskin resisting her commands.

_Some of them think that he’s on my side willingly,_ she thought with a smile.  _Let them believe that.  It means none of them are going to want to_ free _him, and by the time the realize that he’s the only one who could stop me, it will be far too late._

“Zelena, dearest, would you find Mr. Clark for me?” she asked her elder daughter, admiring the way Zelena’s blue eyes filled with bloodlust.

“Gladly, Mother.”

A cloud of green smoke swirled, and then Zelena was gone—undoubtedly appearing in the Dark Star Pharmacy even now.  Cora did not need to watch her to know where she went; she was far more interested in the calculating gleam in Rumple’s dark eyes.  _He’s not broken yet,_ she knew.  _And I don’t want him crushed.  I want him angry, and then he’ll remember what he_ should _be, not the pathetic lapdog he has become._

“Haven’t you heard, Rumple?” she purred.  “Our dear Mr. Clark tried to cross the town line shortly after you destroyed town hall.”

Said building was in shambles behind them, and it looked far better as a pile of rubble than it ever had as town hall, Cora decided.  She would rebuild it once her power was solidified, perhaps as a modern castle to remind the peons who ruled here. 

“So?” Rumplestiltskin asked, sounding bored.

“Well, it seems that all magic comes at a price, as you’re so fond of saying,” she chuckled.  “Now that the curse is broken, anyone who crosses the town line reverts to their cursed self.  Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

Her pet was wearing his best Dark One face, showing the world just how little he cared.  Cora really did admire that about him; Rumplestiltskin could radiate power without even trying, and he was certainly doing that now.  _Along with showing the worthless peasants how unimportant they are,_ Cora thought happily.  He’d come around.  Even if he hated her, he’d return to the man he was _meant_ to be.  _I don’t_ need _his love,_ Cora knew.  _I’ll have the dagger, and Rumple will serve me if he likes it or not.  But he’ll come to enjoy the darkness once more.  That much I know._   Once he did, she’d be able to get him to do away with his little wife willingly, and wouldn’t that be delicious?

Zelena appeared again, Clark—formerly Sneezy—firmly in her grip and squirming.  The dwarf turned pharmacy owner looked terrified, and who could blame him? His narrow little mind didn’t understand magic or teleporting.  The other dwarves had been shielding him from the truth since he’d crossed the line, which only made this more delicious.

So did the fact that a cautiously terrified crowd was peeking out from side streets and shop windows, there to watch the show.

“Mr. Clark,” Cora said politely, nodding at Zelena.  “How are you doing, dear?”

“Mayor—Mayor Mills,” Clark replied shakily, and then sneezed.  Taking a quick step back, Cora ran magic over herself to make sure he hadn’t contaminated her.  _This is why I avoid dwarves. They’re universally disgusting._ “What…what can I do for you?”

“You can die, of course.”

“ _What?_ ”

Cora kept her pleasant smile in place.  “You tried to leave town, Mr. Clark.  Not that you remember it.  But _no one_ leaves Storybrooke without my permission, and now you’ll pay the price for trying.”

To her left, Rumplestiltskin shifted a little; she couldn’t tell if he was impatient or uneasy, but Cora kept a good grip on the dagger just to be certain.  She held it in her left hand, right where Rumple could see it and be constantly reminded of his status.  Fortunately, he didn’t try anything—she’d already told him what would happen if he tried to interfere, and Rumple did so hate her punishments.

“Look, lady, I don’t know what kind of drugs you’re on, but you’re crazy,” Clark stuttered, staring at her with owlish eyes.  “I’m not dying anytime soon.”

Zelena giggled before Cora could respond.  “Of course you are, munchkin.  You’re already dead.  You just don’t know it yet.”

There were times when her elder daughter really got on Cora’s nerves, but she didn’t let that show on her face.  Particularly since Clark twisted to face Zelena and said:

“You need some serious psychological help.  I hear Doctor Hopper has a two-for-one spec—”

The word cut off in a gurgle as Cora’s right hand came up, collapsing Clark’s windpipe.  _She_ might be annoyed with Zelena from time to time, but no one was allowed to speak her daughter like that.  Cora had intended to rip out Clark’s heart, but choking him to death would work just as well, and she smiled as the dwarf’s hands raced to his throat, his cheeks sucking in hollowly as he struggled to breathe. 

Watching him die was rather therapeutic, and Cora waited until Clark was a cooling corpse on the ground before turning to the crowd that was trying very hard to pretend they weren’t there.

“Would anyone else like to defy me?” she asked sweetly, and the smart ones ran away.  One, however, did not.

“You can’t kill us all,” the red-haired former mermaid declared, even as another one of the girls from the Basement tried to pull her away.  Was that Aurora trying to save Ariel?  Cora had such a hard time keeping the various annoying princesses straight.

Cora swung to face her, smiling congenially.  “I don’t want to kill _everyone_ , dear.  Only those who deserve it.”

“He didn’t deserve to die!” Ariel snapped.

“Well, clearly our opinions differ,” she replied, shrugging.  Then Cora let her smile vanish and her voice grow cold.  “How _is_ your dear True Love, anyway?”

Ariel rocked back like Cora had physically slapped her, heartbreak written plainly on her face.  Recovering from Eric’s loss must have taken all the strength she had—and probably copious therapy with the cricket—but now Cora could see the pain rearing up again.  And oh, it was _so_ very sweet.

“You’re a monster,” Aurora whispered, her face sheet white.

“No, just the Queen.  And I don’t forgive my enemies,” Cora corrected her, her head held high.  Then she looked Ariel once again, getting in before the mermaid could try to gather her wits.  “I haven’t forgotten your friendship with my stepdaughter, dear,” she added softly.  “You  might want to remember that.”

She would let Ariel stew over that for a while; clearly, the mermaid hadn’t learned from her first punishment, so Cora would have to administer another.  But this one could wait.  She’d already killed one traitor publically, and eliminating more than one in the same day would be crass.  Besides, she had other plans for Ariel.

* * *

 

Emma had called him down to the Sheriff’s Station, and when Henry walked in to see Baelfire there with her, he knew she was finally going to fess up.  Or at least he _hoped_ she was.  For all he knew, their great big secret could have been something else, but he was pretty sure that he was right.  So, Henry spent a couple of minutes spying on his birth mom and the guy he thought might be his dad, watching them laughing about something. 

“How can you watch this show?” Emma asked as Henry eavesdropped, gesturing at the T.V.

“ _You_ turned it on.”

“ _You_ said you liked it.”

“No, I said the last episode was decent.  That’s a far cry from liking a show.  It’s a soap opera, Emma.  What the hell makes you think that I like those?”

His birth mom grinned.  “I dunno. You’ve always been kind of weird.”

“Geez, I didn’t think I was _that_ weird,” Baelfire retorted, and then shrugged.  “My ex-girlfriend was addicted to it, okay?”

“Likely excuse,” Emma shot back, but it was obvious that neither of them was going to say anything useful, so Henry closed the door loudly behind himself and stepped into the main room of the station.

“Hey, Emma.  Hey, Bae.  You guys wanted to talk to me?” he said cheerfully, acting like he’d just walked in.

Immediately, the two adults exchanged a loaded look, their good humor fading.  Now both looked nervous, and Emma seemed unable to find words.  Baelfire spoke up after a moment.

“Yeah, um, you want to sit down?”

“Sure,” Henry smiled, and plopped into a nearby chair.  Adults were so funny sometimes; both of them looked like they didn’t know what to say.  “So…is this where the big terrible secret comes out?”

“It’s not terrible,” Emma said quickly, and Henry tried not to smile.  “It’s actually, um, kind of good.  Though we should have told you sooner.”

“A lot sooner,” Baelfire agreed.  “And it’s my fault that we didn’t.  So, whatever happens, and however mad you  might be, don’t blame Emma for this, okay?  It was my idea.”

_Wow, he’s got it bad,_ Henry thought, realizing with a start that not only was Baelfire his _father_ , but he still had the hots for his mom, too.  _Maybe they’ll get back together!_ he thought excitedly.  _That would be so cool._

“Only the last five days of it or so,” his birth mom said, turning to give her ex (he _had_ to be her ex) an annoyed look.

Oh, man, they were about to start arguing over whose fault it was, weren’t they?  Henry really didn’t have patience for that, even if it could be fun to watch, so he finally just decided to speak up.  “I figured it out already.”

“Huh?” Baelfire gaped, even as Emma yelped:

“ _What_?”

“I mean, it’s pretty obvious.  He’s my dad, right?” he asked Emma, and watched her eyes go wide as doorknobs.

Baelfire, however, was the one who answered.  “Yeah.  I am.”  He bit his lip, and then looked Henry straight in the eye.  “There is one thing I want you to understand before we go any further.  It’s not Emma’s fault, but I didn’t know about you before now.  If I had, I never would have let you go.  Or I’d have been here a lot sooner.”

“Emma told me you didn’t know,” Henry confirmed, remembering their conversation months earlier.

“No, I didn’t.  But I wish I had,” his birth father answered, looking sad.  Part of Henry had thought that he didn’t need a dad—he had David, after all—but he hadn’t really thought that he needed two moms, either, and having both Emma and Regina was one of the best parts of his life, now.  _Or at least it will be once we can find Mom,_ he thought, swallowing back pain.  Emma said that Robin Hood (it was so cool that Errol Forrester was actually _the_ Robin Hood) knew where Regina was and they were going to do their best to save her, but that didn’t mean Henry wasn’t still worried sick. 

Still, maybe having two dads could be really cool.  David was a lot more like a grandpa now, anyway; he was _really_ different now that the curse was broken, and sometimes Henry had a hard time connecting his cursed, timid, and indecisive father with the brave king who was his grandfather.  So, having Baelfire as his dad could be really cool, and it meant that he had even more family than he’d ever thought, including a step-grandmother and an aunt who he’d been reading his Book to just a few days ago.  _Not to mention a grandfather who might or might not be evil, but at least isn’t as bad as Cora.  And Mr. Gold was always nice to me, too,_ Henry thought before giving Baelfire a half smile.

“It’s okay.  I mean, you still owe me ten years’ worth of birthday presents and all, but Emma hasn’t ponied up on those, either, so I guess you’re in good company,” he said lightly, and both adults burst out laughing.

Getting to know a parent you _should_ have known your entire life was hard and weird, but Henry was getting pretty good at it by now.  And he really _did_ want more presents, but what ten year old didn’t?

* * *

 

This time, the evil sorceress was at least polite enough to knock on his door.  Having one just appear in the middle of his apartment was certainly more convenient when he was stuck in a wheelchair, but apparently no one cared what Graham thought of that.  So, he wheeled himself over to the door and pulled it open, surprised to see the owner of the ice cream shop there instead of Cora’s crazy daughter.

“Well, you’re not who I expected,” he said as philosophically as he could. 

“I’m sorry,” Sarah Fisher said sadly.  “I had to make sure you were at home.”

He recognized that vacant look, the despair in her eyes and the way her hands kept twitching like she burned to stop herself.  Graham had worn that himself many times, had tried to fight the compulsion of someone holding his heart and had too often found he could not.  Swallowing hard, he forced himself to speak as casually as he could.  Whoever ‘Sarah Fisher’ had been before the curse, Cora clearly had her heart, too. 

“You want to come in?” he asked.  “It appears we have something, uh, missing in common.”

“I wish I could,” she replied softly.  “My name is Ingrid.”

“Graham.”

“I want you to know that I don’t want to do this,” Ingrid told him, and a shiver ran down Graham’s useless spine.

“Do what?” he asked warily.  He’d assumed that if the end came it would be in the form of Cora or Zelena crushing his heart; after all, Zelena hadn’t given him that healing potion, which meant he wasn’t of much use to them.  But the sick look on Ingrid’s face said something else was going on.

Slowly, Ingrid’s right hand moved up to rest on the door frame, shaking as she fought the compulsion.  Immediately, ice raced outwards from where her fingers touched, coating the doorframe and reaching out to the walls faster than Graham could follow. 

“Find something warm,” Ingrid told him.

“You could just let me out,” Graham had to try.

“No, I can’t,” the Snow Queen whispered, and Graham forced himself to nod.  His entire front room was already turning to ice; now it was leaping off the walls and freezing his furniture. _So this is what Cora plans.  She’s not going to give me a quick or easy way out.  I get to freeze to death, instead,_ he thought, swallowing hard.

Quickly, he rolled his chair backwards, heading for the blanket he knew was on the couch before it could freeze.  By the time he turned his head back to look at Ingrid, the doorway had already been frozen solid, and he could only make out her shadow behind the wall of ice.  She didn’t want to kill him, but he was still going to die, but Graham had no intention of going easily.  He knew that he didn’t have long, but he’d been a hunter and a woodsman for most of his life.  Freezing to death took time, and that meant he could call for help.

Unfortunately, when he reached for the phone, the line was already dead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you think Graham will live or die? And what will Emma’s eventual answer be?
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Eighty-Six—“Frozen,” in which Graham’s apartment is found frozen over, Neal and Henry get ice cream, Cora orders up her next massacre, and Tink slaps Killian in the face with a choice.


	86. Frozen

The neighbors somehow overlooked the ice-filled hallway for an hour, probably because Sir Frederick had been Graham’s closest neighbor and most everyone else was still concentrating on keeping their heads down so that Cora didn’t notice them.  The majority of the residents on Graham’s floor knew what he had been and suspected that he was on the outs with Cora, which meant they avoided him desperately, lest some of her displeasure spill over on them.  That was hardly kind, but it was how frightened people reacted, and Storybrooke was running scared.

That meant Emma didn’t get the call until almost noon on the 11th of March, right after she and Neal finished up an early lunch at Granny’s with Henry.  For a first meeting, it hadn’t gone too badly; Henry was full of questions and Neal was fascinated by the kid, which Emma figured was a good enough start.  So, she looked at the two of them regretfully once she hung up her phone.

“I’ve got to go,” she sighed.  “Something’s happened over at Seafair Apartments.”

“I can tag along to help if you want,” Neal said immediately, but it was Henry’s shining and intrigued eyes that worried Emma.  No way was she taking a ten year old along for police work.

“Nah, it shouldn’t take long,” she said, making a mental note to call David for backup.  Her dad was good in a pinch, and he had told her to give him a call if she needed help.  “Why don’t you take Henry for ice cream or something?”

* * *

 

So, the heroes wanted to rescue Regina.  How…unsurprising.

Looking down at her daughter’s sleeping form, Cora pursed her lips thoughtfully.  She had expected Snow to want to go after Regina, but she had to admit that she hadn’t anticipated Regina’s little boy-toy proving helpful on that front.  How _had_ the obnoxious outlaw found out where Regina was?  She supposed one of her allies might have said something, or the outlaw might have just managed to spy the truth out for himself.  It hardly mattered.  What mattered was that Regina was secure and asleep, and she had already forced Rumple to create wards around her to keep any of her so-called ‘family’ out.

Sighing, Cora brushed hair away from Regina’s pale cheeks.  She hated to do this to her daughter, but Regina had been so _determined_ to cross her.  Regina was safer like this, and Cora would make sure she was awoken when necessary.  Still, the sooner she dealt with the entire nauseating ‘Charming’ clan, the sooner she could wake her daughter up, so Cora decided she really should push her plans forward.  _I could start with the damn boy,_ she thought, her eyes still on Regina’s face.  If Regina woke up to find Henry dead, her mother and her sister would be her only family.  She would be heartbroken, but eventually Regina would bury herself in the family she had, wanting to be loved.

But Henry wasn’t the problem.  Oh, she could send Rumplestiltskin after him—a ten-year-old would be no match for the Dark One, no matter what bloodline he came from—but Cora might still need him.  Henry was the easiest way to wake Regina, short of putting her own heart back in.  So, she would concentrate on Snow, her daughter, and her annoying husband.  _Then_ Henry would belong to no one but Regina, and Regina would be grateful for that once Cora had the boy wake her.

Yes, that was definitely the best option.  It did, however, mean that Cora would have to find one more way to strike fear into the hearts of Storybrooke’s citizens, for she wanted them terrified and not thinking straight, wanted them to understand that the reign of terror would not end until they gracefully and gratefully accepted Cora’s rule.  She had already given Jabber a new target (not that the fear creature was properly grateful, but Cora still struggled to find a way to cow her).  Now, she would have to send the Dark One after someone who was not Regina.

“Rumple,” she cooed, turning to the man who had stood silently behind her, his dark eyes unreadable to someone who did not know him so well.  _She_ could see the fear and the pain lurking in the depths, though, and it was so very sweet.

“What now?” he growled, but recoiled ever so slightly as she reached out to stroke his face.

Oh, this kind of power had no equal.  She didn’t need his love so long as he feared her.

“I remember your old hobby of killing fairies,” Cora smiled.  “I would like you to revisit that.”

He _should_ have been grateful, but instead he was surly.  “And do what, dearie?” Rumplestiltskin drawled, clearly trying to sound like he was in control of the situation.

_Be more specific,_ he had told her last time, when Cora had wanted a massacre but not explicitly ordered one.  She would not forget that, amused though she was by his posturing.  “I want you to go to the convent and kill as many fairies as you can.  Destroy the convent if you can, or at least damage it,” she ordered, running her fingers over the dagger and watching him twitch.  “But don’t stay too long.  If they look likely to trap you, leave.”

For all she knew, Rumple might prefer a cage constructed by the fairies to hers at the moment, so Cora was not taking the chances.  Really, though, given the way he felt about fairies, this should be a treat for him, and she waited to watch the bloodlust fill his eyes, waited to see the old Rumplestiltskin peeking out.  But nothing happened.  He just stood stock-still and met her eyes angrily.

“Fine,” her old lover spat, and Cora barely resisted the urge to punish him for his impertinence. 

She could do that later.

* * *

 

The idea of bringing her dad along as a ride along was really weird, but so was the idea of her father being the same age as her, so Emma just kind of went with the flow.  Besides, David was smart and knew just about everyone in Storybrooke—and _they_ respected him because he was Prince Charming.  Her parents had beaten Cora before, and everyone was counting on doing that again.  Snow was busy making rounds to reassure people and keep them from trying to flee across the town line (Emma had reports of three new monkeys just since this morning, and that really didn’t help matters), but David hopped into the bug with her and they headed out to Graham’s place.

“I should have checked on him after the curse broke,” Emma fretted, her hands tight on the wheel as she worried about the last guy she’d started having feelings for.

“You’ve been busy,” David said gently, but Emma just shook her head.

“I should have made time.”

“You can’t do everything, Emma.  Graham would have let us know if he needed help—we’ve known him a long time, your mother and I.”

Turning to glare at him briefly, Emma snarled: “That doesn’t make it better!  Graham’s in a wheelchair because Cora didn’t like him dating me, and I’m not going to forgive myself for leaving him alone.”

“I’m not saying you should,” her father replied.  “But maybe you’re being a bit hard on yourself.”

“Or not hard enough,” she muttered, pulling the bug into an empty parking spot in front of the Seafair Apartment Complex.  The call she’d gotten had said something about ice filling hallway and the phones being out, but she really hoped that it was just some stupid kids pulling a prank with giant bags of ice cubes.  Emma really couldn’t imagine what else it could be, but she still drew her gun as she got out of the car.  David, she noticed, had his sword in hand.  As surreal as that was, Emma figured it was a pretty good idea.  After all, she’d already run into a few creatures who shrugged off being shot like she would have ignored a rain of marshmallows.

“Is there something else going on, Emma?” David asked as they headed into the complex.  “You seem awfully on edge.”

_Yeah, like my ex-boyfriend is Henry’s father, and by the way, he freakin’_ proposed _to me because it would supposedly keep us all safe,_ Emma stopped herself from saying.  She had to figure out how she felt about this mess before she told her parents about Neal.  Or Baelfire.  Whatever he called himself these days.  Either way, she really didn’t have time for romance. 

“Aside from Cora killing one of the dwarves, the town hall still being in pieces, and half of Storybrooke lining up outside Archie’s office for counseling?  Life’s grand,” she snorted, leading the way around a corner—and stopping cold.

Whatever David had been planning to say sputtered out as they encountered a giant wall of ice spilling out of where Graham’s apartment door should have been.  There was a puddle forming on the floor, running along the hallway like a river, but the bulk of the ice wall was still several feet thick and blocking Graham’s entire doorway.  The door seemed to be open—and pinned to the wall by the ice—but there was no way in.

“Graham?” Emma called, stepping up close to the ice and slipping so quickly that David had to catch her.  “ _Graham!_ ”

There was no answer, but David was already pulling out his cell phone.

“Hey, Leroy?  It’s David.  We need you and your brothers down at Graham’s apartment with pickaxes, as quickly as you can get here.  The place is blocked off by a wall of ice, but he might be alive inside.”

Meanwhile, Emma rushed outside to check the windows, but they were iced over, too, with a foot wide barrier that even her gunshots could not breach.

* * *

 

The convent was coming down around her. 

Tink had moved into a small room here because there was literally nowhere else to go, but now she was starting to think that was _really_ bad idea. 

“Come on!”  Desperately, she reached out to grab Astrid, pulling the younger fairy along with her towards the only way out that didn’t look likely to kill them.

“But Blue is gathering everyone near the dining room to try to fight—” Astrid tried to argue.

“We can’t get there without dying!” Tink cut her off in a hiss.  “The Dark One is just around that corner, and Rose, Silver, and Lavender are already dead, and I am _not_ going to add us to that number!  We have to get away and get help.”

Astrid’s eyes were huge and pleading.  “But who can help us against him?  With the Evil Queen controlling him, no one can _make_ him stop.”

“I know,” Tink replied tightly, pulling Astrid down a little used passageway that led to the gardens.  She’d discovered that her first night here because Tink hadn’t liked the tiny, sparse accommodations of the convent—they’d reminded her too much of the Basement, just without the same old feeling of solidarity.  So, she’d spent a lot of nights in the back gardens, just staring up at the stars and missing the ability to fly.

“But we can’t even fly away,” her young companion worried as they squeezed out into the gardens.  The front section of the convent was already collapsing, with stones, plaster, and wooden roofing creaking and _smashing_ together.  The back half couldn’t be far behind, and Tink could hear the faint cries of their sisters as they tried to unite and fight the Dark One.

“I can hotwire a car,” she said without thinking.  Mirabella could, anyway, and Tink supposed that she still remembered how.  It was an odd thought, but there were a few cars around the convent, so stealing one of those was probably a good idea.

_We have to get help,_ she told herself firmly.  Part of her wanted to jump back into the fight, to try to save everyone she could, but twenty-eight years in the Basement had erased Tinker Bell’s idealism.  No, the best way they could help their sisters was to get out of here. If they dove back in, she and Astrid would die.  Blue would save those she could.  It was now Tink’s job to let the rest of Storybrooke know that the fairies were in danger.

Spying an old red convertible, Tink pulled Astrid into a jog and headed that way.  The convent wasn’t that far from the hospital, and the hospital had phones to call for help.

* * *

 

He felt dirty. 

Killing fairies had once been one of Rumplestiltskin’s favorite past times, but now he just felt terrible.  He’d never _like_ fairies, of course—he hated most of them, particularly Blue and her more fanatical sisters—but Rumplestiltskin did not appreciate becoming someone else’s tool.  Cora’s violence had no purpose.  She wanted to cause fear, not to kill someone because they deserved death.  While Rumplestiltskin had never been particularly squeamish, he didn’t particularly enjoy killing, either, particularly when there was no _reason_ to kill them.  Most of these fairies were unimportant, and some of them were even the types who had tried to do the right thing more than once.

He’d seen Grumpy’s True Love slipping off with Tinker Bell, and he’d let them go.  Tink had once tried to help Regina, and the visions that slipped through his battered mind indicated she might be important.  Cora hadn’t specifically ordered him to kill every fairy he saw, so Rumplestiltskin ignored them.  He’d already killed three fairies in quick succession and then took another out even as Blue tried to save her, collapsing the roof and lighting two of the walls on fire.  Blue was quick, though, and smarter than Rumplestiltskin usually wanted to give her credit for being, gathering the other fairies together for mutual defense.  _Don’t take too long,_ Cora had said, and that gave him a way out.  So, he took it—and noticed the fact that Cora hadn’t demanded he return immediately after, either.

So Rumplestiltskin went home.

Gabi usually went down for a nap right after lunch, which both meant he wouldn’t have to explain things to his daughter and that Belle would probably be home.  It had only been five days, yet he felt like an eternity had passed, and he _needed_ Belle.  He also needed to check on Baelfire, to make sure both of his children were all right.  Cora hadn’t him near his family, or even given him any news on them.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t think that Cora was stupid enough to break the contract thisearly (though he was counting on her doing that before too long), so he was relatively certain that neither Cora nor her more independent allies had tried to harm those he loved…but he still needed to be sure.

Just to be safe, he teleported himself into their bedroom, knowing that if Belle had company, it wouldn’t be here.  He was too much of a coward to face Gabi if she was awake, but he burned to see his wife.  His True Love.  And a part of him wondered, full of desperation and terror, if a kiss from Belle might just free him from Cora’s control.

Of course, doing that would leave him powerless, but he might still be able to use magic.  And that damn dagger would never be able to control him again.  _That_ thought was perhaps the sweetest he had had in a long time, and Rumplestiltskin’s heart started to pound when he considered that he really and truly could free himself from the darkness forever.  Part of him was terrified to do so, but if it meant never being forced into Cora’s bed again, never having the curse inside him warp his own mind and body to its own ends…he could live with that.  He really could.  Blinking, he stared at the book in his hands; Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure when he’d started cradling Belle’s favorite book, but sure enough, _Her Handsome Hero_ was clutched desperately in his hands.  She always left it on or in the nightstand, and he knew his wife clung to that book when times got tough.

Sucking in a deep breath, Rumplestiltskin put the book back down on the bed, lying against Belle’s pillows.  He could do this.  He had plenty of magical objects he could draw on, and three hundred years of study and knowledge.  That would be enough to take Cora out, and he had once promised Belle that he would only hold onto the power as long as it took to find his son, hadn’t he?  He’d found Bae, and that meant _everything_.  So, Rumplestiltskin squared his shoulders and headed towards the bedroom door, promising himself to head downstairs and kiss his True Love like his life depended on it before his cowardice could get the better of him.

He’d reached the top of the stairs before he heard voices he recognized: Dove and Babette.  There was only one reason why that pair would be in his house, and Rumplestiltskin’s heart plummeted.  _Belle’s not home,_ he realized brokenly.  _They’re here to babysit Gabi._

Then where could Belle be?  He could check the shop, the library, or maybe Granny’s.  He could do a quick locator spell to find her—the ingredients were in his shop and Rumplestiltskin could slap a locator spell together in less than a minute.  And he would.  He wouldn’t chicken out.  He’d go to the shop, put the spell together, find Belle, kiss—

The summons burned into his mind before he could even leave his home, and by the time Rumplestiltskin’s vision cleared, he was on his knees at Cora’s feet.

* * *

 

Grumpy, Sleepy, and Happy showed up within five minutes of David’s call—they must have been close by, but Emma didn’t ask.  She just watched as David directed the threesome to start hacking away with their pick axes at the ice wall.  He’d already tried the same thing with his sword and had almost broken the blade, but dwarf axes were enchanted to be unbreakable.  Given that they were going after an obviously magical ice wall, Emma figured they were the best bet Graham had.

On the bright side, Emma _thought_ she’d heard a voice from inside the apartment answering her shouts, but she couldn’t be sure.  And pacing wildly really wasn’t helping.

“Who the hell has ice magic, anyway?” she asked David, figuring that he’d know.  Or Henry might, but she really didn’t want to bring a ten year old into this.

Henry _adored_ Graham.  She wasn’t going to expose him to Graham’s potential death until absolutely necessary, which would hopefully be never.  So, Emma turned to her father and tried to ignore the way her heart clenched.  She’d never quite fallen in love with Graham, but she liked him, and he was still her friend.  Emma knew that most of the boneheaded stuff he’d said to her had to be Cora’s fault, and she didn’t blame him for that. 

“I have no idea,” David answered, watching the dwarves at work.  Their axes hadn’t broken, but breaking through the wall was a seriously slow process.

Too slow.  Emma needed to talk to someone who had magical knowledge, and she’d never remembered to save Belle’s number in her phone.  But there definitely was a number she _did_ have, and well, if she couldn’t call the Dark One’s wife, she’d call his son.

* * *

 

Henry really was a great kid.  One lunch and a trip for ice cream afterwards had shown Bae that, and he already hated himself for not knowing that Emma was pregnant when he stupidly let her take the fall for watches _he_ had stolen.  The fact that she’d gotten a lot less jail time than he had was immaterial; Bae should have been the one to suffer for the crime he committed.  Instead, he’d run like a coward at the first mention of the Enchanted Forest and magic, when it turned out that he really had nothing to be afraid of. 

_But I can make it up to both of them,_ he told himself.  _Or spend the rest of my life trying, anyway._  

“Take a look at this!” Henry broke into his thoughts, flipping pages in the Book to show the story of ‘The Spinner and his Son’.  The artwork on the first page of it was surprisingly good for a watercolor, and for a moment, Bae was taken back three centuries to a life that had been so much more simple than the one he now lived.  “Did you really look like that?”

“Well, I had a bit more facial definition,” Bae joked, and Henry grinned.

“This is so cool.  I always thought you were just some deadbeat who broke Emma’s heart, not someone out of the Book,” his kid said, and the innocent words made his heart clench.

“I did break her heart,” he admitted.  “But I’m going to try to make up for that.”

“Are you two going to get back together?”

“Don’t you think that’s a little fast?  I’ll stick with being her friend, first,” he said, thinking: _Even if I did ask her to marry me already.  Man, I know why she hesitated.  We can explain to Henry all day long that it’s just to keep people safe, but what he’ll see is his parents getting married._

Bae felt like such a jerk, particularly when Henry beamed at him.

“You’ll get back together.  I know it.  She still likes you a lot.”

“Does she?” Bae couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Yeah.  She sucks at hiding things like that,” Henry grinned, and then glanced over Bae’s shoulder as the woman who owned the ice cream shoppe headed into the back.  “Do you think Miss Fisher is acting funny?  I don’t know who she’s supposed to be, but she keeps looking at me like she’s waiting for something to happen.”

As a matter of fact, Bae _had_ noticed that look, but he’d written his suspicions off as first-time parent jitters and the fact that most shop owners were probably waiting for kids to make a mess.  “Yeah, kind of.  You sure she’s not in your book?”

“Positive.  I know it from cover to cover.”

“Well, in that case maybe we should—” ‘Charley’s Girl’ suddenly cut him off, belting out of his phone like it was made for the situation, and Bae grabbed his iPhone, answering it on speaker.  “Hey, Emma.”

Henry gave him a knowing grin, but Bae hardly noticed.  Emma sounded worried.

“Hey, do you know anything about ice magic?”

“Um…not really.  I mean, it exists, and it’s seriously scary stuff, but I’ve never seen it in person.  I heard Disney’s going to make a movie about some ice queen.  Does that help?”

“Not really.  Graham’s apartment has an ice wall around it, and we’re trying to get in, but I want to know who the hell did this,” his ex-girlfriend snarled, but he could tell her anger wasn’t directed at him.

“I can ask Belle if she knows anything,” Bae volunteered, not bothering to ask who Graham was.  That didn’t matter right now.

“Please do.  We’ve got to get him out of here before it’s too late.”

Emma hung up, but Henry was looking at Bae with wide eyes.  “Someone froze _Graham_ in?” the ten year old asked.  “But…but…”

“I’m sure Emma will get him out in time,” he said quickly, feeling utterly out of his depth when it came to comforting a child.  It took a lot of patience, really careful word choice, and even then doing so was hit and miss.  Bae tried his best, but while he was doing so, he never noticed the woman behind the counter who had _also_ listened to his phone call.

* * *

 

_Emma_ was worried about Graham.  The pain in her voice was obvious, and it made Ingrid feel horrible.  _Freeze him in,_ Cora had ordered, her heart gripped tightly in Ingrid’s hand.  And then the Evil Queen had watched, holding Ingrid’s heart and _forcing_ her to keep Graham from escaping.  She’d admired his courage, wishing she had the strength to stand up to Cora like that, but she’d _killed_ him instead of trying to do the same.  _I couldn’t,_ Ingrid told herself guiltily.   _Cora had my heart in her hand. I was a puppet._  Still, she could tell herself all day long that it wasn’t her fault, that it was all Cora’s doing…but that had still been her magic.

Cora wasn’t watching her now, though, was she?  Emma’s son and—if she had heard right—the boy’s biological father were heading out of the shop, but they wouldn’t be able to help.  Ingrid knew that…but she could.

All it took was a flick of her fingers, one no one could see, and the ice wall dropped.

_I hope you’re still alive,_ she thought towards the former sheriff, who had always been kind to her and whose favorite flavor of ice cream was strawberry.  _Help is coming._

* * *

 

Just like that, the ice _vanished_ , and Emma rushed through the doorway with David and the dwarves right on her heels. 

“Graham?  _Graham!_ ”

“Here,” a weak voice said from the living room, and Emma slid into the room—there was frigid water covering the floor—to find Graham huddled up in a blanket and shivering.

“Let’s get you out of here,” she said quickly, reaching out to grab the handles of his wheelchair and hissing in surprise.  “Damn, that’s cold.”

“Yeah, so am I,” Graham managed to smile at her, and Emma sucked her hands into her sleeves to wheel him out. 

“Not for much longer,” she promised.

“Leroy, call Doc,” David said crisply as he and the dwarves cleared out of the way for Emma to wheel Graham out.  The best place she could think of taking Graham was her car; she could turn the heat up and get him to the hospital fastest that way, even David had to cram into the back or ride in Leroy’s van.

“Why Doc?” Happy asked curiously, even as Leroy dialed.  “The hospital—”

“Whale’s still a monkey, remember?” Grumpy snapped rather grumpily.  “No way are we trusting Graham to that crazy cranky nurse from the asylum, and who knows who the rest of the staff actually is? Doc knows what he’s doing.”

Doc agreed to meet them at the hospital, and Emma did her damnedest to break the sound barrier on the way there.  Within fifteen minutes, they had Graham in a bed, surrounded by heating pads and blankets.

Then she and David started to talk about how they could keep Graham hidden so that Cora thought he was dead.  In the end, they settled on a fake gravestone and hiding Graham away in the asylum—not the nicest place, for sure, but Doc could keep an eye on him down there, and it would make Cora believe he was really dead.  Maybe once Regina was awake, or once they stole Graham’s heart from Cora, they could come up with a more comfortable arrangement, but for now they just wanted to keep Cora from crushing Graham’s heart when she found out he escaped.

* * *

 

The red convertible almost ran him over as Killian headed from the _Jolly Roger_ to the marina, and he threw himself out of the way to avoid getting flattened.  A girlish yelp came from inside as breaks screeched, slamming the old Corvette to a stop.  Getting to his feet and brushing himself off, Killian opened his mouth to yell at the irresponsible driver, but the words died unsaid.

“Tink?”  he gaped, watching a familiar form climb out of the car.

“Killian!  Please, you’ve got to help.  The Dark One is attacking the convent.”

“Attacking?” he repeated.

“Killing fairies,” the other woman said, tripping on her way out of the car.  “I’m Astrid.”

“Killian Jones,” he answered automatically. 

Astrid blinked.  “How weird is that?  You have the same cursed first name as your real name?”

Killian and Tink both ignored her, though, and Tink continued briskly.  “I know you don’t want to cross Cora, but people are _dying_.  Good people.  She keeps killing and killing, and when will it stop?”

“Never, if she has her way,” Killian said quietly.  He had nothing against fairies—and he was rather… _fond_ of Tink.  Maybe even in love with her.  And Cora had sent the Dark One after _this_ woman he loved, too.  He had waited three centuries to find love again after the Dark One had killed his Milah, and now history was trying to repeat itself.

_Maybe there’s a lesson in this,_ the long-ignored voice of his conscience said.  _Revenge doesn’t get you a happy ending.  Darkness doesn’t find happiness._   Killian shivered, thinking back on the man he’d been so very long ago.  He’d been a good man, once.  A man who wouldn’t think twice when the woman he loved asked him to save lives.  _I want to be that man again._

“All right, love,” he spoke briskly, getting the words out before he could stop himself.  “Let’s see what we can’t do to save your friends.”

“I knew I could count on you!” Tink beamed, and leaned in to give him a very quick kiss—which was ruined, of course, by his phone ringing.

They looked at the screen together, noticing the words ‘Cora Mills’ right away.  Killian’s heart sank.

“You don’t have to answer her, do you?”

“Not if I don’t want to live out the day,” Killian snorted, his stomach tied in a knot as the phone continued to ring.  _She hasn’t taken my heart.  She can’t be watching me._

_Can she?_

There was only one way to find out, so Killian answered the phone on the fourth ring.  “What can I do for you today, Your Majesty?”

“You can tell me about Owen Flynn,” Cora purred, but there was nothing nice in her voice.  He could hear the familiar edge of anger, but for a long moment, Killian had absolutely no idea why she’d be less than happy with him.

“Who?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Perhaps your memory is foggy, dear,” the Evil Queen snapped.  “Do you remember a little boy who came into town with his father, right after we all arrived?”

_Damn._   “I do,” Killian answered slowly.  He’d kept that secret from her for twenty-eight years.  How in the  _world_ had she found out now?

“Do you perhaps remember _failing_ to kill the boy as I ordered you to?” Her snarl was potent enough to give him the chills.

“I…I may have let the child go.”

“ _May_ have?  Really, Captain, I thought better of you.  Don’t  you seafaring types understand how to follow orders?”

“Aye, but I’m not accustomed to murdering little boys, either.  I got rid of his father, and no one would have ever believed him, so what’s the bloody big deal now, love?” Killian finally snapped back, figuring that bluster was his best defense.  Cora need not know that he was contemplating really and truly betraying her now.  Let her think that had been the one time he’d strayed.  _For now._

“That ‘little boy’ came back as a man,” Cora retorted.  “Along with a young woman, and they have the goal of destroying magic forever.  Do you see what the big deal is _now_ , dear?”

Swallowing hard, Killian found himself nodding.  “I do.  Do you need me to take care of it?”

After all, he was fine with killing adults, particularly those who put his home and everyone he cared about—his eyes found Tink on their own with that thought—at risk.  Killian would happily do Cora’s bidding this one time, and then no further. 

“Of course not.  Zelena’s spell turned them into monkeys.  But I did want you to know how spectacularly your bleeding heart nearly ruined us,” the queen said loftily.  “Keep on like that, and I’ll feel obliged to remove it from your chest.”

“Ah, that’s your family tradition, not mine,” he said as casually as he could, said heart pounding faster.  “I’ll pass, though thank you for the kind offer.”

“It won’t be an offer next time.”  _Click._

Killian stared at the phone in silence for a long moment, willing his breathing to return to normal and his heart to stop racing.  That had been close.  Too close.

“How could you _ever_ work with her?” Tink asked quietly.

“Easy.”  He shrugged as casually as he could.  “I wanted to win.”

“I don’t think allying with Cora will ever let anyone but her win,” Astrid spoke up wisely.  “She doesn’t really seem willing to share.”

“Aye.  I fear you’re right about that,” he agreed, and squared his shoulders.  “Now, let me gather the lads from the marina and we’ll see what we can do about saving your fairy friends, shall we?”

* * *

 

Cora had promised her a good target, one full of fears and self-loathing, and who wouldn’t be carefully guarded.  For once, the Evil Queen had spoken true; Jabber found the red-haired former mermaid just where Cora said she would be, huddled up in one of the rooms at Granny’s Inn and staring out the window.  Ariel—though Jabber never bothered to ask her name—radiated her pain and loss so enormously that Jabber could feel it outside, and the siren song of the Jabberwocky’s darkness salivated at the thought of absorbing that.

Jabber had been denied too many times, after all.  She was _hungry_ , and being starved so long meant that she had to drain someone of all of their positive emotions in order to come back on balance.  A part of her regretted it, a little.  But not much.  She was what she was, and girls like this were simply food.  It was not her fault that elemental fear and darkness lived inside her.  She was the Jabberwocky.  This was what she did, and Jabber was eager for a good meal.

In the end, Ariel didn’t fight very hard.  Having killed her own True Love had sucked the light and hope right out of her long before Jabber even came near her, and now she was terrified of betraying the few friends she had.  She tried so hard to be strong, but even the strongest people had their breaking points.  Jabber, of course, exploited every one of them.  That was what she did, and her own raging hunger ensured that she would.  Afterwards, when she’d bled away almost the entirety of Ariel’s soul, Jabber felt utterly marvelous.  She felt _alive_.  She could resist Cora now, she knew.  She wouldn’t have to snack on Cora’s heartless followers just to stay alive.  For the first time since Zelena had pulled the Vorpal Blade out of her, she could take her time and find her own target, because she was finally sated.

Perhaps that was why she left a little of Ariel behind, just enough for the girl to find herself once more if she had the strength.  Or perhaps Jabber simply had a mind for the future, and wanted to make sure that the heroes might not think so terribly of her. 

That, and she had a plan.

* * *

 

Things were out of place in their bedroom, and it was not the first time.  Last time, her robe had been on the floor.  Now it was her favorite book.  Belle _knew_ she hadn’t left _Her Handsome Hero_ on the bed; it had been safely on the nightstand…but now it wasn’t.  Slowly, Belle reached out to pick the book up, making sure it was undamaged. 

Dove wouldn’t have moved her things, even if he’d been in here for some odd reason.  And Babette wouldn’t have, either.  That only left one person, someone who might have touched both her robe and her favorite book, and pain welled up in Belle’s throat as she realized that she must have missed him.  _Rumple was here,_ she thought brokenly, sinking down onto the bed when her legs gave way and hugging the old book to her chest.  _He came home, and I wasn’t here._

“I miss you, Rumple,” Belle whispered, trying not to cry.

She failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you think Cora’s control of her “allies” is unravelling? Ingrid’s gone behind her back, Hook is jumping ship, and the heroes are finding small victories despite her best efforts.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Eighty-Seven—“Parents and Children,” where Blue starts maneuvering, Baelfire punches August, the Jabberwocky reaches out, and Robin starts planning to rescue Regina.


	87. Parents and Children

The next day, Blue approached Snow and Charming after the pair finished talking to Archie about Ariel, who had been found by Ruby that morning, nearly comatose and unresponsive.  Emma had meant to talk to them that day and tell them about Neal being Henry’s father, but everything had gone more than a little out of control the day before, what with the attack on the convent, and she’d simply run out of time.  She’d chickened out on telling them after they’d all gotten home that evening, because sharing a house with her parents was still weirder than weird, and sometimes Emma just needed some time to herself.  That, and she wound up spending half the night with Graham, anyway, watching over him as he settled into a hurriedly spiffed up room in the asylum.  By the time she’d gotten home, they’d all been bone tired, and Emma just didn’t have the heart to tell them that she’d kind of neglected to mention that Neal was more than just Gold’s kid.

Then morning rolled around, and Ruby called about Ariel, which meant another rush back to the hospital and a long talk with Archie.  Emma headed to Granny’s after that to take a look at Ariel’s room.  It wasn’t like they didn’t know exactly who had attacked Ariel—there was only one ‘person’ who could leave someone a shattered and terrified mess like that—but Emma still needed to look for evidence.  It was her job.

So, she just managed to walk up as Blue was describing the attack on the convent, and definitely didn’t miss the decidedly unflattering ways in which Blue was describing Gold.

“The Dark One _must_ be stopped,” Blue concluded primly. 

“I know,” Snow replied reassuringly.  “We’re working with Belle to find a way to get the dagger back—she has some good ideas, and we hope it won’t be long.”

“I’m afraid it won’t be enough to wrest the dagger from Cora’s hands, child,” the senior fairy said.  “The Dark One _must_ be controlled by someone good and honorable.  Otherwise, now that he has a taste of such darkness and mayhem, he will never stop creating it.”

“Horseshit,” Emma cut in.

“Emma!” Snow gasped, but she ignored her well-meaning mother.

“I beg your pardon?” Blue gaped, looking offended.

“I said that’s horseshit,” she repeated helpfully.  “Gold’s on his own team, sure, but he’s never been a danger to the town like Cora is.  He wants to be left alone, not to kill everyone.”

“I have known him much longer than you have, I’m afraid,” the fairy said sadly.  “The Dark One should not _ever_ be trusted.  He may claim to care about others, but in the end he will hurt even those closest to him—”

“Yeah, sure he will.  Neal— _Baelfire_ —told me about your little stunt with the magic bean, sending him to the streets of London where a crippled man could never have survived.  So, don’t pretend you’re not capable of some pretty nasty stuff, too, okay?” Emma retorted, not sure why she was suddenly so angry.  But the thought of Neal starving on the streets of nineteenth century London, younger than he was even when she’d originally met him, really just pissed her off.

For the first time, it occurred to Emma that the same fairy who had counseled her parents to stick her in an enchanted tree and give her up had managed to separate Neal from his father, too.  No wonder the two of them got along so well—they’d both had this sanctimonious bitch try to ruin their lives.  Blue, however, managed to look both affronted and regal when Emma slapped her with that accusation, her eyes widening innocently.

“Child, I know that my actions can sometimes seem harsh, but I assure you that I have always acted for the greater good and tried to save as many as I can.”

“It’s your methods I’m arguing with, not your motivations,” she said dryly, then purposefully looked at her parents and ignored the fairy.  “How’s Ariel?”

“Talking a little,” Snow said sadly.  “But not much.”

“Archie has his work cut out for him,” her dad added.  “But he thinks he can get through to her.”

“Good.”  Emma nodded, glancing to the right where she could see Neal and Henry walking out of Granny’s.  She’d probably never learn to consistently call her ex “Baelfire”, but if that was what he wanted to be, she’d try.  He’d been quick to offer to take Henry to breakfast today, which had been really useful when Emma needed time to check out Ariel’s room and her parents had been off at the hospital.  Besides, it let them get to know one another, and that was important.

“We checked on our, um, friend while we were there, too,” David said, and wasn’t it interesting that he didn’t think Blue should know about Graham, either?  Or maybe it was just because they were on the street.  “He’s doing all right.”

“I’m glad,” Emma said softly, her eyes still on Henry and Neal.  They really did look so much alike.  How could anyone miss the connection?

Almost on cue, Snow spoke up.  “Henry sure is spending a lot of time with Neal lately.  I think he really likes him.”

Yeah, this was another topic Emma _wasn’t_ going to discuss in public.  “Henry likes anyone who will read his book with him,” she said as casually as she could.  “Neal’s interested.”

Something crossed Blue’s face as Emma said that, though, and she had to wonder.  Did the Blue Fairy _know_?

* * *

 

“So, Emma said that August sold you out to Cora,” Henry asked out of the blue as they walked out of Granny’s, making Bae blink.

“Yeah,” he tried to say it without anger, but the knowledge that August—who could have warned him about a thousand times—had told Cora when he was coming so that Cora could _torture_ him was just a little too much to swallow politely.  Hell, maybe Bae could have forgiven him if that had been all that had happened, because well, his time in Cora’s cellar wasn’t his first rodeo.  Some of his years in Neverland had been really nasty, and Bae understood making sacrifices to save those you loved.  But then Cora had used August’s little betrayal to get the dagger, and Bae didn’t have to be told to know that his father was in a world of hurt right now.  _Not what you tell your kid, dude,_ he told himself firmly, and tried to smile.  “What makes you bring that up?”

“Well, he’s walking this way,” Henry replied bluntly, gesturing off to the right.  And yeah, sure enough, there was ‘August W. Booth’, who didn’t look nearly as wooden as he should.  _Great.  So he gets a get out of wood free card, too.  Wonder who did_ that _little trick for him?_ Bae thought angrily.  But Henry continued: “The old man he was just talking to is Geppetto.  I thought Cora had him.”

“I guess not anymore,” Bae made himself say, grimacing.  “C’mon, kid.  Let’s go to the toy store or something.  I really don’t feel like talking to him.”

“I’m ten, not two.”

Bae rolled his eyes as he listened to the I’m-too-old-for-that posturing.  “They have comic books, don’t they?”

“Yeah…”

“You gonna tell me that you’re the one ten-year-old on the entire planet who doesn’t like comic books?” he challenged his kid.

“No,” Henry admitted with a grin.  “But you didn’t have them growing up, did you?”

“Nope, but I’d have loved them if I did,” Bae replied, and gestured.  “C’mon.  You can help me pick a present out for Gabi, too.  Her birthday’s coming up.”

“I should get her something, too, shouldn’t I?” Henry asked as they crossed the street, and Bae felt his heart grow like crazy.  Damn, he had a good kid.  He actually couldn’t wait to meet this Regina—who had apparently been his father’s protégé—and thank her for doing such a good job with his son.  _Even if her being awake will complicate everything, I can’t begrudge the woman who raised my kid to be so awesome._   He needed to thank David, too, but at least that would be easier.

“She’d like that.”

Unfortunately, August crossed the street from about a block away, and jogged over to meet them right outside the Wonderful Toymaker.  Glancing around, Neal tried to figure out a way to subtly get out of this meeting, but he couldn’t think of one—so he figured blunt was in order.

“I’m not really in the mood to talk to you, man,” he told August, who winced.

“Look, Neal, I only did what I had to, and you seem like you’re okay—”

Bae’s punch cut August off before he could say another word, a right hook that caught the former puppet right in the face, making him stumble back.  Wide-eyed, August stared at Baelfire, shocked and obviously hurt.  Henry, meanwhile, whistled quietly and was probably wondering where Bae had learned to punch like that, but there was no way in hell that Bae was going to tell his kid that he’d learned that from Felix in Neverland a lifetime ago.

“What the hell was that for?” August demanded after working his jaw back and forth.

“My _father_ ,” Bae snapped.  “You were so caught up in mere _threats_ to your dad that you forgot other people have families, too.”

“I couldn’t—”

“The hell you couldn’t.  You could have gone to someone for help.  This town is _full_ of heroes who help people like you, even when they’re lying sacks of wood like you.  So, man up and admit that you screwed up, okay?  Thanks to you, my dad’s being forced to murder people and Cora is doing who-knows-what to him.”

“You can’t blame this on me!” August protested.

“Says who?  If you had bothered to at least warn _me_ that Cora wanted me—or tell Emma, or even _try_ to work around her—then we wouldn’t be in this situation.  The death toll’s at twenty now, dude.  Sure, Cora’s mostly to blame, but you get some of the credit, too.”

He felt like hitting the blue-eyed liar again, but Emma hurrying up at least gave him pause.  “Everything okay?” she asked.

“He hit me!”

Emma eyed the puppet derisively.  “I’m sure you deserved it.”

Henry snickered; Bae remembered the thousand and two reasons he had to be in love with this woman and wanted desperately to kiss her.  _Except I’m pretty sure that might get_ me _punched in the face,_ he decided, so stopped short of declaring his undying love.  Besides, hitting August _had_ made him feel a lot better. 

“That’s not fair,” August said quietly, and Bae and Emma snorted in synch.

“Life’s not fair,” they said together, and Bae was pretty sure that he heard Henry snicker again.

“Look, I came over here because I wanted to help,” August tried again, and Bae couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“Bit late for that, isn’t it?” he snapped.

“Neal.”  Emma gave him a hard look, and he subsided.

“What are you saying?” she asked August bluntly.  “You have to understand that we’re going to take it with a great big grain of salt.”

“My father…he’s gotten out,” the puppet answered.  “Cora doesn’t have him anymore, and I want to help.”

Emma eyed him, clearly suspicious.  “Do you now?”

“Yeah, I do.  Look, I know I made mistakes, but I didn’t _want_ to betray anyone,” August said.  “Cora…you know how she is.  She can be scary as hell, and I just didn’t want to let my papa die, okay?”

Bae still wasn’t convinced, but he’d tell Emma that later.  Not now.  There was something in the back of his mind that told him that August was _still_ lying, but maybe he’d just gotten paranoid.  Twice he’d believed this guy, and both times had turned out terribly.  Emma had been screwed over the first time, and now his own father was paying the price.  So, he didn’t listen to Emma telling August that she’d talk to him later, and they’d figure out something August could do to help.  Instead, he just glanced at Henry.

“You want to go shopping, kid?  Belle gave me her credit card.”

“Wow, I thought she was supposed to be smart!”

Grinning—because man, could Henry always make his mood better—Bae led his son into the toy store and ignored the puppet’s pleas for Emma to give him another chance.

* * *

 

After their conversation—and Emma’s confrontation—with Blue, David felt like they  needed a little time to think.  So, he pulled Snow into the animal shelter, using the excuse that he needed to check up on the staff to make sure everything was going all right.  Of course, he knew he could trust the people working there, particularly since they’d all worked with animals back home, but it was a good reason to find a quiet corner to talk.  Unfortunately, they didn’t manage to exchange more than a handful of words before the Jabberwocky slipped out of the shadows.

Immediately, David drew his sword, knowing that the weapon would be utterly useless against the fear-mongering creature, but not knowing what else to.  Snow slipped her hand into his, and they faced the Jabberwocky together, remembering how they had defeated her before.

However, the creature held her hands up in mock surrender, smiling mysteriously.  “Don’t look so worried.  I’m not here to harm either one of you.”

“You’ll have to excuse us for being wary after our last encounter,” Snow retorted, and David gave his wife a tight smile.

Jabber just shrugged.  “That was Cora’s doing.  I’m not bound to obey her like the Dark One is, but she does have…sway over my choices.”

“Why?” David asked, genuinely curious.   “You’d said something about a…Vorpal Blade.  Is that why?”

“Ah, so you _are_ more than just a pretty face,” the strange looking woman purred, her eyes dark but excited. 

“Get to the point,” Snow said before Jabber could continue in that annoyingly mythical tone of hers.

“Very well,” Jabber shrugged again.  “I’ll make a deal with you.  If you can get the Vorpal Blade from Cora, I’ll help you.  I don’t _want_ to be used like some attack dog, but while Cora has the Blade and can use it against me, I don’t have much of a choice.  Give it back to me—give me my freedom—and I’ll even leave Storybrooke.  You won’t ever hear from me again.”

“Why would you do that?” Wariness radiated from Snow, and David felt the same way.

“There’s no magic out there,” was the suddenly quiet response.

“Wait a minute,” David realized as his mind turned over the problem. “You weren’t here during the curse, were you?”

A sad smile.  “Now you’re beginning to understand.”

“You want to be normal,” he breathed.  “You _want_ to go somewhere without magic, somewhere you can just be…”

“Like everyone else,” Jabber finished for him.  “I can’t do it while Cora has the Vorpal Blade.  I can’t be sure it wouldn’t bring me back.  But if I can leave with it, I won’t _have_ to be like this.  I can just be like everyone else.”

David’s heart was hammering wildly in his chest, and for the first time since Cora started assembling her nasty little army, he genuinely felt hope that they’d be able to defeat her before she tore the entire town to shreds.   Quickly exchanging a glance with Snow, he nodded.  His wife spoke evenly, looking the Jabberwocky right in the eye.

“You have a deal.  We’ll help you get your blade back, so long as you promise to leave and never come back.”

“I want nothing more,” Jabber promised, and they started talking details.

* * *

 

The dwarf was useless.  He’d helped try to break through Ingrid’s ice wall—which had gone done earlier than Cora would have liked, but being able to see it happen was a little useful.  Still, she should have had Rumplestiltskin take someone else’s heart.  _I want Snow to feel everything, but I should have had him take Charming’s again.  I thought the heroes would figure that out too easily, but it would have been worth it to make Snow suffer._   At least Graham had died in the ice.  That was a bit of revenge, a small victory.  Cora had told Zelena to tuck his heart away in the dead section of her vault; it was useless now unless she wanted to reanimate him as a zombie.  Which she might yet do.

Still, having Rumple take the dwarf’s heart was not one of her finer moves.  Now the damn dwarf was sitting at bar with his ‘brothers’ and drinking at the Rabbit Hole.  Annoyed, Cora put Grumpy’s heart back in the box.  She would use him against Snow—maybe she would have him kill someone close to the brat princess.  Until then, however, his heart would stay in the vault.  

* * *

 

Toy shopping with her kid and her ex-boyfriend was weird.  And…nice.  _This is not my life,_ Emma told herself firmly, pushing down a strange pang of regret.  Then her inner voice continued traitorously: _but it could be._  She _could_ have this life.  Emma really could settle down, be with a man she’d once thought she’d marry, and have their kid around.  Sure, it would be a bit complicated; her own dad had adopted said kid and so had her mom’s stepsister, but at least they were all in the same town, right?  Complicated had become the color of her life lately, but did that have to be a bad thing? 

_You’re crazy,_ she told herself firmly, watching Henry and Neal—Bae?—geek out over a comic book of some sort.  They looked so much alike, and man, did Henry make her think of Neal all the time.  _And Neal popped the question in the least romantic way_ ever _,_ Emma thought, swallowing hard as Neal paid for three comic books and a pop-up book and a stuffed dog for his little sister.  The scene was oddly domestic, and Emma felt her heart trying to like it.  Should she say yes?  If Neal was right—and she really needed to see that contract for herself—that would not only keep her safe, but it would also keep her parents safe.   _Thinking like that is a lot easier than deciding if I’d_ want _to marry Neal or not.  I did once, but…it’s been too long, hasn’t it?_

“You’ve got Belle’s credit card, and that’s all you’re buying?” she teased Neal without thinking whether doing so was a good idea or not.

Neal snorted.  “Hey, I’ve known I had a stepmom for all of six days.  I shouldn’t spend _all_ her money at once.   Then she won’t give me more.”

“I think the Golds have plenty of cash,” Emma replied, remembering what Regina had told her about Gold way back in the beginning.  “I’m pretty sure your dad owns over half the real estate in this town, and then some.”

“Not bad,” Neal whistled softly.  “Guess the family’s really come up in the world.”

That, of course, got Henry’s attention, and he glanced up at his birth father.  “You guys were, um, kinda poor back in the Enchanted Foreset, weren’t you?” he asked.

“Peasants usually are, yeah,” was the easy answer as he handed Henry the bag of comic books.  “My mom ran off with a pirate when I was little—I don’t think that’s in your book—and it was just Papa and I.  It was a hard life, but a good one.”

_Oh, great,_ a cynical voice inside her pointed out.  _I’m a princess and he’s a peasant.  This really just_ is _a fairytale in the making, isn’t it?_   That wasn’t the way she needed to be thinking right now, though—or was it? 

“You want to go out for dinner tonight?” Emma blurted out before she could stop herself, jerking Neal and Henry both up short.

“You mean all three of us?” Neal said, looking surprised.

She almost took the easy way out, almost said yes.  But Henry, however, piped up immediately, his brown eyes shining: “She just means just the two of you, don’t you, Mom?”

“Um, yeah.  Actually,” she made herself say, sucking in a deep breath and trying not to sound to accusatory when she added: “You wanted to give this another go.”

“I do.  Of course I do,” her ex said quickly, holding the door open for Emma and Henry as they walked out of the Wonderful Toymaker.  “I just…well, I’ll shut up now and not make things worse.  How about around seven?”

“We could try the Italian place,” Emma said before she could chicken out.  “It’s got to be better than going to Granny’s, anyway.”

“Honestly, Emma, we could order pizza and drink boxed wine for all I care,” Neal answered, and why the hell did that sound romantic?  Nevermind that they’d done it all the time, a lifetime ago.  “I just, y’know, want the chance to find out if there’s anything left of what we had.”

She opened her mouth to agree, until a suave voice spoke from behind her.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Swan, but do you have a minute?” Killian whatever-his-last-name-really-was said as Emma whirled around.

That was right, he was supposed to be Captain Hook, even though he had two hands and his presence was making Neal bristle.   _Oh, right.  He also helped Cora kidnap Neal,_ Emma remembered.  Yeah, that really did make things all kinds of better, didn’t it?  Still, she didn’t want to turn this into a fight—Neal’s knuckles were already bruised from punching August—so she got in before Neal could speak up.

“Now’s not really a good time, Killian.”

“Unless you’re going to try to sell me to Cora again.  Then it might be a _great_ time,” Neal cut in before the pirate could answer.  “Hell, I’ll even go along quietly.”

“Are you nuts?” Emma asked before she even thought about that contract and what that would mean.  But her ex just shrugged.

“Might be.”

Henry’s dark eyes were watching the exchange, and part of Emma really just wanted to punch Killian herself.  But the pirate shook his head.

“Rather the opposite, in fact,” he said quietly, his eyes on Neal.  “I’m sorry, Bae.  I truly am.  I thought—well, what I thought doesn’t matter.  I was wrong.  And I was wrong to side with Cora, too.”

“Well, it follows your track record, doesn’t it?” Neal shot back.  “You sided with Pan, too.  All to save your own skin.”

Killian blinked hard, clearly taken aback by the anger in Neal’s voice.  But it was Henry who piped up curiously:

“Pan?” their son asked.  “Like _Peter_ Pan?”

“Don’t ask,” the two men responded in unison, and that _really_ made Emma want to know.  Unfortunately, the same curiosity ran through Henry’s veins.

“But, Dad, if you’ve been to Neverland—”

“Neverland isn’t like it is in the movies, okay, Henry?” Neal said, looking down Henry, suddenly all seriousness.  “It’s a terrible place, and Pan’s a villain on par with the Evil Queen.  Fairy tales aren’t always right, okay?”

Emma could see that Henry was still curious, but even a ten-year-old could catch on to the urgency in his father’s voice, and he nodded.  “Okay.”

It was easy to tell that Henry wasn’t going to let it drop forever, but at least he was willing to stop asking questions for now.  Neal had told Emma that he’d spent some time in Neverland, but she had never really been into the many forms of _Peter Pan_ , so she’d kind of brushed off the reference.  She hadn’t been terribly curious at the time, but Henry, of course, would be.  Especially since Hook and Neal both seemed to think the place was just that terrible.  Hell, that got Emma’s attention, which probably said al ot.

“Baelfire…” Killian started slowly, looking a little lost.  “I can’t apologize enough.  I didn’t know what Cora would do to you until after she had you.  Please believe that.  If nothing else, I could never do that to your mother’s son.”

Those words made Neal shift uncomfortably, and it took Emma a moment to figure out why.  But what had Neal said just a few minutes ago?  His mother had run off with a _pirate_ when he was a kid.  _You have_ got _to be kidding me,_ she thought.  _Could this place get any stranger?_

“Yeah, well, you’re the one that picked her side,” Neal grumbled.

“I did.  And I was wrong.”

“You gonna do something about that?”

“Actually, that’s rather what I’m trying to do right now.  Assuming you’ll hear me out,” Killian retorted, and that made Emma blink and re-enter the conversation.

“You’re trying to swap sides?” she asked, just to get everything out in the open.

“Aye.  I know what Cora’s goals are, and I know whose hearts she has—or some of them, anyway.  I will help you, if you’ll let me.”

“In exchange for what?” Neal asked suspiciously.

The pirate shrugged, wearing an awkward looking half smile.  “Obviously, I’d prefer not to go to jail after it’s all over.”

“I think we can work on that,” Emma replied before Neal could get in, mulling over the possibilities in her head.  Yet she hadn’t forgotten that Killian had tried to stop her from going to Gold to get help with Henry just a week earlier, or that he’d tried to seduce his way into her bed on more than one occasion.  _Had that been on Cora’s orders?_ the sheriff almost asked, but stopped herself.  Instead, she cleared her throat.  “Okay, then.  If you know whose hearts Cora has, name one.”

“Ingrid,” Killian answered without hesitation.  “You know her as Sarah Fisher, the owner of Any Given Sundae.

A memory tugged on the edge of Emma’s consciousness, almost close enough to touch, but just out of reach.  “Ingrid?” she whispered without meaning to.

“Aye.  She’s got ice magic, but Cora’s got her heart.  That’s where the ice wall around Graham’s apartment came from—”

Emma didn’t wait to hear the rest of that sentence.  She sprinted for Any Given Sundae, crossing the street in long strides and dodging around a Camaro and a Mazda and barging through the doors before she’d even decided to start moving.  But the ice cream shop was empty when Emma got there, and she was just left staring at a half-open freezer that had somehow not started to melt.

* * *

 

Prince Charming had been right, Robin reflected.  Discussing their plans in front of people who Cora might or might not have corrupted was a bad idea.  Robin had been ready to tell everyone about his ideas at the war council, but upon reflection, it was better to keep quiet on that front for now.

“Tomorrow, you think?” he asked Will Scarlet.  “Or the day after?”

The former Merry Man shrugged.  “I think we’re gonna have to, mate.  If we let Cora go on like this, there ain’t gonna be no one left to fight her.  Looks like your girlfriend might be the key to that.”

“She’s not”—Robin felt his ears go red.  “Or she is.  Thing is, I don’t know _what_ she is.  But I know I have to try.”

“Aye, anything else would be stupidity.  I know what I’d do for Ana, Robin.  You don’t have to explain.”

That was a relief, at least.  But Robin turned his mind back to business with an effort.  “I think our best bet is to hit her on multiple fronts at once.  Cora—and the Dark One—can only be in so many places at the same time.  We might not succeed everywhere, but if we can meet at least _one_ of our objectives, that’s a victory.”

“You’re the strategist,” Will grinned.  “I was just a lowly thief.”

“You didn’t do so badly when you planned that heist at Maleficent’s,” Robin said.

“Aye, and look how good that worked out for me!  Still, I wish we could get her on our side.  A fire breathin’ dragon bitch would be dead useful.”

“Tell me about it,” Robin breathed.  “But I don’t think she’s for hire.”

“Pity.”

* * *

 

The knock on the door came just after Belle finished reading _The Knight and the Dragon_ with Gabrielle.  It was one of the new books that Belle had been able to order since the curse broke, and this was their first time through.  Gabrielle absolutely loved the story, of course—she loved almost every book they read—but she particularly liked the way the knight and the dragon both studied books to figure out how to face one another and then wound up cooking barbeque together instead of fighting. 

“Can Papa cook us bar-be-que, Mamma?” Gabi asked, turning big brown eyes on her as Belle’s heart constricted painfully.

“We’ll ask him when he gets back, sweetie,” she said as lightly as she could manage, determined to keep tears out of her eyes.  Just _thinking_ about Rumple was hard, and how could she explain this entire messed up situation to their little girl?

“When will he be back?” was the whispered question.

Belle gulped.  _I cannot cry.  If I cry, she’ll wonder why, and then I’ll have to tell her that Cora is hurting her papa._ “I don’t know,” she admitted softly.  “But I know that he misses you very much, and he’ll be back as soon as he can.”

“Want him back soon,” Gabi pouted.

“Me, too,” Belle said, leaning over to kiss her daughter in the head.  “Now, how about I turn on _The Little Mermaid_ singalong for you?”

Gabi gave her an unhappy look, but relented.  “Okay.”

Rising, Belle loaded the DVD, turning on the Disney singalong that was _still_ Gabi’s favorite, despite how sick of it her parents had grown.  Just as she hit play, Belle heard the doorbell ring, and she put the remote down on the coffee table.

“You stay right here, okay, Gabi?” she said, and headed into the front hall just as whoever was at the door started knocking insistently.  Hurrying to the door, imagining what disaster must have happened—and hopefully not to Bae!—Belle shouted: “I’m coming!”

But when she opened the door, her father was standing there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, dear. Moe French is back, and what might he want now that he’s also Maurice?
> 
> Next up is Chapter Eighty-Eight—“Warnings”, in which Belle gives her father an ultimatum, Jafar gets restless, Emma tells her parents the truth about Henry, and then Emma and Baelfire’s dinner date is interrupted.


	88. Warnings

“Papa,” Belle said cautiously, gripping the door tightly in her right hand and eyeing the man she had once loved so much.  She’d avoided seeing him since the curse broke, because Belle wanted to focus on the family she had, on protecting Bae and getting Rumple back. Belle had known that she would eventually have to face her father, but she’d just wanted to put that day off.

“Belle,” Maurice breathed, looking like he hadn’t seen her in a lifetime.  “Oh, sweetheart, it’s good to see you.”

Part of Belle just wanted to throw herself into her father’s arms, wanted to cry out her worries on his shoulder like she’d once been able to, but she stopped herself.  _Even if he does look like he expects an embrace, I don’t care_ , she told herself firmly.  Her father had almost _killed_ Rumple.  Cora might have been the prime mover behind that attack, but Belle knew from personal experience that the weaker the curse got, the more the person underneath came out.  Moe French hadn’t been the only one at home that day, and Belle was not ready to forget that.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, consciously not inviting him in.

“I came to see you.  It’s obvious that the beast has abandoned you for—”

“Don’t you _dare_ call him that!” Belle cut him off furiously, taking a step forward to poke a finger into her father’s broad chest.  “ _You_ attacked him!  You almost _killed_ him!  Rumplestiltskin isn’t the beast as far as I’m concerned.   You’ve been doing a good job of earning that title for yourself!”

“That was Cora!” her father protested, already red in the face.  “She made us do that!  Oh, my Belle, you know I’m not the type of man who would do something like that.”

Stepping back, Belle crossed her arms and brought her chin up.  “No, you’re just the type who would send me to the clerics because I married the man I love.”

“I only wanted to help you!”

“No, you wanted me to be what _you_ wanted me to be, Papa.  And for the record, Rumplestiltskin didn’t abandon me.  He’s a prisoner, and he sacrificed himself to save his family, which is better than you’ve ever done.”

“But you can be free of him now, sweeting.  You don’t have to stay in this false life he’s trapped you in.  You can come home,” Maurice pleaded.

“What false life are you talking about?” Belle asked incredulously. 

“This child.  This _marriage_ ,” her father spat.  “None of it is real.  You don’t have to cling to it, not with him gone.  You can come home.”

For a long moment, Belle couldn’t find her voice.  Eventually, she managed to say: “Gabrielle is _my_ daughter.  I gave birth to her.  And if you call her demonspawn or something like that, I swear by all that’s holy that I will _never_ speak to you again.”

Her father blinked, looking utterly befuddled.  But Belle didn’t even feel a flicker of guilt as he said: “You’re my daughter, Belle.  We’re _family_.”

“This is the family I choose.  You can live with that, and be a part of it, or you can walk out of my life.  Right now,” she said.  “And if you choose to stick around, and you _ever_ want to meet your granddaughter, you owe my husband an apology.”

“Apology—?”

“This guy giving you problems, Belle?” a new voice interjected before she could tell her father exactly what she thought of his opinions.  She started; she hadn’t seen Bae come up the walk, but now he was on the porch with Maurice and sizing the taller man up warily.

“No.  I think he was just leaving.”

“Who the blazes are you?” Maurice asked, as surprised by Bae’s arrival as she was.

“Baelfire,” was the easy response; Bae even stuck out a hand.  “Belle’s my stepmom, and I’m rather fond of her.  You are?”

“Her father!”

Bae glanced at Belle.  “He the same guy that beat my father crapless under the curse?”

How had Bae learned that one?  Belle certainly hadn’t told him; she imagined that Emma must have.  But she wasn’t going to lie.  “Unfortunately.”

“You want him here?” Bae asked, looking back at Maurice.  Belle’s father was a lot bigger than her stepson, but Bae seemed to be the scrappy sort; he looked like he would be good in a fight and tough.  That, and Belle knew exactly how much stubbornness he’d inherited from his father, which meant he wasn’t exactly the giving in sort.  That didn’t mean that she wanted to see Bae get in a fight with her father—anything but!—yet she found a bit of perverse pleasure in the fact that there was absolutely no way her father could force her to do anything right now.

_I never wanted to have to think like that,_ Belle thought sadly.  _Papa was my hero once.  I loved him so much, and I trusted him.  But then Mother died, and everything changed._  Then she had gone with Rumplestiltskin, and _Belle_ had changed in ways her father seemed unable to understand.

She didn’t want to think about what might have happened if Bae hadn’t come home.  Would Maurice have tried to drag her away by force?  Back in the old world, that would have been an acceptable action for a father, particularly a lord.  Here, however, women had more rights than they did in the Enchanted Forest, and Belle was not going to become some weak-willed girl just because her father didn’t like her choices.  She hadn’t done that back home, and she wouldn’t do it in Storybrooke.  So, she squared her shoulders.

“He’s welcome to stay if he’s willing to accept my marriage, and my daughter,” she answered Bae, completely ignoring Maurice’s little exclamation of displeasure.  “Otherwise, he’s welcome to leave.”

“Belle, darling—”

“Don’t,” she cut him off.  “You didn’t like me marrying Rumplestiltskin.  Fine.  I understand that.  But he never enchanted me, and this is my _home_.  With my daughter, my stepson, and—when he gets free—my husband.  You can accept that or not.  If you don’t, it’s your loss.”

Her voice got a little thick on the last line; Belle really didn’t _want_ to cut ties with her father.  She’d loved him so much, once, and she had hoped that being in Storybrooke would help them reconnect.  Rumplestiltskin looked so much more human in this world, and she’d wondered if that might make accepting him easier for Maurice.  Laying out an ultimatum like this made her want to cry, but she was determined to be strong.

“Gabi okay?” Bae asked quietly, probably to distract her.

“She’s fine,” she whispered.

“You’re his son,” her father spoke up, looking at Bae like he’d just realized what him being Belle’s stepson had to mean.

“Yeah.  And like Gabrielle, I’m perfectly human,” Bae replied. 

“I don’t understand.”

“I can see that, buddy,” Bae said, not entirely unkindly.  “So, let me offer you a bit of advice.  Go home, do whatever it is you do.  Think on this for a while, and decide if you really want to lose your daughter all because you don’t like her husband.  If you’re shallow enough that that’s okay with you, just don’t come back.  If you actually give a damn about her, come back tomorrow.”

“You can’t tell me what to do!”

“No, but I’m happy to call the sheriff and have her arrest you for trespassing,” was the easy answer.  “She’s an old friend.”

Somehow, the threat of the law seemed to work on Maurice, and he stumbled away, almost falling down the front steps while he was at it.  Belle wished that he’d say _something_ , that he’d give her a little hope, but he left without a word.  She just watched him go from the doorway, wrapping her arms around herself and wishing she didn’t feel so cold.

“You all right?”

Blinking, Belle turned to her stepson instead of watching her father drive away.  “Mostly,” she said honestly.  “He didn’t like it back home, either.  We never told him about Gabrielle.”

Bae smiled crookedly.  “Pop sometimes has that effect on people.”

“No, not this time.  This was all my father.  Rumple was on his best behavior.  He was trying, really trying…for my sake.  Papa wasn’t.”

“His loss.”  Gently, Bae took her arm, and Belle found herself very glad for the human contact.  “Come on.  Let’s go inside and sing a round of ‘Under the Sea’ with Gabi.  There’s nothing a little Disney can’t fix, right?”

Belle snorted out a watery laugh.  “You say that like you don’t know any better.”

“Well, I can lie with the best of them,” was the grinning response, and they headed into the house.

* * *

 

“This is not quite the realm you promised,” Jafar said in his cultured and intelligent way, his dark eyes fastened easily on Cora as they sat across from one another. 

Jafar had come to the mansion and Cora had invited him to share tea with her; of all her allies, he was the one that required the most careful handling.  Cora knew what Jafar wanted, and she’d always suspected that Jafar would be the first to try to stray.  But he had no weak point she could actually exploit, which meant she had to string him along and make him think that _Cora_ could give him what he wanted.

“Nothing is at first,” she replied philosophically.  “Give it time.”

Jafar’s eyebrows rose eloquently.  “I am only prepared to wait so long.  This realm is not the only one available to me, and I am running short of reasons to remain here.”

“You’ve been awake for less than a week, dear,” Cora said as lightly as she could.  “Surely your patience is not that short?”

“No.  It isn’t.”

“Then what is the problem?” she asked, wishing Jafar would just get to the point, but understanding that the man was more subtle than that.

“I have no wish to be your enemy,” he said, leaning back in his chair and watching Cora calmly.  “But I have noticed that opportunities to possess power in this town are few and far between.  This is your town, and while there would have been ample prospects in the Enchanted Forest, Storybrooke is rather…smaller.”

He had a point.  Cora had been so concerned with gathering allies and making sure that her power over Storybrooke was absolute that she had not considered the fact that her more powerful allies might be _bored_.  Zelena, of course, would be loyal to Cora so long as her mother showed her affection and approval, but Jafar was cut from a different cloth.

For a moment, Cora contemplated summoning Rumplestiltskin from the other room and having him take Jafar’s heart.  She had no doubt that she could do it herself, but that would require a messy battle, and Cora preferred not to waste her own energy like that.  Rumple could do it without breaking a sweat, and even if he _was_ harmed, well, she could use that to her advantage, too.  _No,_ she decided regretfully.  Jafar should keep his heart.  Cora could only afford to try to control so many puppets; she was already having difficulty juggling them all, even with Zelena’s help.  She’d delegated controlling Ingrid to her daughter, and if she took Jafar’s heart, Cora might just have to hand his over, too, because controlling the Dark One had proved _much_ more time intensive than she had expected.

Suppressing her surge of anger, Cora returned to studying Jafar.  He was extremely clever, which was why she’d wanted him on her side in the first place.  Worst case, he’d find his genies, and she would then volunteer to be the second sorcerer required for his spell.  Worse things could happen.  Cora had no particular love for the laws of magic, after all, and the idea of possessing ultimate power like that was certainly tempting.  Jafar’s dreams were small, after all: he wanted his father to love him, wanted to change his past, and he probably wanted to bring back a dead person or two.  Cora, however, wanted much larger things.  If allying with Jafar would get them for her, she would do just that.

“Do you have any ideas?” she asked, honestly interested in his opinion.

“Branch out.  Your curse didn’t strip _all_ the realms of people, did it?”

“No, of course not.  I only brought those I felt would be useful or whom I wanted to make suffer.”

“Well, then we should co-opt the Hatter immediately, and then choose which worlds should be controlled first,” Jafar replied contemplatively.  “I would recommend beginning with the small ones: Agrabah, Wonderland, Arendelle, Oz, and perhaps even Neverland—though from what I hear about that world, it is perhaps best we remain clear of it.”

“I understand it’s a useless little world,” she agreed, thinking about how that little librarian and Rumple’s brat intended to send _her_ there.  _I’ll have to find a way to deal with her,_ Cora thought angrily.  _I can’t kill her…but perhaps once Rumple comes back to himself, he’ll do the deed for me._

Unfortunately, that was not an immediate solution, and Cora had no choice but to wait on that front . Rumple was growing quieter and quieter lately, rather than embracing the anger she had expected.  Still, his withdrawal was the only flaw in the so far perfect execution of her plans, so Cora would have to live with it.  And with Jafar’s rather predictable chaffing under her rule.  She would have to find him something to do, and quickly.

“But I do agree with you on the others,” Cora continued as Jafar waited patiently.  “Once you take control of the Hatter—and I agree, as we covered yesterday, that it should be done immediately—would you do me the favor of beginning to scout out worlds that would suit you, and perhaps some of the others?  I would not have anyone uncomfortable here, or feeling less…able to pursue their own dreams.”

Yes, that did the trick.  Jafar’s eyes gleamed, and she knew that she had him.  Jafar might have walked into the room thinking about adopting a neutral pose a la Maleficent, but now he was eager to carve himself out a little world to rule.  What he wasn’t thinking of, of course, was how Storybrooke had replaced the Enchanted Forest as the center of the ‘hub’ that all magical realms formed, and that anywhere he ruled would still wind up subservient to her—or cut off from everywhere else.  But Jafar was no fool.  He would work with her.  Cora would make certain of that.

* * *

 

“So, um, I’m going on a date tonight.  Sort of,” Emma told her parents as Henry grinned into his comic book.  Her kid really _wasn’t_ helping, but Emma supposed that ten-year-olds existed to make their parents miserable.

_If so, Henry’s a natural at it!_

“A date?” David looked up from where he was creating some sort of marinade to go on chicken—chicken David and Snow probably expected Emma to help eat, come to think of it.  “With who?”

“I’m betting Baelfire,” her mother said with a smile, leaning on the counter easily.

“How did you—” Emma cut off with a sigh.  “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, we _have_ been wondering how long it would take you to tell us that the two of you had been in a relationship before,” Snow admitted, and Emma felt a flicker of hope.  Maybe they’d already guessed, too.  That would make things a _lot_ easier.

“Still, Gold’s kid?  That’s a little…strange, isn’t it?” David asked, and Emma fought the urge to groan.

“Oh, come on.  Don’t turn overprotective father on me now, okay?” she pleaded.  “I’ve already had a kid with the guy.  I think I can handle a date.”

The moment the words were out of her mouth, and the shocked expressions settled on her parents’ faces, Emma knew she shouldn’t have blurted it out like that.  _Guess they didn’t guess.  Damn._

“A _what_?” Snow and David yelped together.  Henry, of course, snickered. 

“Not helping!” she snapped at said child, who just grinned.  Then Emma had no choice but to turn back to her parents, smiling sheepishly.  “Sorry.  When you started talking about how you’d guessed we’d been in a relationship before, I thought for sure you’d figured it out.”

“I guessed,” Henry supplied, again, not helpfully.

“I thought…you mean that _Baelfire_ is Henry’s father?” Snow asked slowly, looking like she’d swallowed a lemon. 

“Yeah, though I knew him as Neal Cassidy back then,” Emma shrugged.  “He never said anything about being from some fairy tale land, that’s for sure.  I probably would have run away screaming if he had.”

Snow’s expression melted away into careful blankness.  “So, Gold is Henry’s grandfather.”

“Yeah.  The good news is that the contract Gold drew up with Cora keeps Henry safe from her,” Emma pointed out, but she could tell that at least David wasn’t listening to that one.

“I thought _I_ was Henry’s grandfather,” her dad muttered, looking befuddled.

Snow put a hand on his arm.  “You can have more than one,” she said, and Emma could see the slight smile on her mother’s face.  “After all, you’re his father, too.”

“Just when I thought our family tree couldn’t get any more confusing,” David snorted, and then looked over at Emma.  “You aren’t going out with him because you think you _have_ to, are you, Emma?”

The sudden concern made her blink; was this what it was like having parents?  She’d expected blame, or at least something said about the fact that Neal was older than her and Emma hadn’t quite been eighteen when Henry was born.  Instead, they were _worried_ about her, backing her up, and just being kind of wonderful.  Emma wasn’t used to having family; this was all so very new to her, and it made her feel strange and warm inside.  Only six days had passed since the curse had broken, and they’d all been too busy to share truly quiet moments like this, but for the first time in her life, Emma felt like she really _belonged_ somewhere.

“Emma?” Snow prompted her gently, and she realized abruptly that she’d been lost in her own thoughts.

“No,” Emma managed to answer, ignoring the way her cheeks grew heated.  “I don’t think I have to.  I even think I want to.”

“Is this where I drop some convenient threats about what happens if he hurts my little girl?” David asked, and despite herself, Emma smiled.

“C’mon,” she laughed.  “I’m _your_ age, and I’m going to be the only person on this date with a gun.  Besides, I hit harder than he does.”

“He’s hit you before?” Snow demanded, and Emma wanted to smack herself.

“No!  Not me,” she stuttered, at a loss for words.

“He hit August earlier today,” Henry piped up.  “It was pretty cool.  August deserved it.”

Both of her parents went a little wide-eyed at that, and Emma sighed.  “Really.  August did.  He’s the reason Cora had Neal—ack, _Bae_ —in the first place, remember?”

Fortunately, Snow and Charming did know that story, so neither tried to argue that August was some innocent victim or another.  Someday, maybe Emma would tell them that it was August’s fault that she’d gone to jail, or that it had been because of some watches Neal had stolen (and she’d tried to help him fence).  But not today.  Today, they had enough to swallow learning that they were actually related to Rumple-freaking-stiltskin, and that Emma was going out on a date with the guy who linked their two families together.  That thought, however, made Emma remember the entire reason she was going on this date with her ex, and she pulled her phone out.  _Is he not my ex if I’m dating him again?_ Emma wondered, and then pushed the thought aside.

_Bring the contract,_ she texted Neal—or Bae, or whatever damn name she was supposed to call him.  _I want to read it for myself._

* * *

 

The Italian place wasn’t half bad, if you discounted the fact that Bae had managed to spill spaghetti sauce on himself pretty much right away.  He felt like an idiot, but it made Emma laugh, and well, he’d really _missed_ the way she laughed.  He’d missed a lot of things about her, even if he had tried to tell himself that wasn’t the case over the years.  Yet, somehow they seemed to pick up right where they left off, finishing one another’s sentences and even remembering what kinds of food the other hated.  Dinner even turned out to be a moderate success, though they left the restaurant before Bae even dared pull the contract out.

For that, they wandered down to the docks, where no one else seemed to want to hang out on a chilly March evening.  Sitting down on a bench near a streetlight, Bae gestured Emma into a place at his side, and handed her the contract.

“Hasn’t your dad ever heard of a computer?” she complained immediately, but he could see a smile tugging at her lips.

“Magic always comes at a price,” he explained.  “Papa used to say that to me all the time, but I didn’t get it as a kid.  Basically, though, if you put work into something—handwriting it instead of typing it—I think that eats up a bit of the price, and makes it more, um, personal.”

“One of these days, you’re going to explain your _really_ weird life to me,” Emma said.

“You mean when things calm down for more than five minutes at a time?” he joked.

“Hey, we managed to have dinner without a disaster happening.”

“You had to go and say that, didn’t you?” Bae sighed.  “Now, when the disaster comes—and I expect it’ll show up in about five minutes—you know it’s going to be all your fault.”

“Oh, shut up.”  The punch landed on his left shoulder, and Bae yelped theatrically.

“Ow!”

“Baby.”

Suddenly, they were laughing together, and it really was like no time at all had passed.  Something just _clicked_ between them and always had, going all the way back to the day they’d tried to steal the same car.  Maybe they’d both been lost, or maybe they’d just been lonely, but somehow the dynamic still worked when they were ten years older—if not wiser—and they’d both found family they didn’t know they had.  Could that be enough?  Bae didn’t know.  But they did have important things to do, and they weren’t kids anymore.  _No, now we have a kid of our own to protect, even if we never get back together,_ he thought, and took a deep breath.

“More reading, less laughing,” he said regretfully.  “You were right.  You do need to know what’s in there.”

Emma just nodded, reading quickly.  “It seems pretty straightforward.  You think ‘related by marriage’ would stretch far enough to protect my parents, too?”

“I think so, and so does Belle,” Bae answered. 

“You talked to her about this?”

“I had to talk to someone, and she knows my father better than anyone,” he shrugged.  “Belle’s not a sorceress, but she knows an awful lot about magic, and that house is _full_ of books on magic.  She looked up a few things, and we’re pretty sure it would cover them.  Papa has always been the plan ahead sort, and he doesn’t leave loopholes like if he doesn’t anticipate using them.”

“Right,” Emma said, handing the contract back.  “I…Neal— _Bae_ —this is just a lot to take in.  I don’t want to get married just because of some contract, but…God, is it too late to go to Tallahassee?”

She looked so torn that it kept his heart from leaping _too_ much, and Bae tried to reply casually.  “If it was just you, me, and Henry, I’d say we should get in the car right now.  But I think our families would be screwed if we did that.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

_I’m not going to press her_ , he decided.  It was important—keeping Emma safe was _so_ important to him—but she had to make this decision in her own time.  So, he just accepted the contract back when she offered it, content to sit with her and make small talk, reminiscing about some of the dumber schemes they’d tried to pull in their days of petty crime.  Unfortunately, the moment of relative peace was broken when a voice cried:

“Emma!”

Together, they turned to see the owner of Any Given Sundae hurrying their way—the woman whose heart Hook claimed Cora had. _I’m pretty sure I’m almost as pissed off at him as I am at August, but at least Hook never claimed not to be a villain,_ Bae thought, rising warily.  At his side, Emma did the same.  _Ice magic,_ Bae remembered.  _That’s what Hook said she’s got, and she almost froze the old sheriff to death._

“Can I help you?” the current sheriff asked warily.

“I’m sorry to approach you like this,” the ice cream lady said hurriedly.  “I know you don’t remember me, but my name is Ingrid.  I was your foster mother, a long time ago.”

“I think I would remember that,” Emma said, and Bae could suddenly feel the tension radiating off of her.

“You would, except I took your memories with a memory stone,” Ingrid replied, looking sad.  Then she extended a small blue stone that Emma definitely didn’t take.  “Here.  I shouldn’t have taken your memories, but I didn’t know what to do.  Now, I do, and I have to warn you.”

Emma was still staring at the stone like it might bite, so Bae spoke up: “If you’re here to tell us that Cora has your heart, you’re a bit late.  We already know.”

Ingrid grimaced.  “No, it isn’t that.” Her eyes zeroed in on Emma.  “I tried to dissuade her, but she’s determined to hurt you, Emma.  You have to leave Storybrooke quickly—tonight, if you can.  Otherwise, I fear she’ll make me kill you.”

“What?” Emma seemed to find her voice, along with her skepticism.  “Look, lady, I don’t know you—”

“Take the stone and you will.”

“No!” Emma looked at her like she was crazy.  “I’m not taking some magical stone just because you say it has my memories in it.  I’m not that stupid.  You could have enchanted it to do anything.”

Ingrid looked horrified.  “I don’t want to hurt you!”

“Sorry if I’m not very trusting on that—” Emma started, only to cut herself off when a swirl of black smoke invaded their conversation, and suddenly Baelfire’s father was standing a few feet away from Ingrid.

“Papa?” he gaped, not having had a chance to say a word to his father since Rumplestiltskin had given up the dagger to save him, and now unable to stop himself from taking an uneasy step forward.

“Don’t, Bae,” Rumplestiltskin said softly, but Bae could see the conflict on his face—and the raw pain in his eyes.  Yet it was amazing how his expression could shift from heartbroken to dangerous when he turned to Ingrid, who immediately took a step back.  “It’s best you come with me, dearie.”

“You don’t have my heart,” the blonde woman said shakily.

“Do I need it?” the cool words were enough to send a chill down Bae’s spine, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let this happen.  Whatever this was.

“Papa, you don’t have to do this, do you?” he asked, swallowing hard.  “Can’t you—”

“I can’t, son.”

Bae opened his mouth to object, but Ingrid tried to take advantage of the distraction, and her hands came up, sparkling with snow and ice.  However, Rumplestiltskin was faster, and a wall of darkness hit her hard, sending the ice cream lady (Snow Queen, maybe?) reeling backwards drunkenly.  She tried again to no avail, and it was like an invisible hand picked her up and threw her ten feet into the air before slamming her back into the ground.

“Stop this!” Emma shouted, moving to get between the two before Bae reached out to stop her.  He _knew_ that his father didn’t want to do this—misery shone out from behind the cold appraisal in his eyes—and there was no way Bae was going to let Emma get hurt.

“You can’t,” he told her desperately, and she turned to glare at him.

“This isn’t _right_ ,” Emma spat.

“Of course it isn’t, but the way to fix it is to take Cora down, not fight losing battles,” Bae argued, and at least Emma didn’t try to pull away.

“Kill me, then,” Ingrid panted, levering herself into a sitting position.  “Because I won’t be her puppet any longer!”

Rumplestiltskin’s smile was sad.  “Neither you or I have a choice on that front, now, do we?”

“Then kill me!” the words were a plea.

“I wish I could, but mercy like that just isn’t in the cards.”  Striding forward, Rumplestiltskin gripped Ingrid by the hand and pulled her to her feet; they exchanged a miserable glance before Bae’s father added heavily: “For either of us.”

Ingrid seemed to understand that better than Bae did, but she still shook her head as Bae tried one last time.

“Tell me what to do, Papa.  Tell me how we can help you.”

Dark eyes swept over where Bae and Emma stood, and abruptly, Bae realized he still had Emma by the arm and she wasn’t arguing.  There was a question in his father’s face that Rumplestiltskin clearly refused to ask, and given the circumstances, Bae was glad for that.  He didn’t want to lie about it, but Bae knew that how much he loved Emma would only make her doubly Cora’s target—at least until she was protected by the contract.  _If_ she was protected by the contract.  Emma still hadn’t said yes, and he really was determined to give her time on that.

“I’m not sure there’s anything you can do,” Rumplestiltskin admitted, and for a moment, vulnerability, pain, and something terribly broken flashed across his drawn features.  “Just stay safe.”

Then he disappeared, taking Ingrid with him, and Bae stood staring at the empty place where his father had been.  _What the hell is that evil bitch doing to him?_ he wondered, not for the first time.  _I have got to talk to Belle._ Because there was no way that Bae was going to let this continue a moment longer than it had to.  He had to do _something._

Hell, worst case, he could make himself into an utter pain in the ass, a target that Cora really _couldn’t_ resist.  That might distract her from Emma and her family, and if Cora tried to harm him, the gig would be up.  _I’m sure Papa can fix whatever she does short of killing me,_ Bae thought, making up his mind.  He’d do it.  He’d do whatever was necessary in order to put his family back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay turned for Chapter Eighty-Nine—“Teeth and Ambitions Bared”, where Maurice looks for advice about his daughter in an unlikely place, Jafar seeks out Jefferson, Grumpy visits Belle, Cora wants to know what Rumplestiltskin sees in his ‘little wife’, and the heroes work on their grand plan. 
> 
> Cookies to anyone who gets the title reference for the chapter, too. Hint: it’s from a Disney movie.


	89. Teeth and Ambitions Bared

David had always done the dishes when it was him, Henry, and Regina.  Regina did about half the cooking—he’d been terrible until he’d taken three separate cooking classes—but breakfast had always been his specialty.  The fact that he _could_ cook was definitely a blessing in their newly large household; Snow was all right with easy things, but Emma could burn water, which meant David did the cooking. 

He didn’t mind, though it made him miss Regina.  Not in a romantic way, of course.  Even if his cursed self had been confused on that front, David was not.  There had only ever been one woman for him, but Regina was his friend in addition to being his sister-in-law.  She was also Henry’s other adopted parent, and although Cora’s curse had made David Nolan something of an indifferent father (which he _hated_ ), he was determined not to be like that, now.  If it was easier for Henry to see him as his grandfather, David would accept that, but no matter what, he would be there for Henry, however Henry needed him to.  He’d been distant under the curse and often useless, but that wasn’t the man he really was.  _And I won’t be like that now that my family needs me._  

That family included Regina, and David was going to do his damnedest to get her back, too.  Snow missed her sister, and Henry needed his mother.  Emma was doing a good job with him, but David had seen the sadness in Henry’s eyes when he handed Henry his hot chocolate that morning.  Regina had raised their son, and even when she’d been cursed, _Regina_ had been a good parent.  David supposed that he was glad Cora had given her that; if the Evil Queen had had to pick one of them to be a good parent, it _should_ have been Regina.  David had a second chance here—both with Emma and to be Henry’s grandfather—but Regina had lost so much already.  _I’m not going to let her lose Henry, too_ , he thought, drying off the frying pan he’d used to make eggs.  _Not that I think Henry wants to be lost._ Henry was a remarkably resilient kid, but Regina had been under a sleeping curse for over a week, now, and David could see that it was beginning to wear on him.

_Soon,_ he promised his son/grandson silently.  He and Robin were going to get together today to talk details about how they were going to wrest the hearts away from Cora, and he had a feeling that Robin also had a plan to rescue Regina.  After all, the outlaw had indicated that he knew where Regina was, and David would do whatever it took to get Regina out of Cora’s hands.  _If Robin can’t wake her up—and I’m willing to bet he can—Henry will be happy to help_ , David decided.  He almost opened his mouth to tell Henry that, just to give him a little hope, when a knocking came at the door.

“I’ll get it!” Henry exclaimed, jumping up and rushing out of the kitchen with the speed only an excited ten-year-old could muster.

Exchanging an amused glance with Snow—Emma had already headed out to the Sheriff’s Station—David trailed after Henry at a more sedate pace.  Still, he was close enough to hear every word once Henry opened the door.

“Hi, Mr. French,” the ten-year-old said, sounding confused.  “What are you doing here?”

_Out of the mouths of babes,_ David thought with amusement, but said aloud: “That’s not terribly polite, Henry.”

Henry turned to give him a shrug as David walked up.  “I thought it might be Baelfire.  Or maybe Belle.  Not _her_ dad.”

“Well, why don’t you let me talk to him while you go help your grandmother, all right?” he suggested.  Snow was sorting through a list of complaints people had left with them—there were _so_ many to choose from!—and Henry’s help would actually be invaluable there.  Some people signed the complaints with their cursed names and others with their original names; figuring out which was which had been a giant pain until Henry’s encyclopedic knowledge of the curse came into play.

“Sure!”

Henry scampered off, leaving David to face the town florist.  _Belle mentioned that her father was a lord back home, but I don’t remember him.  He was from some other kingdom…Avonlea, maybe?_   “Care to come in?” he asked politely, noticing how nervous the older man looked.

“Thank you,” Maurice—at least David thought that’s what his name had been—said uneasily, and David led him into the living room before saying anything else, gesturing Belle’s father into a seat on the couch as he took one of the chairs.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, and watched Maurice fidget.

“I came…I came for help,” Maurice said quietly.  “It’s my daughter.  I don’t know what to do for her.  I’m certain she’s been enchanted, and that she _can’t_ leave that horrible house. It’s not her fault.  I know it isn’t, but I have to help her.”

Listening to that ramble made David blink.  “I’m not sure I follow,” he said slowly.  “Your daughter…you mean Belle Gold, right?”

“Don’t give her that monster’s name!” Maurice burst out.  “It’s not her fault she wound up married to him here.  Or that he’s made her think that…that _child_ is hers.  My Belle wouldn’t do that of her own free will.”

“But we are talking about the same Belle, aren’t we?”  _The same Belle who has apparently been awake since before the curse broke, who helped Emma and Snow both, and who marched in here with her daughter to tell us that no one decided her fate but her?_ Saying that, however, would not be very diplomatic, so David stopped himself.  Snow might have always been better at the diplomacy parts of ruling, but even he knew that much.

“Yes.  I’ve got to get her away from that monster while he’s with Cora.   You’ve got to help me, please.  I think she’s a prisoner in that house.  She wouldn’t even let me in!”

This was going to be delicate, and David devoutly wished he could call Snow in right now, but she was busy trying to solve other problems.  Besides, there wasn’t any real way to make this better.  All David could do was (hopefully) make it less bad.

“What, uh, makes you think she’s enchanted?” he asked.

“She says she’s in love with the Dark One,” the older man snarled, and David fought back the urge to sigh.

“Has it ever occurred to you that she could be?  I know Rumplestiltskin better than most, and despite his odd looks back home, I would certainly say that he’s capable of love.”

“Not my Belle!”

“Magic can’t make someone fall in love,” Snow’s voice suddenly said, and David twisted to see her framed in the doorway, looking as beautiful as ever.  Her eyes met his.  “Believe me.  We know.”

“She’s trapped there,” Maurice reiterated mulishly.

“Actually, she isn’t,” David pointed out.  “Belle was over here just the other day, and she joined us for our war council, too.  She isn’t stuck in the house.  She just _lives_ there.”

“I know this must be difficult for you,” Snow picked up where David left off.  “But your daughter isn’t trapped at all.  She’s been an enormous help to us so far, and if— _when_ —we defeat Cora, she’ll have played an integral part in that.”

Maurice blinked owlishly.  “I thought that monster…”

“You might want to stop calling your son-in-law that,” David said as lightly as he could.  “From what I understand, they got married back home…and _I_ certainly am not going to be the one to tell Belle that she’s not capable of making her own choices.  You have an extraordinarily strong and stubborn daughter.”

“She’s always been stubborn,” the older man said softly, looking like he was wrestling with the facts he’d been given. 

“Did she tell you that, too?” Snow asked gently, walking into the room and sitting next to the florist.

“Yes.”

“We asked the same questions,” she said, putting a hand on Maurice’s arm and working the kind of magic only Snow White could—that which made you _believe_ in her like no one else.  “But Rumplestiltskin has been working with us since the beginning.  Emma never could have broken the curse without his help—or Belle’s.  I know he’s the Dark One, but he’s on our side.”

“You truly believe she’s with him by choice?” Maurice whispered, and for a moment, David felt very sorry for him.  _How would I feel if my daughter had gone on a date with the Dark One last night?_ Then again, Emma _had_ gone out with Rumplestiltskin’s son, so David could imagine how Maurice felt a little too well.

“We know she is,” Snow reassured him.

It took more than that to win Maurice over, of course, but it was a start.  At least he stopped ranting and raving and demanding that the heroes ‘save’ his daughter from the beast.  Frankly, David didn’t have time for idiot quests, anyway. He had an appointment with an outlaw to rescue his cursed wife/sister-in-law that he wasn’t going to miss.

* * *

 

“I’d like to make a deal with you, Hatter,” said the man who had just walked into Modern Fashions.

That got Jefferson’s attention immediately, and made him drop the sweater he’d been about to hang up.  So far, he’d managed to stay under Cora’s radar, and he’d been hoping to stay there.  He’d never antagonized the Evil Queen in the past, and had even done the odd job or two for her, but apparently now she’d told her friends who and what he was.  _Who is this guy again?  He was Conrad something or another under the curse, a lawyer.  But I never saw him back home._

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” he said slowly, bending to pick up the sweater casually.

“Jafar,” the other introduced himself, and well, Jefferson knew that name.  Even if Grace hadn’t liked the movie—which she did—he’d heard of Jafar back home.  He was the sorcerer who wanted to find three genies.  _And not just any three.  He wants the three brother genies, and has been scouring worlds to find them._

“It’s a pleasure,” Jefferson smiled cautiously, glad that at least Jafar’s reputation said that he didn’t kill people for doing little things like sneezing in his presence.  Still, sounding welcoming never hurt, particularly when one was reasonably sure of living through the next five minutes without being turned into a rat.  “What can I do for you?”

“I’m of a mind to do some travelling…perhaps with a companion.  What would you be interested in exchanging for guidance on such a trip?”

“I take it that telling you to check out the travel section in the pharmacy probably isn’t going to meet your requirements?” he couldn’t stop himself from saying.

Surprisingly, Jafar laughed.  “I’m afraid I have somewhere far more exotic in mind.”

“I figured.”  Jefferson shrugged.  “Well, then, protection from Cora would be a nice thing to start with, assuming you can give it.  And from her, uh, crazier daughter.”

“I can offer that in part, at any rate,” the sorcerer replied, sizing him up.  “Cora thinks I’m here to threaten you, after all.  I prefer, however, to make a deal that benefits both of us.”

Jefferson’s heart was now firmly lodged in his throat.  “Why does Cora want me threatened?”

“Cora thinks threats will solve everything,” Jafar said dryly, rolling his eyes. 

“And you don’t?”

“No.  I prefer to earn trust, particularly from someone who would be more than capable of dumping me off into a useless little world with just a little preparation.”

Something about the way he said that made Jefferson’s heart stop, and he could only stare at Jafar with wide eyes.  After a moment, the sorcerer smiled.

“Ah, yes.  I have something to offer in exchange for our first trip: knowledge,” Jafar said smoothly.  “Cora knows of your friends’ plan to use the Hat to take her to Neverland.  I would suggest that you…rethink that course of action.”

He had to swallow hard several times before he could make his mouth work.  “How does she know?”

“She has someone’s heart, of course.  But don’t ask me whose; I don’t know.”

“Then why are you telling me?” Jefferson asked warily.

“Let’s just say that I’m hedging my bets,” Jafar replied.  “It doesn’t take a seer to know that Cora’s plans may blow up in her face rather…spectacularly.  I’ve never known a woman who was so determined to antagonize _two_ mythically powered individuals at the same time, and she’s managed to make the Dark One and the Jabberwocky both hate her.  I’d prefer to be in another world when it all falls to pieces, and if I must make friends with the other side to do just that…I will do so.”

“You know…I think we can work together.”

So, plan A of getting rid of Cora was out.  He’d have to call Belle later—or drop by the house—and let her know.  But now _they_ knew that Cora had the heart of someone on the war council, and that counted for a lot.  Jafar seemed to be the sort who would keep his deals, at least, which meant a lot to a portal jumper.   So, they started discussing details, along with how to _not_ bring Zelena long if Jafar didn’t want her to come, and Jefferson even started to enjoy himself. 

A  little.

* * *

 

“Hey, sister,” Grumpy said as Belle greeted him at the door that same morning.

“Grumy,” Belle blinked in surprise and then smiled.  “What are you doing here?”

“I came by to see if you needed any help,” the dwarf replied.  “I imagine things are rough now with Gold gone.”

“They’re not that bad,” she replied, letting her friend in.  “Baelfire’s here, and he helps a lot.  Gabi likes having an older brother.”

“I bet she does.  How is the sprog, anyway?” 

“Doing as well as she can with her father away.”  Biting her lip, Belle tried not to think on what Bae had told her the night before.  They’d talked, and her stepson had tried to ask her what had happened between his father and Cora.  Belle had finally relented enough to tell him about the fact that Rumple had been in a relationship with Cora before her marriage—only to learn that _Emma_ had told Bae about the curse-caused ‘relationship’ between Cora and Gold.  She’d tried to avoid giving Baelfire any gruesome details, knowing that Rumple wouldn’t want his son knowing how badly Cora had hurt him, but she had a bad feeling that Bae had read between the lines.

_It’s not like he shouldn’t know,_ Belle told herself, leading Grumpy into the kitchen where she’d been making cookies while Gabi read a book.  _If Bae knows, he can probably help Rumple at least as much as I can, but I know Rumple wouldn’t want his beloved boy to know how badly he was hurt._

“You need any help around the house or anything?” Grumpy asked without warning, and Belle threw him an odd look.

“I didn’t know you dwarves cleaned. I thought Snow did that for you,” she said lightly.  Something was off.  She couldn’t quite tell what, but something…something was off.

She hadn’t known Grumpy as long as Snow had, of course, but she _had_ met him right after he’d gotten his heart broken because of the Blue Fairy.  She’d tried to reconnect with Leroy after he’d been released from the asylum since Lacey had memories of being friends with him, but they still hadn’t been able to talk much.  Now, however, her instincts were telling her that something was very wrong with her friend.

“Well, I never said I was _good_ at it,” the dwarf offered with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Then I thank you doubly for the effort,” Belle replied, forcing herself to be friendly and pretend nothing was wrong.  “But the maid still comes by, and Dove is able to fix anything that breaks.  So, I think we’re doing all right.”

Grumpy stuck around for another few minutes of small talk, but even when Belle offered him cookies, he was fairly quick to leave after that.  Closing the door behind him, Belle paused in the foyer, biting her lip and thinking hard.  Was she just paranoid?  Their conversation had been stilted, a little forced, even.  Was that because they were in the Dark One’s house?  Being there made most people uncomfortable, but Belle didn’t think that was it.

* * *

 

“The key is that she can’t keep track of everyone’s hearts at once,” Robin told him. David had gone out to the Merry Men’s camp in the woods, confident that at least _he_ still had his heart in.  After all, he remembered all too well the feeling of emptiness, and he hadn’t had his heart back for more than a week. David was certain he’d notice if it was gone, since that was a feeling one definitely didn’t forget.  But as Robin’s friend Will had pointed out, there was no knowing who else Cora had victimized.

“So…the plan is to hit her in multiple places at once, then,” David nodded, glancing down at the crudely drawn map.  “You’ve got a distraction in mind—I won’t ask what—but another won’t hurt, right?”

“Unless we somehow manage to get in one another’s way, no,” the outlaw laughed.  “But if you’ve got something in mind, go for it—particularly if you can distract Zelena instead of Cora.  Getting them both out of the way would give me a lot better chance to get to Regina.”

“I think we can do that,” David agreed.  “So…are you sure you don’t need any help going after Regina?”

“I’ll have the Merry Men for backup, so if you four want to concentrate on breaking into her vault—there are a lot of hearts to carry out, from what Will says—I think we’ll be all right,” Robin said.

“And, well, if either one of us succeeds, it counts for something, right?”

“Damn right it does.  I’ll call you when we need to kick off—it’ll all depend on if we can coax her out of the house when we want to.”

David nodded.  “Until then.”  He turned to go, only to stop when Robin asked:

“One last question—how are you going to get past the protections on Cora’s vault?”

“I think that probably best belongs in the category of things best not known,” David replied with a smile.  They were _all_ paranoid, now, of course.  Cora could have almost any of their hearts, and if she happened to be listening…

“True enough.  Just tell me you have a way.”

“We do,” David promised, thanking his lucky stars that Regina had told Henry about the blood magic on her mother’s vault.  Of course, none of them shared actual blood with Regina, which did complicate things.  However, once Henry had volunteered that information, Snow had remembered that Regina had donated blood at the hospital a week before the curse had broken.  _Emma and Bae should be stealing that right now,_ David thought, resolutely not thinking about where his daughter and her ex had acquired their lock-breaking and stealing skills.

Despite those thoughts, he left the outlaws’ camp in good spirits.  Whether their chance came today or tomorrow, they really had a chance to pull this off.

* * *

 

“So, any ideas on how to distract Zelena?” Bae asked the pirate, a little weirded out to be having this conversation at all.  But it was simpler than the one that would come later, which had to count for something.

Besides, he had seen Hook’s glaring reason for turning to the ‘good’ side, and selfishness was something Bae could understand, even trust.  The petite fairy had left the marina office just as Bae had arrived, and it was obvious from the way Killian’s eyes followed her that he was smitten.  Once, as a kid, maybe, Bae would have been offended to see Killian looking at a woman like that—but it had been a long time since he’d had to endure a lengthy soliloquy about how much Killian had loved his mother.  Three hundred years was certainly long enough to get involved with someone new, even if she was a fairy.

“Whatever would you want to do that for, lad?”

“Can the ‘lad’ stuff, okay?  I’m only twenty years or so younger than you if we count our Neverland time, and if we _don’t_ , we’re probably about the same age,” Bae said.

“Point taken.”  Shrugging, Killian leaned back in his chair.  “My question remains, though, _Baelfire_.  What in the world do you want to distract the Wicked Witch for?”

He grinned.  “So we can wreak merry havoc, of course.”

“But without telling the new turncoat the details,” the pirate observed astutely.

“No offense, man, but, well, we’re still new on the ‘trusting you’ part of this.”

“None taken.  I do have to warn you, though, that baiting Zelena can be…dangerous to your health.  She’s as vicious as her mother and twice as unpredictable.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bae grimaced.  She’d come onto him like a freight train, too, apparently oblivious to the fact that being locked in a cage didn’t turn most men on.  Frankly, Bae had found her more than a little terrifying, which was why he was definitely _not_ going to volunteer for distraction via seduction.

“Well, in that case, then, play on her insecurities.  She’s always worried that ‘Mother Dearest’ won’t be pleased with her,” Killian advised.  “So, provide her with something that she knows her mother will want, and she’ll zero in on it like a bloodhound.  Just don’t make it something you can’t live without.”

“I thought Cora and Zelena got along like gangbusters,” he said.

“Oh, they do.  But Cora’s hardly the loving mother type, mate.  She doesn’t have a heart, and Zelena’s desperate for love.”  Killian shrugged.  “You can use that, if you’re careful about it.”

Zelena _had_ seemed a little manic about her loyalty to her mother, Bae remembered.  “What kind of thing would Cora want, then?”

“Anything that offers her more power.”

* * *

 

Cora really wasn’t trying to keep many secrets from him these days, Rumplestiltskin reflected.  She didn’t even bother to put the heart away before she summoned him to her vault, only sliding it into its proper place after he had appeared.  Rather typically, her summons put Rumplestiltskin on his knees—Cora wasn’t shy about admitting how much she liked him there—but he could still read the name on the box.  Unsurprisingly, it was the heart that he’d stolen in the middle of that war council, the one none of the heroes knew Cora had.

“I would ask what you want, but you always have a habit of making that _painfully_ clear,” he said by way of greeting.  Cora was still trying to beat something more subservient into him, and while she could _force_ him to say and do whatever she wanted, making Rumplestiltskin _want_ to was another matter entirely.  He knew he was coming apart at the seams, but he would be damned if he’d turn into her willing slave.

A flick of the dagger sent needles of pain stabbing into his mind, and Rumplestiltskin gasped, rocking back on his ankles and clutching his head desperately.  He couldn’t even tell if his eyes were shut; his vision had gone black and everything just seemed to _stop_ for some indeterminate amount of time.  He couldn’t even tell how long it actually lasted; his mind was too worn out, too wasted, but a week of non-stop pain and humiliation.  Even the whispers of his curse were becoming painful; they wanted him to utterly give into Cora so that she might give the Dark One free rein. 

“Are you finished being impertinent?” Cora demanded when the pain lifted.

“No,” he growled, using the last of his courage.

This time the dagger came down harder, and Rumplestiltskin found himself on his hands and knees, shaking under the pressure as his curse tore into his soul, ripping and shredding, leaving him trembling and panting in its wake.  Spasms started to shake his slim frame; Rumplestiltskin was literally reaching the point where neither his mind nor body could take any more abuse.  Cora had realized early on that she didn’t have to touch him to make him suffer, so now she saved leaving marks for more _special_ moments of defiance.  This, however, was more than enough.  It was starting to drive him mad.

“Well?”

“Yes,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, clinging to his sanity by a thread.  _Choose your battles,_ he tried to tell himself.  _Pointless defiance will only get you hurt.  Lure her into a false sense of security with compliance, and she’ll start to trust you._

It was a solid plan, one that was even worthy of the tricky Dark One.  Unfortunately, it had one major drawback: Rumplestiltskin knew himself well enough to know that if he stopped fighting, he might never start again.  Fighting kept him sane.  Fighting reminded him that he didn’t have to be some coward that was unworthy of those he loved.  Yes, he was terrified, but he could keep fighting for them.  His family was worth fighting for, worth sacrificing _everything_ for.

“Better,” Cora said, gesturing with the dagger.  The unspoken command to straighten burned into his mind, and Rumplestiltskin found himself back on his knees, sitting on his ankles and looking up at Cora like he was some macabre puppet she could manipulate at her will. 

_But she can_ , he thought brokenly, and then pushed the thought aside.  _It’s the curse.  It isn’t me._

More and more often now, Rumplestiltskin thought about just getting rid of this damn curse, of forgetting his need for power—not that he could forget it; it was all that protected him!—and just kissing Belle.  She could free him, he knew, and he wanted terribly to be free.  Except he needed the power.  Without it, he would never be able to protect his family, and Cora would kill them one by one if he couldn’t stop her.  _I can’t let that happen.  I can’t._   The thought of losing his family was the only thing worse than the idea of being Cora’s slave for the rest of her life, and Rumplestiltskin _had_ to protect them.

“I’ve been watching your little wife,” Cora spoke into the silence, and _that_ certainly stopped his panicky thoughts cold.  “She’s inventive, that one.  She and your son think they can find a useless little world to abandon me in, thus freeing you.”

_They’re still trying to save me,_ he realized, and that thought countered the panic from earlier, countered it with warmth and love.  He could only stare at Cora, a little impressed by the idea Belle and Bae had come up with—undoubtedly with Jefferson’s help—and utterly worried that Cora already knew about it.

“Do you have anything to say about that, Rumple?”

_I hope it’s somewhere nasty,_ he managed not to say aloud.  Instead, he shrugged.  “Obviously, you know about it.” 

“Of course I do.  They were foolish enough to talk about it in their little ‘war council’, and the heart you stole for me proved _very_ useful in learning about those things.”

“I’m so glad to have been of assistance.”  His tone was too dry to be sarcastic, but Cora still got the hint, and pain slammed into him again.  Once Rumplestiltskin had recovered sufficiently—Cora didn’t seem to care that his head was spinning sickly or that he was starting to have trouble breathing—she sneered down at him.

“What _is_ it between you two?” Cora demanded.  “She’s remarkably _loyal_ for a power hungry minor nobleman’s daughter.”

_Something you’ll never understand_.  Again, he managed not to voice the thought, though pressure started rising when he didn’t answer immediately, and Rumplestiltskin grimaced, letting out a ragged hiss from between clenched teeth.  “It’s not about power, dearie,” he snapped.  “Not everything is.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not,” Rumplestiltskin snarled as his curse started to interpret Cora’s dissatisfaction with his answer as a reason to cause pain.  “We…understand one another.”

“Yes, yes, love and all that,” she said impatiently, rolling her eyes.  “You and I both know how _love_ works, Rumple.  If it doesn’t have a foundation in power, it fails.”

“No, that’s how _you_ work,” he retorted.  “You tore your heart out to avoid it, to gain more power.  For all my faults…that’s never something I’ve been guilty of.”

Any other woman would have been insulted; Cora simply shrugged off the reminder that power had always been more important to her than love.  Yet he could see from the look in her eyes that she really _didn’t_ understand.  Rumplestiltskin could explain his love for Belle until he was blue in the face, but Cora would never actually wrap her mind around the concept.  _Not while her heart is outside her chest, anyway,_ he thought tiredly.   She was looking for the catch, looking for a weakness to exploit…but Cora wasn’t going to find one.  That thought warmed Rumplestiltskin, armored him a little against the pain and the crushing fear that had become part of his daily existence, and he felt just a tiny bit lighter.

“No, I suppose you haven’t,” Cora said dismissively.  Then she looked right in his eyes.  “Why do you love her, this former maid of yours?”

He couldn’t lie to her, so Rumplestiltskin chose his words very carefully, skirting around the soul-encompassing totality of their love.  “Because she doesn’t care about my power,” he answered honestly.  “She’s never feared me…and she loves me for who I truly am.”

“ _I_ saw your true self,” his old lover snapped, sounding offended.  “That little chit can’t possibly appreciate your darkness the way I did.  She could never embrace what you are.”

“You saw me at my worst, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “Belle doesn’t care _what_ I am.  She cares _who_ I am.  There’s a difference.”

Cora blinked, clearly not understanding what he was saying.  “You’re the Dark One.  Don’t try to tell me any differently.”

_That’s all I am to you, isn’t it?_ he thought sadly, barely resisting the urge to cackle madly.  _If Zoso was here at your feet, you’d want_ him _instead._

“I never would,” he said softly, but was relieved when Cora stopped asking questions about Belle and just returned to hurting him.  That, at least, he was growing used to.

* * *

 

David had finished planning with Robin Hood, which meant Emma had drawn the short straw of coming up with the other distraction.  She and Bae had talked about it a bit—after all, he’d spent a few days locked up in Cora’s cellar, which meant he had a really unique view on what made the Mills women tick—and eventually, they’d decided on the perfect person to enlist.

_Or conscript.  Frankly, I don’t care if he volunteers or not,_ Emma thought, knocking on the door to Geppetto’s apartment.   They’d tried August’s old room at Granny’s, only to be told by Ruby that the former puppet had finally moved out. 

“You sure he’d go here?” she asked Bae when no one came to the door immediately.

“Well, it’s not like he left a forwarding address with Ruby, but unless August was suddenly hit by an urge to become a winged primate, he wouldn’t have left town,” her ex joked, and Emma rolled her eyes.  _His sense of humor sure hasn’t changed over the years, has it?_

“That wasn’t as funny as you thought it was,” she told him.

“Oh, c’mon.  You smiled.”

“I did not.”

Bae’s grin was infectious; Emma had to fight back an answering smile.  Then he stuck his tongue out at her.  “Did too.”

“Did you _really_ just stick your tongue out at me?” she had to ask, but he only shrugged.

“I’m living with a three-year-old,” he said.  “You’d be amazed at the levels of immaturity that will—”

“Yes?” the door opened, revealing a very nervous looking August, whose blue eyes darted between the pair like he was waiting for Bae to hit him again. 

_No way,_ Emma thought.   _This time it’s_ my _turn to punch the puppet if he gets stupid._ She hit harder than Bae did, too, and definitely wouldn’t regret it for a moment.  Unfortunately, she wasn’t here to exercise her inner desire to punch idiots in the face; she was here to plan.

“Let’s talk,” she said, and pushed her way inside before August could stop her.  Her movement caught the former puppet flat footed, and Emma managed to get into the small living room before August had so much as turned around.

“Come on in, why don’t you,” August said dryly, and Bae shot him a cheeky smile.

“Thanks,” Henry’s father said brightly.

“Don’t mention it.”

Bae closed the door behind himself, gesturing August into the living room.  August came in warily, watching Emma like she might bite him—or let Bae hit him again, which might have amounted to the same level of discomfort.  The three stood in silence for a long moment, with August squirming and Bae and Emma perfectly happy to let him.  The more Emma learned about August’s shenanigans, the less she trusted him.  It was bad enough that he’d abandoned her as a kid.  She could even sort of manage to forgive the fact that he’d called the cops on her with the watches, because she _had_ been breaking the law, and, well, going to jail had scared her straight.  But he’d also stolen the money Bae had tried to get to her, made sure that her son— _their_ son—had grown up without his birth parents, and then he’d gone and betrayed Bae to Cora.

Yeah, those demerits just kept adding up, didn’t they?  Emma really didn’t regret what she was here to do.  Not one bit.

“You said you wanted to help,” she said just when August looked ready to explode with nerves.

“What—well, yeah.  I told you that I only did what I did because Cora had my father—”

“Save it,” Bae cut him off, voice hard.  “Neither of us has any patience for your excuses, okay?  I get it.  You did what you felt you had to.  Don’t expect me to like it.”

“Sure,” August replied uneasily, glancing back at Emma.  She took that as an invitation to continue.

“Do you want to help, or are you just saying that to make yourself feel better?” she asked bluntly.  “Because if so, you can.  Tomorrow.”

“I want to help,” August repeated.  “I know you don’t trust me, and I know I’ve screwed up.  But I want to make up for that.”

“Good,” she said crisply.  “Then you get to come up with something that will distract Zelena and help us pull it off.”

August went white.  “I said I would help, not that I was crazy!”

“We’re all crazy here,” Bae put in.  “Look, it’s simple.  If you want to eventually be safe from Cora—because we all know that she doesn’t forgive _or_ forget, and I can figure out that that nice non-wooden body of yours doesn’t come without a price—you can help us.  Or you can just keep being her puppet.  What will it be?”

“Fish or cut bait, August,” Emma added quietly.  “You’re the storyteller here, and you’ve spent more time around her than any of the rest of us.  If anyone can figure out a tale to spin that’ll distract her, it’s you.”

A long moment passed in silence, and then August swallowed.  Hard.

“I know what to do,” the author said quietly.  “We need Henry’s book.”

* * *

 

“I’ve got to do it, Ana,” Will said quietly, and she turned to look at him.

“Of course you do, you idiot,” Anastasia told her husband, hoping like hell that Cora wasn’t spying on them right now, using Will’s beautiful brown eyes to do so.  “I don’t expect you not to.”

He blinked.  “You don’t?”

“Will Scarlet,” Ana said firmly, rising to look him in the eye.  “How long have we been married?”

“Not countin’ the curse?  Three years,” he answered.

“And how well do you know me?”

Will smiled slightly.  “Better than anyone.”

“Then why do you sound so surprised?” Ana demanded.  “I love you, Will.  All of you, heartless or not.  But I want your heart back, too, and if doing something utterly insane is going to help make that happen, I’m in.”

“Ana, I can’t ask you to—”

“You just _try_ to make me stay behind,” she cut him off.  “Where you go, I go.  Twenty-eight years apart was enough for me.  I’m helping.”

“Ana…love…”

“Stop arguing.  I’m coming.”

She kissed him to shut him up.  That trick always worked on her husband, or at least for a little while.  They’d argue for another hour or so, of course, throwing words and things at one another until they kissed again and made up.  Heartless or no, Ana knew that Will loved her and only wanted her to be safe, but she wasn’t going to let him take all the risks.  They’d been through too much together.  Besides, Ana owned Cora a little bit of payback.  She’d stolen Will’s heart from Ana, and Ana was damn well going to get it back.

Tomorrow was the day everything would change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Ninety—“Soulmates”, in which Will Scarlet riles up a lynch mob, August tells Zelena about the Author, the heroes go to clean out Cora’s vault, and Robin goes to rescue Regina.


	90. Soulmates

“I thought you might want to know that there’s a lynch mob gathering downtown, Your Majesty,” Hook’s voice said over the phone line, and that brought Cora up short.

March 14th had begun pleasantly; Rumple was as withdrawn as usual, but she _liked_ the fact that she could make him so afraid.  Oh, she missed his fire, but she’d fuel that with darkness over time, because his anger _had_ to win over his fear eventually, didn’t it?  Regardless, the morning had been pleasant, and she was just finishing off breakfast when her pet pirate called with that helpful little bit of information.

“ _What_ did you say?” she asked, just to be certain she’d heard it right.

“I’m not so much of a pariah that I can’t visit the local establishments for breakfast, and when I passed by the ruins of town hall, a short little bloke was busy stirring up a crowd against you.  I thought you might be interested in knowing.”

“I am interested,” Cora forced herself to say levelly, leaning back calmly in her chair.  “Thank you, Captain.”

“I’m always glad to be of service, love.”

“And I won’t forget it,” she promised.  For once, Cora actually meant that, too; although Hook didn’t stand out amongst the powerful magic users she had gathered to herself, his ability to go anywhere in the town and his observational skills were certainly useful.  And Cora _did_ prize loyalty.  She would have to find a way to reward him for this.

First, however, she and her pet needed to destroy this lynch mob.

* * *

 

“See?” Tink smiled.  “It worked.”

Had she not been sitting on his desk and looking _so_ very enticing, Killian might have paid more attention to the sinking feeling in his stomach.  Yet he also felt… _good_.  Lighter, somehow.  Like he was actually doing something worthwhile instead of self-serving.  How long had it been since he’d done that?  Certainly several lifetimes, at least.

“So far,” he replied cautiously.  “I just hope she doesn’t realize what I’ve done.”

“All you did was give her information,” Tink pointed out. 

“It’s the timing that counts, Tink,” Killian sighed.  “Cora’s no fool.  Sooner or later, she’ll connect the two.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing you’re making friends, isn’t it?” the fairy countered, and leaned in to kiss him lightly. 

* * *

 

August couldn’t remember having ever been this nervous.  Even lying to Neal—Baelfire, now, he supposed—had been less nerve-wracking.  Generally speaking, he was pretty comfortable with lying, but what happened if Zelena actually _believed_ him?  That could have absolutely catastrophic consequences, even if Emma seemed to think that other events would keep Zelena from taking advantage of the situation.  She had let him have the Book, though, and it sat on the table in front of him.  August wasn’t an idiot, and he didn’t really want the villains to win, but he wanted his family to be safe more than anything.

_Papa believes in me_ , he told himself firmly, wishing that he’d been able to discuss this with Geppetto last night.  Unfortunately, Cora still had his father’s heart, which meant any conversation they had _could_ be monitored, even if Geppetto probably wasn’t important enough for that.  So, August had kept his worries and his fears to himself, had gathered his courage, and called Zelena’s cell phone after Will Scarlet started getting a crowd riled up outside what used to be the town hall. 

“I wasn’t expecting _you_ to call, doll,” the Wicked Witch giggled from the other end after two rings, and August almost hung up.  “Did you find some other friend you wanted to betray?”

Not snapping back at her took all of the self-control he could muster.  “Not particularly,” August said as smoothly as he could manage.  “But I did come across something that you might find useful.”

“Sucking up, are we?”

“I’m trying to keep my father safe,” he retorted with just enough vitriol, and she seemed to believe him.  It wasn’t even a lie.

“Well, then, why don’t you come show it to me?” Zelena cooed.  “Drop by the house.  You know it well.”

“Actually, it might be smarter if you came here,” he said slowly.  “I kind of had to steal what I want to show you, and I don’t want anyone to realize I have it.”

He was really glad that his nose couldn’t grow anymore, but August had always been a very accomplished liar.  Like Emma had said the night before, he could spin tales like no one else, and that skill was proving very useful now.  He knew he had Zelena hooked before she said another word; he could hear the excited way her breath caught.  She tried to sound casual, but he knew better.

“Where are you, then?  I happen to be free at the moment, but it had _better_ be good, doll.”

“I’m at my father’s.  He’s not here.”  _Thankfully_. 

“Don’t run away, then,” Zelena giggled, and the call cut off.

* * *

 

When had Will learned how to work a crowd?  Robin had no idea; so far as he’d known, Will’s main skill set involved sneaking into places and stealing things.  _Or writing sensationalized newspaper articles, but I doubt that was a skill he got from back home_ , the outlaw thought, lurking on the edge of the crowd with Much the Miller’s son.  Then again, maybe being a reporter—good with words and all that—helped Will now, because he was sure good at getting people riled up.  _I just hope we don’t get anyone killed with this,_ Robin thought, pulling out his cell phone and clutching it tightly in his left hand.

Their plan depended upon getting the timing just right.  He had to be ready—which was why John had his Jeep waiting and everyone but Much was already out in the woods—but he couldn’t be early.  _If we go early, we’re likely to die,_ he reflected, feeling the familiar chill run down his spine.  A lot of years had passed since Robin of Locksley had risked life and limb against since a treacherous foe, but he still had it.

_There_ , he thought, watching Cora and Rumplestiltskin appear in a cloud of purple smoke.  Cora was smiling that damned smirk of hers, but the Dark One looked rather…miserable.  There were dark circles under his eyes, and although the man radiated power, it was obvious to even a slightly observant onlooker that something was wrong.

But Robin didn’t have time to worry about that, now.  Instead, he dialed a number he’d programed in during the curse, when they’d turned into drinking buddies and partners in a really odd affair.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said when David picked up on the other end.  “Will’s got the crowd going and she just showed up.”

“We’re on our way,” the king replied, and Robin hung up without another word.  It was time. 

Catching Much’s eye, he gave the smaller man a nod.  Much would stick around and keep an eye on things, warning Robin if Cora left too early and trying to help Will if he could.  _Not that any of us expect to be able to save Will if the worst happens, but Will Scarlet’s a tricky bastard,_ Robin thought, slipping out of the crowd and around the corner to where John’s Jeep was waiting.  There was no way to know what would happen; all they could do was their best and hope a few breaks came their way.

* * *

 

“Robin says go,” David said, hanging up the phone and slipping it in his pocket.  The four of them had been squashed into the cab of David’s truck, with Bae jammed in between Emma and the passenger door.  The door handle had been digging into his hip since they left the Nolan house and had probably caused a bruise already, so he was delighted to jump out the moment David spoke.  Emma was right on his heels, looking more than a little disgruntled after having had her mother mostly on her lap for an hour.

“It sure as hell took long enough to get a riot going,” she grumbled.

“Hey, riots are hard,” Bae said with a grin, just happy to be out of the aging truck.  “Or I’d guess they are in a town as scared as this one.”

“Whale stirred one up quickly enough,” Emma pointed out dryly.

“Yeah, but Whale’s a monkey right now, or we’d have enlisted him,” her father cut in as Snow hopped lightly out of the truck.  “Let’s go.”

“Got the blood?” Emma asked, drawing her gun to lead the way.

“Right here,” Snow confirmed, a full bag of O+ in her hands.  Stealing it from the hospital had been ridiculously easy, even if Emma probably could have gotten it (more or less) legally.  But they didn’t want Cora to have any idea what they were up to, so Bae and Emma had crept in the night before to steal Regina’s last blood donation.

“You think we’ll need the whole bag?” Emma wondered, glancing Bae’s way.

_How did I become the magic expert here? We need Belle._   But Belle was watching Henry, Gabi, and Roland.  After what happened to Johanna, none of them wanted to trust the kids with someone outside the family.  Now that the plan of using Jefferson’s hat to steal Cora away was off the table, Belle was the one available, which meant she’d drawn that short straw. 

“I don’t know,” Bae answered as they jogged up to Cora’s creepy looking vault.  “We should start with a little, though, in case there’s multiple doorways sealed with blood magic.”

“Good idea.”  Emma looked over to Snow as they stopped.  “You want to do the honors?”

“Let’s try the old-fashioned way first,” David suggested before anyone could throw blood at anything. “The front door has always been easy to open—it’s going down the stairs and into the real vault that’s hard.”

Bae almost asked how David knew that, but the man _had_ been married to Cora’s other daughter under the curse, so perhaps he’d been here before.  Sure enough, the outer door swung right open, and then David was able to show them how to shove the marble casket aside to reveal a hidden set of stairs.  There was a barrier _there_ , of course—Snow’s foot hit it, making her yelp—but a quick splash of blood removed that.

“I wish I’d thought to wear gloves,” Snow muttered, her fingers dripping as she led the way down the stairs.  Emma, and her gun, were right behind her left shoulder.  Bae and David followed close behind.

“If that’s what goes wrong today, I’m all for—Stop!” Emma cut herself off to bark the word, and they all froze.

“What is it?” Snow asked.

“I’m not sure.  Do you see that?”

Next to Bae, David leaned forward, squinting.  “See what?”

“I see it,” Bae said quietly, cocking his head to the left.  “Emma, I didn’t know you could see magic.”

“I can?”

“She can?” her parents echoed at the same time.

“Well, it looks like, since she just saw that barrier.  I can’t tell what it is—I’m just pretty decent at finding magical barriers, because the light tends to hit them just so—but it’s probably a bad idea to walk into it face first,” he answered.

“I guess I’ve got beginners’ luck,” Emma said slowly, looking more than a little creeped out.

“You want to throw some blood on that one, too?” Bae suggested to Snow, mostly to take the heat of off Emma, who seemed really uncomfortable with the way her parents were staring at her.

“Right.”  Snow glanced over her shoulder at the others.  “What happens if it’s not blood magic?”

“Well, then we’re screwed and we might as well go home,” David shrugged.  “Let’s try it and see what works.”

Fortunately, that barrier went down, too, and the next one, which guarded the actual vault of hearts itself, was also blood magic.   The doorway opened just as Bae was starting to think that this had gone _way_ too easily, revealing box after box of hearts.  There were literally _hundreds_ of them.  Most glowed an eerie red, pulsing ( _beating?_ ) with a muted thump-thump-thump noise, making the entire room feel like it was trapped inside some speaker with too much base.  The very floor seemed to vibrate with the thumping, and as far as Bae could tell, there were no actual lights inside.  Just hearts.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered, staring.

“How the hellare we going to get all of those out of here?” Emma wondered, eyes wide.

Snow turned, her face stark white.  “More importantly, who do they all _belong_ to?”

* * *

 

Zelena appeared within five minutes of his call, teleporting herself straight into Geppetto’s living room and making August jump in surprise.  He’d already contemplated pouring himself a _really_ stiff drink and discarded the notion; as much as he needed something to steady his nerves, he couldn’t afford to addle his brain.  He’d need all of his intelligence to keep Zelena from stealing the book or doing something utterly crazy, and August wasn’t dumb enough to use alcohol to harm his chances of living. 

“Well?” the Wicked Witch demanded right away.  “What was so _important_ that I had to come all the way out here?”

“It’s this book,” he told her, remembering what Emma had said.  “Or rather, what’s inside it.”

_We need at least fifteen minutes, maybe more.  A half hour if you can do it.  We’re counting on you, August,_ the Sheriff had told him, but she hadn’t really understood how little that mattered.  Oh, August wanted to be able to show his face in this town without getting punched—he still had a huge bruise from Neal’s right hook, thank you very much—but he was really thinking of his father.  _Papa will be proud of me if I help_ , August thought.  _I won’t let him down again._

“Which is _what_?” Zelena asked impatiently, and August took a deep breath, preparing to spin the tale just so.

“To explain that, I have to tell you a story of Sorcerers and Authors.  It’s the history of the Enchanted Forest, in a lot of ways, a tradition—and a duty—going back to pretty much the beginning of time as we know it,” he answered.  “In fact—”

“Give me the cliff notes version, doll,” she snapped, cutting him off, and August fought back a smile.  He’d known she’d be impatient.  That’s why he’d started by implying that it would be a long and boring story.

“It _does_ have a lot of important details in it,” he said slowly.  “If you don’t want to be bothered, I can always take it to your mother instead.”

“No!” Zelena cut in quickly, her eyes growing wide.  _Yep.  Gotcha,_ August thought triumphantly as she visibly calmed her impatience. “I’m ready to listen.”

_Perfect. I can drag this out for hours if I have to._ But he wouldn’t.  That would be bad for his health, and probably for everyone else’s, too.  August just nodded with what he hoped was enough apparent respect to keep Zelena satisfied.  “Very well.  So, the story starts back in the Enchanted Forest, or maybe even somewhere else.  The Sorcerer originally picked an Author, one man who was chosen to record the history of events in all the realms.  As time passed, many authors were chosen, and they all faithfully recorded history…in books like this.”

“What’s so special about _that_ book?”

“Aside from the fact that it was written by the Author?  This is the book that appeared here in Storybrooke, that told Henry Nolan about the curse, and about everyone’s history here.”  Opening the book, August flipped to the story of the Wicked Witch, showing Zelena her own green face glaring out of the page.

“I never looked like that!” she snarled immediately, although August thought the picture was actually a pretty good likeness.

He shrugged.  “The art leaves something to be desired.  You should see Rumplestiltskin—”

“Show me.”

Well, there was the first distraction.  August was able to use a full ten minutes up showing Zelena various pictures.  He saved Regina’s for last, of course, picking the worst looking likeness in there, just to give Zelena something to crow over.  She really was a shallow and petty woman, he reflected as he showed her this and that within the Book.  But he wasn’t going to argue.  That shallowness meant August could string her out, and then Emma and the others would have to be thankful to _him_ for once.  _And maybe that means they’ll help my father,_ he told himself, barely daring to hope.

* * *

 

There were a hundred ways to break into a house, but Robin picked the easy one.  He climbed the wall and went through the window, the corner one with the red curtains that Gold had told him to use.  _I really hope the Dark One wasn’t lying to me,_ the outlaw thought as he scaled the wall.  _If the rumors going around are right, and he’s faking the fact that Cora is controlling him, I could be absolutely toast._   But no.  Robin had seen the man up close twice now.  Gold was miserable, and something about his body language told Robin that the man was in pain.  _He’s Regina’s friend,_ Robin reminded himself.  _He might not like me, but I hope he likes her enough to help her._

Picking the lock was child’s play; it wasn’t even attached to an alarm.  Was Cora so confident in her magic that she wouldn’t bother with mundane things like alarms?  Granted, Robin had already made sure to disconnect the house from the alarm grid; it was one of the nice things about being the chief firefighter and having the sheriff on your side.  Between him and Emma, they’d managed to make sure no one would be alerted to their little escapades until it was far too late, or at least not by any electronic means.  Robin would just have to chance whatever magical wards were in place.  _Here goes nothing!_

Slipping through the window, Robin landed lightly on the floor, taking the room in at a glance.  It was well-appointed in an luxuriously _empty_ kind of way.  The bedroom looked like it had come right out of a magazine centerfold, not like someone actually lived there.  It was perfectly put together and very neat; Robin couldn’t even see any dust.  But definitely not a home.

Soon enough, however, his eyes zeroed in on where Regina lay on top of the bed.  Her hair was fanned out around her head like a shiny black cloud, and she looked like she was sleeping peacefully.  Her hands were folded regally over her chest and her ankles crossed; she looked like she’d been arranged as carefully as the room had, and that made Robin snicker.  The noise was impossibly loud in the empty room, but he couldn’t help himself.  He’d seen Regina sleep, and she was _never_ this dignified.  Regina was a blanket thief.  She always wound up wrapped up in everything on the bed, on top of one pillow after throwing the other across the room, and her hair _never_ behaved when she was sleeping.  This artfully arranged woman was someone’s ideal of Regina, but Robin knew the real woman.

“It’s now or never,” he told himself quietly, walking over to look at the face of the woman he loved.  Robin wanted the messy Regina back, the complicated Regina.  Not this facsimile of perfection that Cora had probably set up.

Slowly, he lowered himself to the bed, sitting by her side and taking her right hand in his.  Robin couldn’t remember ever having been this nervous—he should just kiss her already!  If it didn’t work, he already had a plan.  Henry was at Gold’s house, and worst case, he and John would take her there.   They’d be able to wake her regardless, which meant his hands had no business shaking like this.  And he had no business hesitating, even if he was terrified that Regina didn’t feel the same way about him as he did her.  She might not, after all.  David had said that she’d been awake for some time before the curse broke, but what if she’d only loved _Errol_ , a man he wasn’t anymore?  Or what if his love just wasn’t enough?

_Do or die,_ Robin thought firmly, and bent over before he could stop himself, gently pressing his  lips against Regina’s.

* * *

 

Cora was seething, but Rumplestiltskin found it all rather amusing.  He hadn’t any part of his life lately, but watching Cora deal with an obnoxiously rioting crowd was actually something of a pleasure—or would be until she ordered him to start killing people, he reflected darkly.  For now, however, watching Will Scarlet make verbal mincemeat of Cora was rather a pleasure.

“Yeah, I know, you’ve got me heart,” Scarlet shrugged in response to Cora’s threat.  “An’ you can kill me at any moment.  But you can’t kill all of us, even with your pet Dark One tagging along.  If this turns into a scrap, somebody’ll getcha.”

“Do you doubt my power that much?” Cora asked, her voice low and dangerous.  She lifted the dagger, and Rumplestiltskin felt his skin begin to crawl.  “The Dark One could kill you all in the blink of an eye.”

“Funny how you talk about _your_ power and then threaten us with him.”

Cora snorted.  “They’re one and the same.”

“Well, then give Gold that shiny little piece of metalwork and let’s see if that holds true, huh?” Scarlet retorted, and oh, Rumplestiltskin wished she would.  Several people in the crowd actually voiced agreement with that, much to his surprise.  Apparently he was less of a threat than Cora was, probably because at least they’d never known him to start killing for fun.

_Except the ones who believe I’m on her side willingly,_ he thought, listening to a few people shout something along those lines.  Cora seemed satisfied with that, even if he could tell that her cold control of her temper was about to break.  She _liked_ the idea of the entire town believing Rumplestiltskin to be as evil as she was.  For some reason, she seemed to think that would give him no choice but to serve her willingly, which Rumplestiltskin thought was ridiculous.  _Then again, her narcissism has been getting the better of her lately.  She thinks she’s_ winning, _so she’s getting overconfident._

He felt the tiny tendril of magic right before the heart landed in Cora’s hand.  She smiled at Scarlet.

“I think I’ll just kill you instead,” Cora purred.

* * *

 

“What the hell!” Bae yelped, making Emma turn just in time to watch one of the heart boxes snap open and the heart disappear into thin air.  That left Bae staring at an empty box—he’d clearly been about to grab it to bring it out to the truck in the fourth load of hearts they were all carrying—while Emma crossed the room to stand by his side.

“Where did it go?” she asked curiously.

“How should I know?  One minute the heart was in the box.  The next, it was gone,” he shrugged.  “But if I had to guess, I’d say Cora summoned it.”

“Whose was it?”  Leaning forward, Emma read the small tag on the box and answered her own question.  “Will Scarlet.”

“Will?” David’s voice came from behind them, sounding concerned as he hurried down the stairs.  “He’s working with us, trying to distract Cora.”

“You picked someone to distract Cora when she has his _heart_?” Bae demanded, looking at Emma’s father like he was mad.  “Are you crazy?”

“Will volunteered.”

Emma had to agree with Bae’s assessment.  “I think he just volunteered to die.”

“We can’t do anything about that now,” Snow said briskly, reaching the bottom of the stairs.  “If Cora’s summoned his heart, that means we don’t have much time.  Let’s get the rest of these hearts in the truck.”

“Right,” Emma said, returning to where she’d been pulling boxes out of their cubbyholes.  Fortunately, they were neatly labeled, which at least meant that they’d be able to sort them out later.  Quickly, she filled her arms up, and then went to grab one more box when the name on the tag caught her eye.  _Grumpy._   She twisted to look at her parents.  “Cora has Leroy’s heart?”

“She _what_?” Snow stopped short, almost dropping the load she had.

“Yeah, it gets better,” Bae added from where he was loading up. “This one says Geppetto.  That means August is _still_ a rat bastard, and he lied to us.”

“We are so screwed,” Emma found herself whispering, meeting Bae’s eyes.  They’d talked August into distracting Zelena—or bullied him into it, honestly.  Neither of them had told August what they were planning, but if August wanted to betray them, he could sure as hell figure out what they were up to.

“Let’s go,” David said, and they grabbed the last of the hearts and ran up the stairs.

* * *

 

Finally, Zelena demanded August continue his explanation.  It was about time; even if he _was_ supposed to be keeping Zelena away from who-knew-what, August was starting to find her fascination with the Book boring.

“So, the Authors all faithfully scribed what happened, until the last one.  _This_ one took advantage of the magical quill that he’d been given, and decided to change the stories around a little,” he said, watching Zelena’s eyes light up as he talked about someone refusing to follow the rules.  “He started _forcing_ things instead of just writing them down, making his mark on people’s stories and taking away their free will.”

“And what happened?  Was he punished?” the Wicked Witch demanded eagerly.

“He was.  He was imprisoned in the Book by the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, there to live out his days in isolation, stuck recording _only_ what happened and nothing more.”

“That’s a dull end to the story,” she pouted.  Then anger engulfed the petulant expression.  “Why tell it to me at all?  Are you wasting my time?”

_Yes,_ August didn’t reply to that last hiss.  Instead, he continued:  “You didn’t catch it, did you?  The Author is still _in_ the Book, just waiting to be freed.”

At least Zelena wasn’t stupid.  She caught on right away.  “And if he were to be freed?”

“Well, it would depend upon who freed him.  I don’t know how to get him out, but I do know he’s in there,” August said carefully.  “But I’m willing to bet that the Author would be _very_ kind to whomever freed him.”

“He could write whatever I wanted!” 

“That he could.” _But I hope he never will_.  This was a dangerous game August was  playing, and he knew it; if Cora wasn’t defeated, if she and Zelena didn’t go down, they’d probably force him to find a way to get the Author out and then have all the power they could ever dream of.  _Then again, if Emma and her family lose, that might just keep me and my papa alive, so maybe this isn’t a bad thing._

“How do we get him out?  And how did _you_ get that book?” Eyes narrowed suspiciously, Zelena studied August in a way that made him shiver.

“I stole the book from Henry Nolan,” he lied.  “And I told you, I’m not sure how to get him out, but I can work on it if you want me t—”

“Shut up,” Zelena cut him off, jerking like an electric shock had hit her.

“Are you all right?” August asked, hoping she wasn’t.

“I said shut up!” she snarled, wheeling towards the window.  “I have to go.”

Was that fear in her voice?  August wasn’t sure, but he certainly didn’t object when Zelena teleported out in a swirl of noxious green smoke.  He’d done his part; he’d distracted her for as long as he could.  Now he just hoped that Emma would be grateful…and that Zelena wouldn’t come back too soon.

* * *

 

Magic _whooshed_ outwards from the pair as Robin’s lips met Regina’s, golden and pure, like nothing else Robin had ever felt before.  An agonizingly long moment passed, and then suddenly Regina gasped, her eyes flying open.

“Robin?” she whispered, and his heart did a backflip.  _She knows my real name!_

“My lady,” he replied, unable to control the huge grin that threatened to split his face in two.

Regina was awake.  She was all right.  She was staring at him like he was something amazing and wonderful, and Regina was _all right._   Robin felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest in relief; he hadn’t known he was this worried until suddenly he didn’t have to be.  She sat up slowly, glancing around the strange room with confusion, and then turning back to Robin with that same awestruck expression.

“You woke me up,” Regina breathed, her eyes still wide. 

Robin nodded giddily.  “I did.”

“You know—do you understand what that means?” she whispered shakily.  “That you and I—that we—?”

“My backup plan was Henry,” he explained, his smile turning crooked.  “But I did hope.”

Regina kissed him again, and damn it all if that wasn’t the best kiss of Robin’s life.  He felt _alive_ with her, like he would never have to be alone again.  It was like there’d been a hole in his heart that he hadn’t known needed filling, yet was now bursting with joy and with love.  Errol  had been in love with this woman, but there had been something just a tiny bit off, something missing.  Now Robin understood what had been wrong: it had been him.  Whatever they had, it was between _Robin_ and Regina.  Not Errol.

“How did you find me?” she asked when they broke apart.

“Strangely enough, I had a bit of help with—”

The door slammed open, cutting him off as Zelena stormed into the room, a tornado of power ripping around her.

* * *

 

The impertinent little whelp!  To think that she’d once found Scarlet useful.  He’d always had a mouth on him, but now he dared to incite a crowd against his rightful queen?  Cora hadn’t intended to kill him, but now she would make him suffer.

“I think I’ll just kill you instead,” she purred, coming back on balance as Scarlet’s heart landed in her left hand.  She wasn’t going to bandy words with this insolent flea any longer.  Seeing what she had made Scarlet stop cold, but it was far too late for him.

“Or perhaps I’ll make you kill your little wife,” she continued, power surging through her sweetly.  She would teach this mob what it meant to defy their queen.  “I’ll let you weep over her body before I crush your heart to dust, but only after you have killed her slowly and painfully.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Scarlet pleaded, far too late.  “Not Ana.  This isn’t her fault.  She’s suffered enough because of m—”

He cut off in a cry as she squeezed his heart, just because she was sick of listening to his pleas.  Scarlet doubled over, and Cora started casting her eyes around the crowd, looking for the brazen bitch who had married the thief.  She was not expecting the murmur to come from  her side:

“Careful, dearie.  True Love is not to be trifled with,” Rumplestiltskin warned, and she could hear the smug edge in his voice.  _True Love is the most powerful magic of all,_ her old teacher had told her a hundred times, and the fool would never believe that love was weakness.

Her right hand, the one holding the dagger, came up in warning, and Rumplestiltskin actually flinched slightly.  Watching his inability to hide his fear only made Cora want to hurt him more, though, so she channeled her desire through the dagger, and watched him stagger like Scarlet had, hissing out a cry of pain that he couldn’t quite catch behind gritted teeth.

“Be silent,” she ordered, and although he glared, Cora knew he would have to obey.

Watching all that power and fury thrash in a cage of her design was the most heady feeling ever, and Cora spent a moment savoring it before she turned back to Scarlet.

“Find your wife,” she commanded, tightening her grip on his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is still reading and commenting! It means the world to me to know that people like this story, even though it’s gone on far longer than I ever dreamed it would. 
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Ninety-One—“Small Victories,” in which Regina and Robin waltz straight into danger, the heroes face Cora down, and someone gets hit by a truck.


	91. Small Victories

Regina was _awake._

_How_ in the world could she be awake?  Zelena had felt the magic inside the summer house, and it had brought her back in a hurry, away from the puppet and his fascinating tale of an author who could rewrite their stories.  Zelena had known that she would have to go back to talk to him later, but first she had to investigate which fool had dared use magic inside her mother’s home.  So, she’d returned, only to find Regina and some outlaw _cuddling_ on the bed, with her sister awake! 

The pair turned to face her like two deer caught in the headlights, wide eyed and terrified.  Snarling, Zelena reached for all the magic she could muster, knowing that her mother would be _furious_ if Regina escaped and desperate to stop her.  But Zelena was more powerful than Regina, and she knew she could defeat her.  After all, she’d beaten her once and put her under a sleeping curse during their second encounter—

A swirl of purple smoke filled the room, and suddenly Regina and the outlaw were gone.

_Gone._

“No!” Zelena cried, and then proceeded to unleash her magic on the room, destroying the bed first, then the dresser, shattering the mirror and both windows before she tore the carpet off the floor in her fury.  The walls shook and the ceiling creaked; the overhead lights fell onto the bed and the red plush armchair slammed repeatedly against the door.  None of the destruction, however, did anything to calm her fury.

It only made things worse.

Mother was going to be _very_ displeased.

* * *

 

“Oh, my,” Robin said as they landed in the forest not far from her mother’s summer house, stumbling slightly.  “That was…interesting.”

“Sorry,” Regina apologized, swaying a little herself. “I appear to be a bit rusty.”

“No matter.  We survived it, at least, and without dealing with your mad sister,” her _True Love_ shrugged off obvious dizziness lightly.  Just listening to him talk was intoxicating; Regina had never, _ever_ expected to have a second chance at love, let alone True Love. 

What was it that Rumple always said?  _True Love has to be fought for_.  Well, Robin had obviously fought for her—he’d rescued her!—and Regina would fight for him until her dying breath.  Daniel had meant everything to her, and he always would.  Her feelings for Robin did nothing to change that, and she would never heal from his loss.  But she would not squander this second chance, either.  Not on her life.

“So we did,” she said, dragging her mind back to the present.  “Because of you.  You saved me.”

“Right before you saved me,” he laughed.  “So, I’d say we’re even, and—oh, damnit!  John!”

“John?”

“Little John,” Robin explained hurriedly, pulling his phone out of his pocket.   “You knew him as Mel Anzo.  He drove me out to the house in his Jeep, and if Zelena sees him…”

He didn’t have to finish that sentence; Regina’s imagination was good enough to put the pieces together.  Besides, Robin was already speaking into his phone.

“John, it’s me.  We’re fine, get out of there as fast as you can—” he cut off to listen, and then turned to Regina with wide eyes.  “John says he’s got flying monkeys chasing his Jeep.”

“Flying monkeys?” Regina repeated, rolling her eyes.  “ _Really_?  Nevermind; don’t answer that.  Of course there are.  Hold on tight.”

Grabbing Robin’s arm, she teleported the both of them back towards the summer house, this time landing them a lot more smoothly—also on the road leading towards the house instead of inside.  Sure enough, there was a rugged looking green Jeep speeding down the road right towards them, with a quartet of flying monkeys chasing it.  Even as Regina and Robin watched, a pair of monkeys grabbed the top of the Jeep and hauled it into the air.

_Twang_.  An arrow whizzed past Regina on the left, and by the time she turned, Robin was already fitting another to his bow with impossibly fast reflexes.  The first arrow hit one of the monkeys in the leg, making it screech, but the damn creature didn’t drop the Jeep, either.  The other two lurked near the doors as the Jeep lurched into the air, shoving them shut when John tried to jump out.  _Soon, they’ll be high enough that a drop like that will kill him,_ Regina realized, knowing that Robin couldn’t shoot both monkeys fast enough.  Her first instinct was to throw fireballs at them, until she remembered what Rumplestiltskin had told her after her last battle with Zelana.

_Use your strengths._   Regina’s anger wasn’t as strong as her compassion, so why not save John and _then_ destroy the monkeys?  She could see him, and although teleporting him out would be tricky, Regina reached out with her power, shoving away all the days of being under a sleeping curse and focusing _._ Robin shot another monkey, while she _reached_ , but Regina didn’t notice.  She just concentrated on the large man inside the Jeep, wrapping magic around him and pulling.

A swirl of purple smoke appeared right in front of her, leaving a very confused Little John standing on firm ground.

“What the—” he started to say, but Regina didn’t give him a chance to finish the sentence before she teleported all three of them back into the forest.

_Let the monkeys have the Jeep,_ she decided with a grin _._   Zelena could call it a consolation prize.

* * *

 

Snow had wound up driving when they’d all piled back into his truck, speeding down the road out of the cemetery while David pulled his cell phone out.  _Something_ had made Cora summon a heart out of her vault, and logic said that was because they’d been found out.  Or maybe August had sold _them_ out, too.  Either way, they had to get out of there fast.  _And we’re not the only ones._

“Yes?” Robin’s voice answered on the second ring.

“I hope you’re clear, because I think we’ve been made,” David told the outlaw without preamble.  “Cora summoned a heart out of her vault, and it turns out that one of our so-called allies might still be working for her.”

“The pirate?” the outlaw asked astutely.

“Actually, no,” he said.  “August.”

“Well, that’s bloody wonderful,” Robin breathed.  “But we’re clear.  Regina’s awake, and we’re all fine, though John’s Jeep flew away with a quartet of monkeys.”

David couldn’t hold back the snort of amusement, but he kept on topic.  “We’re heading into town.  You want to meet us there?”

“Good idea.  Will could probably use the backup.”

Nothing else needed to be said; they both hung up simultaneously, and David turned to look at his wife.  “You hear that?”

“Absolutely.”  They hit a bump even as Snow answered, making Emma swear and Bae yelp when she landed awkwardly half on top of him.  Snow drove his old truck like a daredevil, but David wasn’t in a mood to argue.  Not that he had any idea where she had learned to drive like that, because there was no way Mary Margaret had ever picked up these skills as a school teacher or a waitress.

“Got a plan?” Bae spoke up from where he was sandwiched between Emma and the window.  “Cora’s a bit of a tough target.”

“I’ll make one up on the way,” David shrugged.  “Worst case, we can hit her with the truck.”

“I’d pay to see that,” Rumplestiltskin’s son muttered, and David really wished he could figure out how to pull that one off.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin saw the girl coming, but he wasn’t in any way obligated to tell Cora, so he kept his mouth shut.  Anastasia Scarlet was the rather less ‘evil’ of Cinderella’s stepsisters, and the hardship she’d encountered since leaving her mother’s home gave her a spine of solid steel.  Obviously, she’d heard Cora command her husband to find her, and Anastasia wasn’t an idiot.  She didn’t try to run.  Instead, she circled around the back of the crowd, heading the opposite direction from her husband, and crept up on Cora.

Briefly, the girl’s eyes met his.  She knew she’d been spotting and was terrified, but Rumplestiltskin only gave her a slight shrug.  Cora couldn’t see either of them from where she was gloating with Scarlet’s heart in her hand, and, well, she hadn’t ordered him to watch her back.  Given the way Cora treated him, not to mention the way pain still coursed through his entire body, Rumplestiltskin certainly wasn’t going to go out of his way to help his ‘mistress.’  _She’ll hurt you if you don’t,_ the spinner’s terrified little voice said from inside him, making a shiver run down his spine.  Yes, Cora would undoubtedly punish him for whatever he did, unless it was warning her of danger.  But she would find a reason to punish him, anyway, and Rumplestiltskin would at least prefer to be hurt for something he’d _done_.  At least that gave him some small measure of control.

Meanwhile, Anastasia rushed right by him, her teeth bared fiercely and arms outstretched.  She hit Cora with a snarl, knocking the Evil Queen right off her feet.  Cora hit the ground with an undignified cry, and although Scarlet’s heart bounced out of her left hand, she had an unfortunately tight grip on his dagger, even once Anastasia landed one punch, and then a second one, quickly taking advantage of Cora’s surprise.

A wave of Cora’s arm sent Anastasia flying, but the girl was smart and scrambled for her husband’s heart instead of trying to attack Cora again.

“Will!” she cried as Cora climbed to her feet.

“You foolish, _foolish_ girl,” Cora hissed, brushing her expensive suit off.  Rumplestiltskin could feel her anger through the dagger, could feel her desire to _hurt_ and _kill_ , and for a moment her wish translated into an unconscious command.  Pain hit him hard, making Rumplestiltskin reel back a step, his vision swimming.

“What now, _Your Majesty?_ ” Anastasia challenged Cora, her eyes wide with terror as she held onto Scarlet’s heart for dear life.  “Going to kill us all?”

“Oh, of course not, dear,” Cora smiled her dangerous sand dark smile, the one he’d loved so long ago.  “Not _all_ of you.  Every queen needs peasants to rule.”

“Yeah, well, go rule somewhere else,” Scarlet drawled, coming up to his wife’s side. They stood shoulder to shoulder as Cora beckoned Rumplestiltskin forward—which made his vision clear—but they should have run.

_Poor brave fools_ , he thought, surprised at the flicker of pity he felt for them.  He shouldn’t, Rumplestiltskin knew.  Most of these people wouldn’t matter, and their bravery was utterly pointless…yet he felt for them.  Perhaps it was because he was as trapped as anyone else was, truly helpless for the first time in three centuries.  Or maybe he was just growing weak.

Cora laughed.  “You fools,” she sneered, echoing Rumplestiltskin’s thoughts.  Then he left hand came up, sparkling with power and darkness that even someone with no magical knowledge could have felt.  What Rumplestiltskin noticed, however, was that she was too angry to order _him_ to kill them—or to notice the sudden appearance of three newcomers at the back of the crowd. 

Magic whirled out of Cora’s hands, zeroing in on the too-courageous couple, but even as the Scarlets braced themselves, the spell stopped cold.

“Not today, Mother,” Regina said, walking through the mob like she hadn’t just spent a week and a half under a sleeping curse.

“Regina.”  Cora actually went white. 

“Hello, Mother.  I’m sorry your sleeping curse didn’t stick,” his best student retorted, and Rumplestiltskin found himself smiling ever so slightly

Surprisingly, the outlaw at Regina’s right shoulder gave him a slight nod, gratitude shining in his blue eyes, and that made Rumplestiltskin blink.  He hadn’t expected Robin Hood to actually acknowledge the role he’d played—but he was grateful that the outlaw hadn’t said a word out loud.  Cora was going to be angered enough by Regina’s escape.  Rumplestiltskin had no desire to be her target when she raged.

_Not like I won’t be, anyway,_ he thought darkly, trying to push down his own fear as mother and daughter glared at one another.

“I’m delighted to see you awake, darling,” Cora recovered quickly.  “Are you feeling all right?”

“Much better now that I’m not your prisoner,” Regina retorted. 

Cora snorted delicately.  “That can change easily enough.”

That response made Robin fit an arrow to his bow, and Rumplestiltskin had to wonder where in the world he’d gotten that bow—because it was the one he’d taken from the outlaw so many years earlier.  _Belle,_ he realized.  Of course she had.  She was a believer in helping the heroes, and she’d remember that bow.  And she was smart enough to know that even an archer like Robin Hood would need an edge when facing a sorceress…but that bow would do the trick.  Cora was the type to teleport away from an arrow, after all.  She wasn’t given to showy tricks like catching arrows, which Rumplestiltskin knew from experience was the only way to avoid being shot by that bow.

While Cora and Regina were verbally fencing, the crowd had slowly started to back away—including the Scarlets, at least after Little John grabbed them both and pulled them back.  Now a wide area cleared between where Regina stood with Robin at her side and Rumplestiltskin stood slightly behind Cora, but that sight only made Cora smile.

“Standing against me with an outlaw, darling?  You should know better.  It’s not too late to come back to where you belong.”

“I’d rather live in the woods with a _legion_ of outlaws than join you,” Regina retorted.  “In fact—”

A swirl of green smoke interrupted her, and Zelena started talking before she even finished teleporting.  “Mother!  Regina is— _oh_.”

“Hi, sis,” Regina grinned sarcastically, and Zelena went red.

“Let me kill her, Mother.  _Please._ ”

“There’s hardly any need for that,” Cora replied easily; Rumplestiltskin could see her measuring the odds, and Cora knew as well as he did that Regina didn’t stand a chance against all three of them.  _I really hope you’ve got a plan B, dearie, instead of just pointlessly playing hero to give these people a chance to escape,_ he thought.

“She’ll only betray you again!” Zelena protested.  “I can take her.”

“In your dreams,” Regina sneered.

“I did before!”

_Twang._

Zelena didn’t even try to teleport away from the arrow; no, she tried to bat it aside with magic when Robin—clearly not prepared to listen to anyone begging to kill his True Love—shot at her.  Unfortunately for the Wicked Witch, the arrow sailed right through her attempt, burying itself just below her left cheekbone.  It hit at a slightly downward angle, and actually pierced all the way through Zelena’s face, with the arrowhead punching through her face and out near the right side of her jaw as Zelena shrieked in pain.  Cora barely even twitched, even when Zelena started collapsing before she managed to teleport herself away.

_Too bad he didn’t aim a little higher,_ Rumplestiltskin reflected coldly.  _But I can’t blame Robin for wanting to make her stop running her mouth._

* * *

 

The truck skidded to a stop just as Zelena disappeared in a swirl of green smoke, all four occupants piling out as quickly as they could.  They had dozens of hearts to return to their rightful owners, but first they had to keep Cora from killing or capturing Regina again.  Even with Zelena gone, the odds were _definitely_ not in Regina’s favor, and Emma was sure as hell not going to let her friend/step-aunt go down _again._

“Would you like to me my next target, Your Majesty?” Robin said as Emma, Bae, and her parents rushed forward.  “This bow never misses, and I’d love to put an arrow in you.”

_Stop talking and just shoot her!_ Emma wanted to yell, but Cora hadn’t noticed them yet, so she wasn’t going to start shouting.  She and Bae headed right as Snow and David went left, jogging towards the combatants from where they’d parked across the street.

Cora, however, turned to Gold.  “Bring me the bow,” she smiled nastily.  “Along with the hands that dared shoot my daughter.”

Predictably, Regina stepped in between Robin and Gold as the Dark One moved forward stiffly.  “Don’t make me fight you, Rumple.”

“He doesn’t have a choice, darling,” Cora drawled.  “And you need to pay attention to your mother.  Oh, and Rumple?  Don’t let him shoot me.”

Cora issued that order just as Robin was readying another arrow to fire, but the arrow disappeared out of his hand before he could let it loose.  The outlaw swore under his breath and reached for another, only to find his quiver empty and Gold shrugging.  Regina, however, took advantage of Gold’s momentary distraction to send an attack his way, but the Dark One merely swatted it away with the wave of a hand and used magic to throw her aside.

“Hey!” David shouted, obviously trying to draw Gold’s attention away from Robin, but all that did was make another wave of power shove David and Snow back they came, tossing them across the street like they weighed nothing.  David actually bounced off the side of the truck before hitting the ground hard, and Snow landed not too far away from him.

_Okay, so that’s not a good tactic._ Making a split-second decision, Emma skidded to a stop.  “Tell you dad I’m sorry later, all right?” she said to Bae, who’d managed to halt next to her.  They were about fifteen feet away from Cora and twenty-five away from Gold—an easy shot.

“What?” Bae asked, but Emma already had her gun up and Gold in her sights.  “Emma—”

Ignoring him, she squeezed the trigger.  _Bang._ The angle was hard to hit center of mass without killing him, but Emma’s shot still took Gold directly in the right shoulder, spinning him around and sending him crashing to the ground with a cry.  Watching him fall, Emma thought about shooting him again, maybe in the leg, but given his past, she didn’t think she could be that cruel.  _Not if he doesn’t get up, anyway._

Cora watched Gold fall with fury in her eyes, and then suddenly strode towards her daughter.  “I’ll do this myself, then,” she snarled.

“Bring it, Mother,” Regina retorted.

The light show of magic between the two was short-lived but titanic, and each got in several good blows.  Emma tried to take a shot at Cora, but the Evil Queen was ready for her, and magic whipped out to knock the gun out of her hands, crushing it into dust as it flew away.  Bae had run for his father—not that she could blame him—so Emma started desperately looking for some other weapon to use against Cora.  Meanwhile, Cora gained the upper hand in her fight with Regina, knocking her daughter back hard enough that Regina stumbled and fell into Robin.  The outlaw tried to catch her before a wave of black smoke reached out for him and threw Robin aside, smashing him into a streetlight.

His cry of pain distracted Regina, and Cora hit her again and again, finally making her fall.  Only then did Cora stalk towards her daughter, the fingers on her left hand flexing as she walked.  Even as Regina struggled to her feet, Emma lunged forward, shoving Regina out of the way because she knew _exactly_ what Cora was going to do.

The Evil Queen’s hand plunged into her chest, making Emma gasp.

“You fool,” Cora snorted.  “What are you doing?”

“Saving a friend,” Emma shot back, feeling fingers close around her heart.  The sensation was unbelievably painful, and stars danced across her vision.

“Don’t you know?  Love, friendship?  They’re weakness,” the Evil Queen sneered.

“No,” she managed despite the horrible feeling in her chest.  “They’re strength.”

Sudden pressure made her stagger forward as Cora tried to rip her heart out, but a giant white light burst out of her instead, knocking Cora backwards.  Wide-eyed, the Evil Queen stared at her, clearly not knowing what had happened any more than Emma did.

“Rumplestiltskin!” she barked.  “Kill her!”

Emma’s head snapped around just in time to see Gold pulling away from Bae, rising to his feet despite the heavy bleeding from his shoulder.  _I should have shot him in the leg, too,_ she thought desperately, but then Regina was at her side, magic crackling in the air between them.

“He’ll have to go through me first, Mother!”

“Stay out of this, Regina,” Cora tried to order, but Gold’s woozy voice cut her off.

“You’re going to be more specific, dearie,” he rasped, looking rather horrible.  Somewhere in the distance, Emma heard the roar of a truck engine, but she ignored whoever was finally fleeing the scene.  “There’s a lot of ‘hers’ in this town.  _Would_ you like me to start with your dear daughter?  Or shall I put the elder girl out of her misery, after finding whatever hole she’s crawled into?”

Cora wheeled furiously on the Dark One, the dagger slicing viciously through the air.  Gold staggered immediately, crying out softly.  Bae actually had to catch him before he could fall, but Cora jerked the dagger towards herself, and Gold stumbled away from his son once more. 

“You know what I meant,” she snarled.

“Intent is meaningless,” he retorted, clearly playing for time.  But why?

“Stop playing games, Dark  One,” Cora said, her voice suddenly soft and dangerous.  “I command you to—”

Cora never finished the sentence as David Nolan’s truck slammed into her.

* * *

 

Bae barely managed to drag his father out of the way of the incoming truck; they landed in a heap amid Rumplestiltskin’s soft cry.  Scrambling to his knees, Bae glanced over to where David had rammed Cora, but she didn’t seem to be moving.   David had plain run her over, then backed up and did it again, and Bae hoped that the vicious bitch was dead.  He had seen the truck coming from his angle, and his father obviously had, too, which was why Rumplestiltskin had drawn Cora out like that.  But his papa had paid the price for that, and Bae could hear the soft sounds of pain coming with every breath he took.

“Papa?” he asked quietly, helping Rumplestiltskin roll over.

“Bae.”  The whisper was hoarse but coherent, even if the brown eyes that met his were utterly agonized.  Bae helped him sit up, trying to ignore the blood soaking the right shoulder of Rumplestiltskin’s suit jacket.

“Is she dead?”  He had to know.  _Please let her be dead.  Then this is over._

Rumplestiltskin shook his head mutely, looking broken.  “I’d know.  She still has the dagger.”

“But she’s got to be unconscious or something, doesn’t she?  She just got hit by a truck!  Can’t you just summon it or something?”

“The dagger…doesn’t work that way,” his father wheezed.

“Then  you stay here and I’ll go see if I can get it,” Bae said quickly, jumping to his feet. 

He’d barely made it two steps before the voice came from behind him.  “Don’t—don’t bother.”  Twisting around, Bae saw his father struggle to his feet, swaying drunkenly.  “She’s not here.  She’s—”

“Summoning you?” Bae felt his heart sink, and he didn’t even need to see his father’s broken nod of acknowledgement to know that was true.

“I’m sorry,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, and disappeared even as Bae reached for him.

* * *

 

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” Regina demanded, whirling to look at Emma once Rumplestiltskin vanished.  She’d already sent an exploratory spell towards the underside of David’s truck, discovering—much to her disappointment—that her mother was not stuck in the undercarriage.  Once, Regina would have felt at least a little regret upon seeing her brother-in-law slam his rusty old truck into her mother, but not today.

Today, she’d watched her lover shoot her sister in the face with satisfaction, and then had watched in horror as her niece jumped in between Regina and her own homicidal mother.  If David hadn’t hit Cora with the truck, Regina didn’t know what would have happened.  Rumplestiltskin would probably have defeated her, though with a bullet in his shoulder, there was no telling who might have come out on top there.  Either way, though, Emma would probably have been dead, even if her mother _had_ finally failed to rip someone’s heart out.  _It’s about damn time that happened to her!_

“I’m sorry,” Emma retorted, looking her straight in the eye.  “Was that a thank you for saving your life?”

Regina rolled her eyes.  “She wasn’t going to kill me, you idiot.  She just wanted to rip my heart out.”

“You’re welcome,” her niece snapped, and Regina just sighed.

“You’re so much like your mother.”

“Is that a compliment?” Emma asked, and now she was smiling.  Out of the corner of her eye, Regina noticed Snow helping Robin to his feet, and suddenly the truth hit her.  _He’s Robin, now.  He knew about True Love’s kiss and sleeping curses, and that means—_

“Is the curse broken?” she blurted out.  “How long was I under?”

“About a week and a half,” David answered, walking over from where he’d been looking under his truck.  “Cora’s gone.”

“Headed home to regroup, no doubt,” Regina shrugged.  At the moment, her mother’s status seemed unimportant.  “Where’s Henry?  Is he all right?”

“He’s at Belle’s,” Emma said.  “He’s fine.  But he’ll be glad to see you.”

Relief made Regina’s knees go weak.  Henry was all right.  The curse was broken.  That meant her family was still safe, and everyone remembered.  Swallowing hard, she turned to face her sister as Snow and Robin approached, the later limping a little but otherwise all right.  Her heart lodged firmly in her throat, the name came out as a whisper.  “Snow?”

“Hello, Regina,” her sister said, and neither knew who moved first.  One moment they were several feet apart, and the next they were hugging one another tightly, hanging on for dear life.

“I missed you _so_ much.”

“Me, too.  Even if I didn’t remember,” Snow replied, her voice just as emotion-filled.  “And we were so worried about you.  All of us.”

“It seems like I missed a lot,” Regina said as lightly as she could, pulling back to look at her family—and the odd man out, the thirty-ish looking guy with brown hair and a goatee.  His hands were stained with Rumplestiltskin’s blood—had he been the one to pull Rumple out of the truck’s path?  Staring at him for a moment didn’t help Regina recognize him, so she finally just demanded: “Who the hell are you?”

“Baelfire,” he replied, and then shrugged.  “Or Neal Cassidy, in this world.”

“That means precisely jack to me,” she said, waiting for more.

Baelfire gestured at Emma.  “She just shot my dad.”

“Your _what_?” Regina gaped even as Emma retorted:

“Did you have any better ideas?”

“Yeah, shoot Cora next time.  You only get to surprise her once, and then maybe we could have gotten the dagger,” Baelfire countered.

“I’m sorry, I was trying to keep your _father_ from hurting Robin,” her niece replied, rolling her eyes.  “You know, like, taking his hands off.  Which sounds kind of nasty.”

“Thanks for that, by the way,” Robin piped up, and Regina shot him a tight smile before cutting into the very strange argument between the Savior and the Dark One’s son.

“Wait a minute.  Will someone tell me how the _hell_ my mother got the dagger in the first place?”  She looked at Snow and David, figuring they would know if no one did. “Don’t tell me Rumple managed to lose it after all this time.”  Then a less fun thought occurred to her.  “Or did Mother have for the entire curse?”

“It’s kind of my fault,” Baelfire said before anyone else could answer, which earned him a glare from Emma.

“More like August’s,” she snarled.

Looking between the two, Regina waited for someone to make sense of this story.  Finally, Baelfire continued. 

“August—Pinocchio—and I met before.  A long time ago, but he knew who I was.  He told Cora that right about when he convinced me to come to Storybrooke.  She grabbed me, and after the curse was broken, told Papa she’d kill me if he didn’t hand the dagger over.”

“Well, that fits,” she sighed.  There were obviously a lot more details to be had—like what the layered looks between Emma and Baelfire meant, or how Baelfire hadn’t been in Storybrooke in the first place—but Regina could ask those questions later.  Right now, she wanted to go find her son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Ninety-Two—“Hearts and the Heartless”, in which in which hearts are returned, Regina is finally reunited with her son, Emma confronts August, Cora sends Rumplestiltskin to regain one particular heart, and Emma begins wondering about Ingrid.


	92. Hearts and the Heartless

Emma, David, and Robin watched in silence as Regina teleported herself, Snow, and Bae towards the Gold home.  The crowd had mostly retreated, but there were still several people milling about curiously.  But Emma ignored the stares.  They had work to do.

“You want to help us hand out hearts?” she asked Robin.

“You got them?” the outlaw asked in surprise.  “Even Will’s?”

“I think he got his own back,” David replied dryly.  “But we got the others.  There are more than we expected.”

“Yeah, like a lot more,” Emma cut in, walking over to pull the truck’s tailgate open.  The front end was a little dented, but old trucks were sturdy, which meant David’s rust bucket had survived hitting Cora rather well.  She glanced at her father.  “I still can’t believe you ran Cora over.”

He grinned briefly.  “I was out of ideas, and she definitely didn’t see it coming.”

“Damn good timing, too,” Robin added, looking at the stack of heart boxes. “And yeah, I’ll help.  Are they labeled?”

“Thankfully,” Emma answered, reaching into the truck and grabbing an armful.  “I think a lot of these people don’t even know their hearts are missing.”

“Like Grumpy, you mean?” David asked, reading the labels on a few of the boxes.  “Or Abigail.  Who’s Ingrid of Arendelle?”

“I know her,” Emma said softly, swallowing hard.  She hadn’t picked up the so-called memory stone that Ingrid had tried to give her; for all Emma knew, it was still on the ground by the docks.  But she still felt _something_ stirring when she thought of the older blonde woman.  The feeling wasn’t quite recognition, but it was close, and Emma wished she could know if Ingrid had been telling the truth or not.

_I remember all my foster homes, don’t I?_

“Isn’t she the lady who runs the ice cream shop?” Robin asked as David shrugged.  “Roland thinks she’s wonderful.”

“I’ll take that one,” she said impulsively, reaching out to grab the box.  Any Given Sundae was close by, anyway. It wouldn’t take long to return the heart—provided Ingrid was still alive to receive it.  “I’ll be right back.”

Glancing at the heart as she walked, Emma decided that it wouldn’t be red and beating if Ingrid was dead.  The beat was erratic and uneven, but the heart _was_ still thumping away, so that had to mean the ‘Snow Queen’ was breathing.  Quickly crossing the street and heading towards the ice cream shop, Emma found herself checking the heart repeatedly, just to make sure it was all right.  She wasn’t sure why she was worried, but she was—

When she reached Any Given Sundae, the store was dark and empty.

* * *

 

Regina hadn’t felt this nervous in years, and she _shouldn’t_ have been.  But Snow had told her about the Nightmare Curse Cora had put Henry under while they were organizing who would go where, and just knowing that made Regina want to be sick—and made her doubly determined to kill her own mother.  _How could she do that to a child?  To_ my _child?_ Regina wondered furiously.  But she knew the answer.  To her mother, Henry had never _actually_ been family.  He’d always been adopted, always in the way.  She’d let Regina adopt him because she wanted her perfect daughter to have a perfect life, but Henry himself was immaterial. He was a prop to make their family look better.

_Joke’s on  you, Mother.  I adopted my great-nephew, and he’s part of_ my _family, not yours!_ she thought viciously.  Yet again, Cora was giving her every reason to choose the half of the family that didn’t include Cora—or her insane sister.  Regina found that she didn’t regret the fact that Robin had shot Zelena in the face at all, probably because Zelena had been the one to stick her with a sleeping curse in the first place.  _There’s just so much love in the Mills family that it kills me._

“Regina? Are you all right?” Snow asked as they landed outside Gold’s ridiculous pink mansion.

“I’m fine,” she snapped a little too quickly, which caused Snow to smile and squeeze her arm.

“Nervous?” her sister said gently, and Regina made herself nod.  “Don’t be.  Henry has missed you terribly.”

“He’s told me all about you,” Baelfire piped up, leading the way up the walk.  “Kid’s crazy about you.”

That was something of a relief, even if Regina wasn’t sure she wanted Rumple’s son hanging out around her child.  Then again, there did seem to be something between him and Emma Swan…and, well, she wouldn’t put it past Rumple at all to have set thatone up.  _Maybe that’s why he was in this world but not in Storybrooke. Did Rumple send him over ahead of time to keep an eye on the Savior?_   Regina knew that she’d never known about all of Rumple’s plans, and it was very  like him to send over an insurance policy in the form of his own son.  _He doesn’t trust a lot of people, but I’ve seen him with the kid that’s here.  He takes care of his own_ , she reflected, following Snow and Baelfire in the door.

“Bae?” Belle’s voice called from the other room, preceding the brunette by a second or two.  “Is that you?”

“Yeah.  Along with Snow and Regina.”

“Wonderful!” Belle said, walking into the front hall and stopping cold.  “You’re bleeding!  What happened?”

“It’s not mine,” Bae said tightly.  Belle looked like she wanted to say more, but a new voice interrupted.

“Mom?” Henry had been right behind Belle, and Regina felt her knees go weak.

“Henry!”

Rushing forward, she wrapped her son tightly in her arms, and for once he didn’t complain that ten was too old for bone-crushing hugs.  Henry just hugged her back like his life depended on it, and Regina could hear her little boy sniffling a little bit, determined as he always was not to cry.  They held onto one another for a very long moment before Regina was able to make herself pull back enough to cast a critical eye over her son.

“Are you all right?” she asked. 

Henry smiled.  “I’m fine, Mom.”

“You’ve been behaving yourself?  Eating your vegetables?  And—”

“I’m _fine_ , Mom,” he repeated, sounded more like a ten-year-old now, and Regina tried hard not to smile indulgently. 

“Don’t you get smart with me, mister,” she said as sternly as she could manage—which, at the moment, was not very sternly at all.  “I’ve been gone for a while, and I was worried about you.”

“I wasn’t under a sleeping curse,” he tried to point out.  “ _Or_ locked away with a crazy person.”

Ugh. Regina did not want to talk about her sister right now, so she pointed out: “No, you were under a nightmare curse, which is much worse.  Have you been sleeping all right after that?  No relapses?”

“I’m okay, really.” He gave her his best smile, the one calculated to melt Regina from the inside out.  “And my dad is here!  My birth dad, I mean, not Gramps.”

_Gramps._ Regina filed that one away.  Apparently that was what Henry and David had settled upon, though she’d ask David to make sure he was all right with it.  She knew that David was in a rough spot with Henry.  After all, Regina wouldn’t have liked becoming ‘Aunt Regina’, but David’s _real_ self had also never actually been Henry’s dad thanks to the curse.  It was complicated, so she didn’t argue for now.  Besides, the fact that Henry’s birth father had shown up was far more significant—

She twisted to look at Baelfire, whose blood-covered hands Belle was still fussing over.  _“You?”_

“Guilty as charged.”  He gave her a sheepish smile.

“How the _hell_ did that happen?” Regina snarled before she could stop herself.

Bae snorted.  “The usual way.  Emma and I—”

“Spare me the gory details!”

“ _Mom_ ,” Henry pleaded, clearly embarrassed.  But she ignored him, still glaring at her son’s presumptive birth father.

“Did your father set this up? Because if he did, I _swear_ that my mother will be the _least_ of his concerns!  It’s one thing for him to have set up me adopting Emma’s son, but for Henry to be his own grandson…!” The rant ended in a wordless snarl of fury, and only then did Regina notice the way everyone was staring at her.

“Rumple doesn’t know,” Belle finally said softly, and that made Regina blink.  “None of us did, until Emma told Bae.”

“He always knows,” Regina protested, trying not to roll her eyes.

“How could he?  I didn’t,” Bae pointed out, and Regina blinked in shock.  “I didn’t even know Emma was from back home until _Pinocchio_ told me, and believe me, that didn’t turn out well.”

“That’s kind of an understatement, Dad,” Henry piped up, and Regina looked down at her son.  He looked perfectly comfortable with this large, messed up family he now had, utterly happy to be surrounded by his adopted mother, birth father, grandmother (who was also maybe his step-adopted-mother), _other_ grandmother (who looked younger than Baelfire, so did that make her a step-grandmother? and/or step-adopted-aunt), and a pair of toddlers who had just wandered in.  _Henry always wanted a big family,_ Regina thought, swallowing back her own doubts and insecurities.  _I can try for his sake._

“So,” she said as brightly as she could manage.  “I guess we’re all related, huh?”

Henry grinned.  “Well, except for Roland, but you and Robin can fix that.”

“Henry!” all four adults said together, although Snow and Bae were obviously trying not to laugh.

“Your mother just woke up from a sleeping curse.”  Surprisingly, the gentle chiding came from Belle.  “It’s probably not fair to bring this up quite so quickly.”

“But I bet Robin woke her up,” Regina’s unrepentant child said immediately, and she felt herself flush.

“He did,” she admitted.

“See?” Henry’s grin only grew.  “I knew it!”

Regina groaned.  Wonderful as it was, she still hadn’t managed to wrap her mind around the fact that _Robin_ had woken her up with True Love’s kiss.  Part of her really wished he was here now, but he was helping Emma and David return hearts to those who her mother had taken them from, and that was important.  She had plenty of family here—her son, her sister, and the Golds, who were somehow related to her through Henry, weird as that was.  Still, despite the oddity inherent in this twisty family tree, Regina didn’t feel _alone_.  The last weeks had been full of nothing but howling loneliness, but now Regina felt warm.  Accepted.

She knew there was still a battle to be fought, but she would luxuriate in this moment, just for a little while.  She needed it.

* * *

 

David found Leroy at Granny’s sitting at a back corner table with Astrid.  Since the convent had been destroyed, Tink and Astrid had moved into the apartment right next door to the grumpiest of the dwarves, and no one really blinked when Astrid spent most of her time with Leroy.  Oh, Blue didn’t seem happy, but she was busy trying to rebuild the convent.  She was also still more than a little annoyed at fact that the Charmings weren’t prepared to utterly hate the Dark One for Cora’s actions, which meant David had actually seen very little of the senior fairy in the last few days.  He didn’t want to admit that was a relief, but Blue had always been Snow’s family patron, not his.  He’d been wary of her ever since his first encounter with ‘Blue’ turned out to be Cora—who it turned out could impersonate the senior fairy all too well.

_There’s probably a lesson somewhere in that,_ he thought now, walking across the diner with the box in his hands.  Neither of the pair noticed him—they were too occupied by one another, with Grumpy laughing at something Astrid had said.  Or maybe he was just laughing about the broken salt shaker whose contents were all over his burger.

“Grumpy,” David said, and the dwarf and fairy looked up.

“David,” Astird greeted him with a smile.  “Do you want to join us?”  She made to move over, but David shook his head.

“I just came to return something to Grumpy, actually,” he replied, feeling awkward.  How long had Cora had this heart?  How many plans of theirs had Grumpy inadvertently betrayed?  It wasn’t the dwarf’s fault, of course, but there was no way to know.  The boxes were labeled, but Cora hadn’t put dates on them.  He couldn’t blame Grumpy, because David knew too well what it was like to have your heart stolen, but the idea was still worrisome.

“I didn’t think you had anything of—” Grumpy cut off as David set the box on the table.  “What the hell is that?” 

“Your heart.  We found it in Cora’s vault.”

“But I—I—she can’t.  Can she?”  That was genuine horror on Grumpy’s face, and shock.  _He didn’t know._

“I don’t know how or when, but it appears Cora did take your heart,” he replied, turning the box so that the dwarf could read the label.

“Maybe there’s another Grumpy in town?” Astrid offered weakly, looking horrified.

“Astrid, you have to believe that none of what we have is because of her,” Grumpy said hurriedly.  “This is me, I swear.  It’s not her.  No one’s putting me up to this right now, and my heart’s in that box right there!”

Astrid put her hand over his, and even from where he was standing, David could see how gentle her touch was.  “I know that, silly.  I’m just worried for you.  Not having your heart is a terrible thing.”

“Oh.”  Grumpy gulped, and then looked back up at David.  “What…what do I do now?”

“Well, I’d suggest we start by putting your heart back in,” he said, trying not to sound like he was stating the obvious.

“What if it’s a mix-up?  What if Cora mislabeled the hearts on purpose?”

“We’d know by now if she had,” David replied.  “We pulled forty-two hearts out of her vault.  Thirty-one of them were people living in Storybrooke right now, and you’re the last one.”

“Oh.”

David looked over at Astrid.  “Do you want to do the honors?”

“I don’t know,” she replied nervously.  “What if I mess it up?  What if I break his heart somehow?  I’m always so clumsy—”

“I trust you,” Grumpy cut her off, and David felt a smile tugging at his lips.

“All right,” Astrid said quietly, taking the heart out of the box oh so gently. Her hands shook slightly as she and Grumpy both rose, but Astrid’s aim was true when she pushed the heart back into his chest.  A look of pure wonder and delight crossed Grumpy’s face as his heart settled into place, and he looked more _alive_ than David could remember seeing him for quite some time.

“That’s uh, my heart,” Grumpy said gruffly.  Astrid giggled.

“I’ll, uh, leave you—” David started to say, and then cut off when the dwarf grabbed the fairy and kissed her.  Astrid squeaked in surprise, but certainly wasn’t arguing as she kissed him back just as passionately.  Neither was listening, so David didn’t bother to finish his farewell.  He just backed away, gave Granny a smile, and headed out of the diner.

* * *

 

Zelena’s face hadn’t taken much skill to heal; if the Wicked Witch had ever bothered to learn something other than dark magic—or had even been able to set aside her towering fury for a moment or two—Zelena should have been able to do it herself.  But her first two attempts had left her horrendously scarred, which meant that an increasingly irate Cora ordered Rumplestiltskin to do it.  His own shoulder was still bleeding, since Cora was angry enough at him that she refused to let him heal himself, but he did the job easily enough, despite the way his head was spinning dizzily.

“That hurt!” Zelena snapped peevishly, throwing him back with magic. 

Rumplestiltskin hit the wall hard, coughing out a gasp of pain as the bullet in his right shoulder shifted slightly.  Cora’s ‘no using magic without permission’ rule still stuck, which meant he was defenseless _and_ in pain, so he just let himself slump against the wall for support.  Cora had used her own magic to mitigate the wounds she’d suffered from having been run over, but Rumplestiltskin had no doubt that she’d use him to finish the job off and tie up the loose ends.  _Not to mention the fact that she likes making_ me _pay the price.  Cora thinks she can avoid the cost of magic because she’s ordering me to do it, but what she doesn’t recognize is the massive reckoning to come._

Still, healing her would be worth whatever price he did have to pay.  Watching David Nolan run the Evil Queen over had been a treat worth _any_ price, and just thinking about it brought a twisted smile to Rumplestiltskin’s face.

“Did you _enjoy_ hurting me, Dark One?” Zelena snarled, noticing and misinterpreting the expression.

Common sense told Rumplestiltskin to keep his mouth shut, but he was fairly sure that he was already in for world of pain for playing with Cora earlier—and making sure she would get hit by the truck.  So, there was zero reason not to run his mouth.  “Well, now that you mention it…” he drawled, and then shrugged a one-shouldered shrug.  “Actually, no.  Unlike certain people in this room, I’ve never enjoyed pain.”

Zelena’s eyes went wide with rage, but it was Cora who answered, her voice very soft.

“It’s almost a pity you don’t, Rumple,” she said, walking towards him quietly, her grip on the dagger all too firm.  “Because if you think I’ve forgotten your antics out in town, you are sorely mistaken.”

Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard and had to fight to meet her eyes.  “I don’t think you’ve forgotten.”

“Well, then.  The reasons for your punishments should be extremely clear, shouldn’t they?”

“Let’s not pretend this is anything other than a way for you to exercise your demons, dear,” he rasped, dredging up the last of his courage.

At least this time they were going to hurt him for something he had _done_.  That gave Rumplestiltskin some small but pitiful measure of control over the situation.  He didn’t want to be hurt, was terrified of the pain, but at least if _he_ acted out, he knew the cause of the pain.  He could rationalize it to a certain degree, could find a way to endure.  Otherwise, it was just senseless torture designed to break him, and Rumplestiltskin could only bear that for so long.  _She’s fraying at the edges,_ he told himself desperately, watching the fury in Cora’s eyes and using it to measure how badly he was going to be hurt before the day was out.  _It won’t be much longer._

_It can’t._

* * *

 

Emma returned Geppetto’s heart in the old man’s shop, giving him a smile before the heading to the apartment upstairs.  It wasn’t _Geppetto’s_ fault that August had lied to them yet again, or at least Emma didn’t think so.  At the very least, she wasn’t going to yell at Geppetto.  She was planning to reserve that for August, who opened the door after she banged on it a little harder than necessary.

“Hey, Emma,” he said all too casually.  “Did everything go all right? Zelena left here in a really big hurry and I started to worry—”

“But you just sat here in safety, didn’t you?” she interrupted, shoving past him and heading into the apartment.  Good.  Henry’s Book was still on the table; she wasn’t going to let this lying son of a bitch hang onto that one moment longer.  In fact, Emma stalked over to pick the Book up even as August closed the door, deciding that she wasn’t going to waste much time here.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” August argued.  “All we’d talked about was me distracting Zelena.”

“How _did_ you turn all human again, anyway?” Emma asked as the thought occurred to her.  “Was that part of services rendered for _lying_ to us?”

“I—that was when my father was a prisoner.  I told you that once he was out—”

“Was that before or after you neglected to mention the part about Cora still had his heart?”

Blue eyes went wide.  “How did you know?  Is he all right?”  August turned for the door, as if he was about to run down the stairs to the shop, but Emma’s voice stopped him cold.

“Oh, your father’s fine.  I just returned his heart, which we found with everyone else’s.  Except yours.  I’m beginning to wonder if that’s one part of you that’s _always_ been made of wood,” she snapped.

“You got it back?” August gasped, looking like Christmas had just come early—and like the insult she’d just thrown at him didn’t matter at all.

“Do you even care that you could have gotten all of us killed?” Emma demanded. “Or is this all some giant game for you, like sending me to jail was some ‘grand’ idea?  Do you give a damn about anyone else?”

“Of course I do!  But if I’d told you, they would have killed him!” he replied, finally looking a little anguished.  “Papa told me that I should help you anyway, but if you knew Cora had his heart, you would never have believed I was telling the truth.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever believe you’re telling the truth again,” she told him flatly, the anger draining out of her.  He wasn’t worth it, was he?  All Emma saw when she looked at August was a man who had lied to her repeatedly, who had pretended to be her friend, and who had sent her to jail.  Then he’d endangered her _family_ , all without even letting them know what they risked on his behalf.

“Emma—”

“Don’t.”  She held a hand up, looking him right in the eye.  “We’re done.  No more trying to be my friend, no more offers to help.  Do whatever you’re going to do, but stay away from me and my family.  And if I ever find you talking to my son _ever_ again, Neal punching you in the face is going to be the least of your concerns.  Got it?”

“I understand,” August whispered, and Emma didn’t bother to look at his hangdog face again before she stormed out.

* * *

 

“What happened?” Belle asked Bae after Regina, Snow, and Henry departed. Regina even took Roland with her, saying that she and Henry would drop him off at Robin’s later.  The little boy did seem delighted to see her, and Belle had no objection to letting him go along, though she did feel a little guilty

“Long story short?  Emma shot Pop to stop him from killing Robin—Cora’d ordered him to—then David hit Cora with his truck.  But she survived that somehow, and summoned him out of there after she left,” her stepson replied, looking tired and a little defeated.

“Emma _shot_ him?” she gasped before she could stop herself. _He’s got to be okay.  Only the dagger can kill him, and Bae just said that Cora summoned him away._ Still, not panicking was hard.  Belle had already been able to tell how badly Rumple was hurting when she’d seen him during their war council, and the thought of adding being shot on top of that broke her heart.

“In the shoulder, yeah.  He was up and moving, but…”

“We’ve got to do something,” Belle said, swallowing back her pain and her fears.  “Jefferson came by this morning while all the chaos was going on.  He told me that Cora knows about the plan to dump her in Neverland.”

That brought Bae up short.  “What?  Oh, _damn._ ”

“Jefferson also said that she has the heart of someone who was on the war council.”

“Grumpy,” her stepson breathed.  “Yeah, we found his heart down there.  David should have returned it by now, but that doesn’t help much, does it?  He heard all our plans.”

“Grumpy?” Belle felt like a knife was twisting around in her gut.  “He came by yesterday…said he wanted to see how I was.  But he seemed off.”

“Well, now you know why.”  Bae frowned.  “All right, then, what’s Plan B?  There’s got to be some other way to get rid of her.  Henry’s Book talks about a cage the dwarves and fairies built to hold Pop.  Do you think we could do that again?”

“It would take too long,” she shook her head.  “That cage took them months to build in the Enchanted Forest, and I don’t even know if there’s enough fairy dust here.”  She remembered how she and Rumple had watched from afar as that cage was constructed; he’d been amused, and Belle had been worried sick.  Now, she simply wished things were that simple.  “Besides, it would give the fairies first crack at getting the dagger, and I think you agree with me on what a terrible idea that is.”

“No argument.”  Scowling, Bae started to pace.  “There’s got to be some way to stop her.  Maybe Regina can help set a trap or something.”

“No,” Belle said, crossing her arms. “We’ve been avoiding the obvious way to get the dagger back and concentrating on who that contract can keep safe, but I say we stop.  I’ll make myself a target.  Cora will go after me, and—”

“Whoa, slow down!  No way am I letting you do that,” he cut her off, stopping cold to stare at her with wide eyes.  “Papa wanted you _safe_ , not right in the line of fire!”

“And _I’m_ not going to stand around _safely_ while he’s being hurt!” she shot back.  “It’s the easiest way, and whatever Cora does, I know Rumple can heal.”

“That’s crazy.  She could kill you, or worse.”

“Like she’s already doing to your father?”

Belle knew it was a low blow even when she said it, but she was done.  Eight days had gone by while she worried for Rumple, dreading what she _knew_ Cora was doing to him.  She couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t wait for some grand plan or some chance encounter to end Cora’s enslavement of her husband.  Rumplestiltskin had been convinced that Cora wouldn’t wait too long before breaking the contract, so Belle would damn well give her the opportunity.

Bae, however, just winced.  “Look, I asked Emma to marry me,” he said quietly.  “We both know Cora’s going to go after her—and her parents—before long.  Hell, Cora’s already said as much.  Can you wait for Emma to give me an answer before you do something crazy?”

“I don’t want you to have to choose who takes the risks,” Belle said as gently as she could.  “I know you love Emma, and her family shouldn’t have to be in danger for this to work.”

“They’re already in danger.  Besides, Cora tried to rip Emma’s heart out and failed—I think _Emma’s_ got magic, which will really screw things up if Cora goes after her, particularly if I can get Emma to marry me.”

That made Belle blink thoughtfully.  “Emma with magic?” she said slowly.  “Oh…of course she does!  She’s a child of True Love.”

“What’s that have to do with anything?”

“Rumple told me about it when Gabi was two, once she started noticing _everything_ magical.  He said children of True Love are a lot more likely to be magical than others, something about magic being drawn to them.  I imagine Emma becoming the Savior only made her stronger.”  Suddenly a little worried, Belle peered at her stepson.  “Are you all right with that?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged self-consciously.  “I think so, anyway.  I mean, I ran away from magic more than once, but upon more mature reflection, a lot of what I was running from—at least the second time—was Neverland, Pan, and all of his nastiness.  Papa…well, he was a lot worse in the beginning, but he seems a lot more like _him_ now.  Or at least what I’ve seen of him does.”

“He is,” she said quickly.  “Truly.  And that’s…that’s why I can’t wait on this, Bae.  I’ve got to do something.  I can’t leave him to be hurt more.”

“Give it a day, okay?  I’ll talk to Emma tomorrow, or tonight if I can get ahold of her.”

“I _can’t_.”  Just thinking of what Rumple was probably going through right now was enough to make Belle feel sick.

“Why not?” Bae demanded, and then shook his head.  “Actually, no.  Don’t answer that.  Instead, tell me why the hell Pop looks so terrible.  I get that Cora’s a psycho bitch and hurting him, but there’s something else going on here, isn’t there?  Something you’ve been trying _really_ hard not to tell me.”

Belle looked away.  She hadn’t meant the conversation to turn this direction, but she really should have known this was coming.

“You told me that Cora and Pop were in a relationship before he met you,” Bae said as she studied the far wall.  “Emma said that Cora did something under the curse to make it look like they were having an affair—were they?”

_Say something vague and let him make his own assumptions,_ a voice inside her said, and it almost sounded like Rumple.  But that wasn’t Belle’s way, so she squared her shoulders and spoke the truth in a whisper.  “Not one he was willingly in, even as Gold.  Cora never wanted him _willing_.”

“Oh.  _Oh_.”

“Yes.”  Belle didn’t want to say more, and fortunately, Baelfire didn’t ask.  A long moment passed in silence while he digested this information.  Belle just kept staring the wall, willing her tears back and thinking about what she could do to get Cora’s attention.  _How can I make her angry enough that she forgets the contract?  She doesn’t have a copy, but she’s smart enough to know that going after me will break it—even if she doesn’t believe that’ll automatically give Rumple the dagger back_ , she thought.  _So, what can I do?_

“Okay, I get why you don’t want to wait,” Bae said softly, putting a hand on her arm that almost made Belle jump.  “But give me two days, all right?  We can’t be sure Cora won’t just kill you if she decides to go after you, and I _know_ Papa won’t think that’s worth getting the dagger back for.  Let me see if we can do this another way first, all right?”

Belle closed her eyes tightly.  He was right…and she could use the two days to plan, anyway.

“All right,” she said softly.  “We’ll do it your way.”

* * *

 

The damn ‘heroes’ had stolen _all_ of her hearts.

Once she had realized that, Cora’s fury had increased tenfold.  Earlier, she had been understandably distracted by her own painful experiences early that day, not to mention Rumplestiltskin _distracting_ her so that Snow’s damn prince could hit her with the truck.  Cora had not enjoyed that experience at all, and she had taken her anger out on the convenient target who also happened to be the most deserving.  Now, however, she was momentarily sated—with Rumple as a whimpering ball at her feet—and capable of more rational thought.  That, of course, meant she realized what she had lost.

Most of the hearts were meaningless, knickknacks collected or minor forms of revenge.  Some of them had been useful in limited ways, but were no longer necessary, particularly once the heroes knew whose hearts had been stolen.  She could rebuild her collection easily enough, frustrating though it was.  However, she had an ice sorceress currently imprisoned in her cellar, and allowing Ingrid to know that _Cora_ didn’t have her heart would be downright dangerous.  There was a reason why she had stolen that heart in the first place.

“Zelena, dearest,” she beckoned her elder daughter—who, despite her _monumental_ error in allowing her sister to escape, remained loyal and reliable—to her side.

“Yes, Mother?” Zelena approached eagerly, clearly aware of her own failure and eager to atone.

“Go fetch a hair from our visitor downstairs, and make sure she is still unconscious,” Cora told her.  “Please.”

“Of course!” 

Once Zelena had disappeared, Cora turned back to the shivering and shaking Dark One on the floor. 

“You,” she snarled, gesturing with the dagger.  “Get up.”

Rumplestiltskin staggered to his feet immediately, still bleeding from that bullet wound she hadn’t allowed him to heal, along with several other recent injuries.  Cora remained utterly furious with him and was not nearly done with his punishments, but she would use him first.  He was swaying and clearly in agony, but the beauty of the dagger was that Cora did not have to care about that.  He would obey whatever commands he was given, because he had no choice.

“Stop the bleeding and clean yourself up,” she ordered.  “ _Do not_ heal yourself or lessen the pain in any way.  Get dressed.”

Cora waited until Rumplestiltskin did so, watching with narrowed eyes as her former lover tried to pull himself together even as he clothed himself in another of his beautiful suits.  Rumplestiltskin’s self-control was shattering, and although there were times that she missed his poise, she also enjoyed the fact that _she_ had been the one who could turn him into a terrified and trembling mess.  His wary gaze kept skittering away from her once he was done, and the fact that he was so obviously afraid made Cora feel a little warm inside. 

“Zelena will bring you one of Ingrid’s hairs,” she said coldly.  “You’ll use it to find her heart, which you will fetch and bring _directly_ to me.  Understood?”

“Yes.”  His voice was hoarse, and Cora always knew she’d made progress when he resorted to simple, one word answers.

“Good.  Oh, and you _will_ kill anyonewho gets in your way.  I suspect the Savior or her parents have the heart.  Murder any one of them that attempts to intervene, no matter how slight their attempt.”

A shadow of anger entered his eyes; Cora knew that Rumplestiltskin hated killing on her orders, which was why she kept making him do it.  But he didn’t argue; Cora knew he didn’t have that in him at the moment.  “I understand,” the Dark One whispered.

“You had better.  Do this quickly—and please me—and I _may_ let you heal yourself some upon your return.”

Brown eyes met hers, an almost inaudible whimper of hope and agony filling the air between them.  Rumplestiltskin knew her well enough to know that she might well be lying, but Cora also could see the hope in his eyes.  He was in enormous pain, both from the gunshot wound and the punishments he had earned, but Cora didn’t care who saw that.  Still, offering him a tiny carrot would keep Rumplestiltskin from creatively misinterpreting her commands; it would bring him back quickly and with the heart she needed.  He had a surprisingly high pain tolerance for someone so frightened by torture—Cora supposed that was due to his curse—but he was still eager for any respite.

Zelena returned with Ingrid’s hair within a few moments, and Cora sat back to watch Rumplestiltskin work out the complicated locator spell that would find not Ingrid—they knew exactly where the ‘Snow Queen’ was—but her heart.  He really was unbelievably talented and so studied, even like this, and Cora did enjoy watching him work.

Particularly when she knew that the way his hands shook in pain was because of _her_.

* * *

 

Emma drove the bug back down to the docks by herself, needing to know.  She’d brushed Ingrid off when the older woman had tried to offer her the so-called memory stone, but everything in her life had gone even _more_ crazy today, and Emma needed answers.  She’d found Ingrid’s apartment earlier, hoping to find her there, but no one had been home.  That meant Ingrid was either dead or Cora’s prisoner, and Emma found herself more than a little worried for her.  But if she couldn’t find Ingrid, despite driving around town with Ingrid’s heart in a box on her passenger seat, the only answers she could possibly find would be in that little blue stone—assuming it was still where Ingrid had dropped it two days ago.

But she had to know.  She’d found pictures of _herself_ in Ingrid’s apartment.  Pictures of her, as a kid, with Ingrid.  There’d been school work, too, pictures drawn and a thank you note that Emma knew was in her own teenaged handwriting.  Emma didn’t know enough about magic to figure out if someone could have duplicated that, but her instincts told her that what she had found was real.  That meant she _had_ known Ingrid, and Emma wanted to know why.

So, she parked her car and headed toward the bench where she and Bae had been sitting two nights earlier, watching the ground as she walked.   Emma _needed_ to know what was true and what was false.  Could magic fake pictures like that?  Or, worse yet, could magic make memories that someone could insert?  Or could someone take _away_ memories, like Ingrid said she had done to her?  She had so many questions; there was so much she didn’t understand, and Emma hated feeling like this.  But— _Wait a minute,_ she realized.  A week and a half without someone to turn to on these matters had made her into an idiot, and Emma rolled her eyes as the realization hit her.  Quickly, she pulled out her phone and called Regina.

“What, you’ve been gone for ten minutes on your mysterious drive, and you’re calling me already?  You could have just stayed home if you wanted to talk,” Henry’s mother answered the phone dryly.

Well, at least her long sleep didn’t seem to have changed Regina one bit.  “I need to ask you a question,” Emma retorted, trying not to sound defensive and failing.  “Then I’ll leave you alone.”

“No, it’s all right,” Regina said, sounding a little more congenial.  “What’s wrong?”

“Can—can someone erase memories with magic?”  There.  She’d said it, and it didn’t sound half so stupid as it had in her head.

“Sure, though it usually takes a potion and some pretty careful spell work,” was the immediate response.

“You can’t just…use a memory stone or something?”

“A what?”

“So, you’ve never heard of them,” Emma sighed.  So much for wanting to believe Ingrid.  Had that whole act been part of Cora’s plan, just a way to distract her?

“That doesn’t mean that memory stones don’t exist,” Regina said.  “As much as I hate to admit it, I’m not the be-all, end-all of magic.  Who told you about them?”

“Ingrid.”

“The chick with the ice magic that almost killed Graham?”

Emma had reached the bench, and she started looking around, trying to find where the stone had dropped.  She didn’t know why she even bothered to look for it, but she still wanted to find the thing, even if it was just a pretty rock used to fool her.  “That’s the one.”

“Well, I’ve never even heard of _her_ type of magic, so memory stones could be a subset of that.  They aren’t actually ice cubes, are they?”

“I sure as hell hope not!”

Regina hesitated before saying:  “Emma, I don’t even know if Ingrid and her ice magic are from the Enchanted Forest, so whatever you’re dealing with, it could be dangerous.  Be careful, all right?”

“I’ll be careful,” she promised.

“You want me to come down there?” Regina pressed.

“No, you really don’t need to—oh! I found it.”  Bending over, Emma reached out to grab the small stone, thinking she’d bring it back and have Regina look at it before she did anything else.  Maybe it was just a hoax…but maybe there was something important going on here, too.

“Don’t touch it!” The words came through the phone a split second before Emma’s fingers touched the stone, and she jerked back just in time.

“Why not?”

“Because if it _is_ real, the memories might hit you when you touch it.  Even if they aren’t yours.  I have no idea how this works.  The stone might knock you unconscious, and the last thing you want is my mother to find you when you’re napping on the side of the road or something,” Regina said dryly.  “Her hospitality is a little lacking these days.”

“Oh.”  Emma swallowed hard.  “Then, um, how do I bring this back?  I don’t want to pull you away from just getting home—”

“Don’t stupid, I’ll just teleport.  Tell me where you are, and I’ll be there in a moment.”

 

* * *

 

Cora had well and truly trapped him this time.  She was getting better at keeping her commands airtight, better at eliminating loopholes before he could find them…or perhaps Rumplestiltskin was in too much agony to think straight.  Either could be the case.  Even walking had become a challenge; he could feel himself swaying with every step, dizzy and almost drunk on the pain.  His curse was the only thing keeping him on his feet; Cora had given him commands, so follow them he would.  The demon, the darkness, inside him would make sure that he obeyed, even had he actually been in the midst of dying.  But of course he was not.  He was the Dark One, and only the dagger could kill him.

That didn’t keep the blood loss from making him woozy or the pain from making it hard to think, though.  _That’s probably the idea,_ Rumplestiltskin thought, remembering the many books he had read about his own curse.  Some clerics believed that the best use of the Dark One was to put him or her in so much pain that they could no longer resist commands, that they could no longer look for a way to defy their ‘masters’.  They even argued that the Dark One should be taken so close to the brink that performing magic without a specific command was utterly impossible—though, fortunately, Rumplestiltskin was not yet so far gone.  He didn’t _think_ Cora wanted to do that to him…but he couldn’t be certain.  _And I don’t want to find out._

For now, however, the burning pressure in his mind made sure that he would do exactly what she said, so he followed the locator spell he had created to where Emma Swan’s car was parked near the docks.  For a moment, his heart leapt into his throat, dread making his chest tight.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t _like_ killing, and he particularly didn’t like doing so as Cora’s merry little marionette.  And he really didn’t want to kill Emma Swan; the Savior was one of their best chances of taking Cora down, especially after that little magical display in the earlier battle.   _Bae also knows her,_ he thought brokenly.  He hadn’t missed the silent interaction at their first meeting, and he had also noticed how they’d run into that fiasco side by side.  His son had a history with the Savior, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t want to kill someone who might be Baelfire’s friend.

Fortunately, the car was empty when he looked through the driver’s side window.  It was off, too, but the engine wasn’t cold—that meant Emma was nearby and he needed to move quickly if he didn’t want to have to kill her.  But the hair he’d enchanted was floating near the car, doing loops by the passenger side window, which meant the heart was here.  _I’m not sure what possessed our dear Savior to put Ingrid’s heart in her car, but I’m grateful,_ he thought dizzily, waving a hand at the passenger door, willing it to unlock.

It didn’t.  Narrowing his eyes—as his heartbeat sped up in terror he could not control—Rumplestiltskin forced himself to focus harder.  His second attempt unlocked the doors, but not before his curse threw a little jab of pain at his mind for not obeying Cora’s commands quite expediently enough.  _Hurry, hurry, hurry!_ his inner demon taunted him. _Can’t keep the mistress waiting!_

“Shut up.”  Whispering the words out loud told Rumplestiltskin that he was starting to lose it, more than a little, but he couldn’t stop himself.  Still, there was a familiar box on the front seat, so he bent inside the bug to grab it—and almost toppled over when his balance failed, barely catching himself on the seat with his left hand.

Of course, that meant the half-healed dagger wound in _that_ shoulder flared up painfully, making him hiss in pain.  Still, that was better than catching himself with his now-useless right arm, which hung at his side limply.  His shoulder was a wreck, and healing it would take _forever_ if Cora allowed Rumplestiltskin to do so properly, but that was a problem for another time.  Now, he needed that damn heart.  And then she might let him heal himself.  A little.

He knew better than anyone that Cora would probably make him suffer longer, but Rumplestiltskin was running out of resistance, so he and straightened as much as he could.  Even as he staggered away from the car and gestured the door shut—which took _three_ tries, not a good sign, and even then it didn’t latch properly—he sensed magic coming from further up the docks, and he squinted to find its source.  Regina had just appeared next to Emma not a hundred yards away, and the two were studying something on the ground.  They hadn’t noticed him yet, which meant there was no time to lose.  _Bring the heart directly to me,_ Cora had demanded, and Rumplestiltskin had no choice.

His hands were shaking when he gripped the box, afraid of having to bend over if he dropped it.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, not sure what he was apologizing for but feeling like he should all the same.  It was one thing to be a villain under his own control; being someone else’s puppet was altogether different. 

Closing his eyes, Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath and teleported himself back to Cora’s home, back to the painful world in which he now existed.  

He never heard Regina’s shocked yelp, or saw Emma collapse to the ground.

* * *

 

The memories hit her harder than Regina had expected.  She had _told_ Emma that they should bring the stone back to study it, but typical stubborn Emma had pointed out that there wouldn’t be a safe time to figure this out, so she might as well just do it now before something else exploded.  Then the damn girl had just picked up the stone and fallen right over.

Fortunately, Emma’s little magical-induced collapse only lasted about a minute, otherwise Regina would have started trying to pull her out of it.  But Emma managed to sit up after it was over, her eyes wide and unfocused as she stared at the stone.

“Well?” Regina demanded impatiently.  She really didn’t have times for games played by some so-called Snow Queen; they had a lot bigger problems to deal with!  But Emma had been dead set on figuring this out right the hell now, so Regina had come to back her up.

“She wasn’t lying,” Emma whispered.

“About what?”

“Ingrid.  She told me that she was my foster mother.  I found pictures of us at her apartment…and she wasn’t lying.  She was telling the truth,” her niece said softly, staring at the stone and blinking.  “She tried…she tried to get my magic to come out.  She said I should have magic.” 

Regina frowned, offering Emma a hand up—which it took the younger woman a moment to notice.  “How would she know that?”

“I don’t know.”  Emma climbed to her feet, and finally looked at Regina.  “But I do, don’t I?  That was…that was why Cora couldn’t rip my heart out.”

“It looked like magic,” Regina answered cautiously, feeling so far out of her depth.  “But I don’t know.  I’ve never seen anyone use magic by accident before.”

“Why would _I_ have magic?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, hating the way Emma’s eyes were huge and looking at her for answers.  “Look, I’m not an expert.  I know a lot, but…I don’t know everything.  Rumple’s always been the expert.  These are the questions I’d usually ask _him_.”

“He’s kind of occupied right now,” Emma pointed out dryly, but at least she stopped giving Regina that lost and confused puppy look.

“Tell me about it,” she groaned.  “Look, let’s head back to the house, all right?  We can figure this out there.  It’s better than being in the open where Mother can do something nasty.”

“Good idea,” Emma agreed, and they walked back to the car in silence, only to find the passenger side door ajar when they got there.

“Forgetting to lock your doors now, Sheriff?” Regina teased her, hoping to lighten the mood.  “I didn’t think our crime rate had gone down that much—unless Mother’s started ripping hearts out of first time offenders.”

“I didn’t—oh, crap.” The blonde looked like someone had just ripped _her_ heart out, shocked and slightly terrified, and Regina knew for a fact that hadn’t happened.

“What?”

“Ingrid’s heart.  I left it right there on the front seat, and now it’s gone.”

“Well, shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter Ninety-Three—“Finding Weaknesses,” in which Emma tells her family about Neal’s proposal, Rumplestiltskin and Ingrid have a heart to heart, Cora calls another war council, the heroes plan their next move, and Henry decides to take matters into his own hands.


	93. Finding Weaknesses

Emma didn’t know why she’d put this off for so long.  She _should_ have told her parents about Neal’s proposal—or even about the contract!—X days earlier, but somehow, doing that would have made it _real_.  And then she would have had to admit how she felt about marrying the man she had fallen in love with at seventeen.

In truth, Emma’s feelings about Neal—Baelfire—were still a mess.   Even on the morning of March 15th, nine days after the curse broke and four days after Bae had proposed, she kept trying to avoid thinking about it.  Doing so wasn’t fair to him, and it really was pretty stupid, too, at least in a strategic sense.  _If I’d said yes and we’d signed a piece of paper down at town hall—or wherever they’re handing out marriage licenses these days—Cora sticking her hand in my chest would have broken the contract, and we’d be a lot better off right now,_ she knew.  In the end, it was that thought that jolted her out of her terrified inaction, because Emma knew that if she’d just decided to face the fact that she was still in love with her ex-boyfriend, the fight against Cora might have already been over.

_Some Savior I turned out to be,_ she thought morosely, sitting down at the breakfast table next to Henry.  Everyone else was there already, because Emma had spent a lot of time in the guest bedroom that had somehow become hers just staring at the ceiling and telling herself to get over it. 

“There’s something I need to tell you.  Something I should have told everyone sooner,” she blurted out before she could stop herself, and every eye in the room swiveled to her—including Snow’s, which meant she managed to spill scrambled eggs on the table instead of spooning them onto her plate like she’d meant to.  That, at least, made Henry snicker.

“Well done, Snow,” Regina mocked Emma’s mother playfully.  “You wouldn’t think you had spent twenty-eight years learning to manage things like scrambled eggs.”

“Oh, shut up,” Snow grumbled, but she smiled.

“Emma?” David asked gently, bringing attention right back to her, just when Emma was starting to hope that they’d forget what she’d said.  “What did you want to say?”

“Um, so Neal—Bae—and I were, um, well…heaskedmetomarryhim.”

“He what?” Snow asked immediately, clearly understanding the jumble while Regina and David still looked confused.  Henry, on the other hand, lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree.

“He did!  That’s so awesome!  Are you gonna do it?”

“I didn’t know you two were that serious,” David said, looking a little wary.  He didn’t press—hopefully, he remembered their conversation about him playing overprotective parent—but he still was watching Emma closely.

“It’s not as simple as that.  And it’s not about romance, not really,” Emma said tentatively, forcing herself not to chicken out.  “There’s…a contract.  Gold made Cora sign it when he handed over the dagger, and it protects his family from her.  Like, if she tries to harm anyone related to him, some magic voodoo or another will make the dagger revert to him.”

“My mother was dumb enough to sign a _magically-binding contract_ with Rumplestiltskin?” Regina gaped.  “And there I was thinking that he was the idiot for giving her the thing in the first place.”

“But if all she has to do is abide by the rules of that contract, how does that make it bad for Cora?” Snow asked Regina.  “Surely she knows—”

“Mother’s never been good at keeping her word,” Regina cut her off.  “She’ll want to kill Belle, if no one else, which means he’ll get the dagger back.”  White teeth flashed in a predatory smile.  “And then Mother is _screwed._ ”

“You guys are missing the point,” Henry broke in, looking at her.  “If Emma marries Baelfire, she’s protected, too, right?”

Leave it to Henry to figure it out when everyone else was stuck on the details. 

“It’s more than that,” she answered slowly.  “The contract says everyone related by blood _or_ marriage…so if Bae and I tie the knot, even if it’s only temporary, that protects everyone here.”

“I might be a bit of a stretch,” Regina pointed out, not sounding offended at all.  “But I’ll take my chances.”

“Emma,” Snow said softly.  “Do you _want_ to do this?”

“Yes.” The word slipped out on its own, but Emma quickly added, “No.  I don’t know.  It’s all so fast, and I haven’t seen him in ten years, and I—we—look, he broke my heart, okay?”

“I thought you guys said that was August’s fault?” Henry asked.

“That doesn’t make it easier, kid.”  She didn’t want to dash Henry’s hopes, but she didn’t want him to get excited about this for the wrong reasons, either.

“You don’t have to do this,” David put in before anyone else could speak, his voice firm as he and Snow joined hands.  “We’ve always been willing to put our lives on the line to fight Cora.  Nothing changes there, and you don’t _have_ to get married to protect us.  The contract covers Henry either way, right?”

Emma nodded mutely, not sure what to say in the face of such parental love.

“Emma,” Snow said again, reaching across Henry to take her hand.  “Marriage is a big step, and not one you should take if you aren’t certain you want to.  And it’s our job to protect you, not the other way around.  Don’t take this burden upon yourself, all right?  We’ll be fine.”

Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t this, and Emma felt tears wanting to gather in her eyes.  She’d spent the entire morning telling herself how stupid she’d been to _not_ marry Bae already, because then her family would be safe—but her family wasn’t looking for her to make them safe.  She _wanted_ to protect them…but she wasn’t obligated to.  _I guess I’m getting so caught up in being the Savior that I forget they can and do fight for themselves,_ Emma thought, forcing a watery smile.

“It would be a lot easier if you would just tell me to do it to keep everyone safe,” she admitted in a whisper.

“Did you love him?” her mother asked gently.

“Yes.”

“Do you still?” That was David, and damn it all if she hadn’t found out that her parents were pretty wonderful people, as intimidating as being the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming was. 

Biting her lip, Emma finally let the truth out.  “Yes.”

“Then the only question you need to answer is if you need more time,” her father continued.  “You don’t have to rush into this.  You two haven’t seen each other in more than ten years, and you’ve both changed a lot.  Go on another date, and talk it through.  You don’t have to rush.”

“Thank you.”

It was a wonderful thing to hear, particularly from the two people who Cora wanted to make suffer more than anything.  Except Emma knew herself.  If she didn’t rush into this, she might _never_ do it…and she would never forgive herself if someone she loved died in while she tried to make up her mind. 

* * *

 

Cora sent him down to the cage again when she was finally done with him after breakfast, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t even _try_ not to land in a heap.  She had let him heal the gunshot wound in his shoulder, finally, but none of the rest of his injuries.  He still felt faint from blood loss, not to mention the other tortures the Evil Queen had inflicted upon him in her rage.  Fortunately, he was at least clothed in slacks and a shirt, though she’d left him barefoot again.  He wasn’t bound this time, though, which Rumplestiltskin found a small blessing—and immediately hated himself for feeling the slightest flicker of gratitude towards his captor.

_Don’t go there,_ he told himself firmly.  _If you start feeling grateful for when she doesn’t hurt you or treats you a_ tiny _bit less barbarically, you are going down a road you can’t come back from._ But knowing where that would lead and convincing his mind not to shatter were two different things entirely, and Rumplestiltskin knew he was fighting a losing battle.  _Nine days,_ he told himself, sucking in a shuddering breath that was almost a sob.  _How can I be this broken in only nine days?_   Anyone else would have faced this far better than he, he knew.  But cowards never did handle pain or torture well, did they?

“So it is true,” a voice said quietly from his left, and Rumplestiltskin realized with a start that he had a neighbor.  Again.

_Fool.  You knew Ingrid was down here_ , his curse berated him—or was that his own furious thoughts?  He couldn’t tell.  Separating the curse from his own mind grew harder and harder the longer Cora had the dagger.

“So _what’s_ true, dearie?” he snapped, trying to use anger to hide his pain as he struggled into a sitting position.  Sitting hurt, but he wasn’t going to lie there like some wounded animal when there was someone to see him.

“Zelena hinted that Cora hurt you,” Ingrid said bluntly, meeting his eyes.  “I thought she was smarter than that.”

“Hardly.”  His vision swam as Rumplestiltskin leaned back against the bars of his cage, watching the Snow Queen dizzily.  Doing so made the wounds on his back burn, but it was better than expending the energy required to stay upright.

“I can see that,” she said calmly, looking none too great herself—much of which had been her doing.  “That dagger really _does_ exert that much control over you, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”  Biting that word out was a blow to his pride, but it wasn’t like the entire town didn’t know how well Cora could control him by now.  “It does.”

“I’m sorry I thought you were with her willingly, then.”

The apology made him blink, which made the room spin; Rumplestiltskin was sure he was hearing things due to his difficulty focusing.  “Excuse me?”

“I said that you have my sympathy,” Ingrid replied, all dignity and a little brokenness of her own.  “I can’t say I completely understand your predicament, but given that Cora has my  heart, I can certainly sympathize.”

 “I, uh…”  _Say the words.  Don’t be a coward._   “I don’t deserve your sympathy, dear.  The reason Cora has your heart is because of me.”

“What?  No, Cora and Zelena took it from me.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted, immediately regretting the action when it made a pocket of pain settle under his sternum.  “They may have, but I fetched it back after the Savior and her merry band stole it from Cora.”

“ _Emma_ had my  heart?” Ingrid breathed, looking like that meant something to her.  Rumplestiltskin searched his memory for why that would matter, at first coming up blank, until something out of Gold’s old recollections came to mind. 

Ingrid had arrived mid-curse.  She’d convinced everyone—or seemed to—that she belonged, opening up Any Given Sundae, which had been sitting there closed up until her arrival.  But she hadn’t come over with the curse, and couldn’t have, given that she’d been living in Arendelle.  Which meant she had come for some reason other than Cora’s vengeance…a reason that appeared to have something to do with Emma Swan.  _Come to think of it, Emma does bear a striking resemblance to her sister,_ Rumplestiltskin realized.  _She should have listened when I told her that she had the love of her sisters, and that was a much more powerful magic than anything else she could ever find._

But love was so easy to doubt.  He couldn’t blame Ingrid much on that front, having been there himself.

“She did until Cora sent me to fetch it,” Rumplestiltskin told her honestly.  “You were more free than you realized for a few hours there yesterday.”

“I wish you had told me then,” Ingrid said, looking sad and a little angry.

“Oh, believe me, dearie.  If I’d had the spare time between playing Cora’s performing monkey and the damn Savior shooting me, I would have,” he said despite himself, a bitter laugh coming out that sounded almost as high pitched as his old imp’s giggle. 

“Emma shot you.”

He rolled his eyes, which made the ceiling turn all kinds of colors.  _Bad idea._ “A delightful experience, I assure you.”

“You should just be grateful that she didn’t kill you,” Ingrid snorted.

“Dark One, remember?” Rumplestiltskin looked back at her.  “A bullet won’t do the job, even in this world.”

“You look like you can be hurt easily enough,” was the quiet response, but somehow there was no threat in her voice—had there been, Rumplestiltskin probably would have responded very poorly.  As it was, he just glared at her tiredly, and Ingrid shrugged.

They sat in silence for a long moment, until Rumplestiltskin finally said:

“Tell me what is between you and Miss Swan.”

“Why should I do that?”

He gave her a twisted smile.  “Do you have a more pressing appointment?”

“Hardly.  I think we’re stuck here together, aren’t we?” she laughed, shrugging again.  “Well, at least it will pass the time.”

“That it will,” he breathed, and sat back to listen to the story of a woman looking for her sisters, who had become Emma Swan’s foster mother, and had come to Storybrooke to cast a terrible curse.

* * *

 

There had not been time to tell Emma that Cora had called him to another meeting.  Killian had to leave the private lunch he and Tink had been sharing on board the _Jolly Roger_ in a hurry in order to make it to her house on time.  Unlike many of her followers, teleportation was not within his admittedly varied skill set, and Killian often thought that Cora forgot that his marina was on the opposite side of town from her summer house.  But he didn’t try to argue, just got in his car and drove himself out there, resisting the urge to call the sheriff on the way.  _I’ll tell them later._ He didn’t need the heroes to hold his hand.  Independent action was needed, and that was what he would do.

Killian was the last to arrive, parking next to Cruella’s showy car and heading inside.  Once there, he found himself standing next to Cruella’s lover, who gave him a pointed glare that told him that Ursula had never forgotten her history with him.  _Well, we both made our choices,_ Killian tried to tell himself.  _And it’s not like she hasn’t been quite content as a villain, given the company she’s gleefully keeping these days._ But he wasn’t insulted when Ursula swapped places with Cruella, either; Killian just glanced around at the depressingly familiar faces, noticing how Zelena was fawning over Jafar more than ever and Cora had yet to show up.

_She’s probably off playing her sick little games with the Crocodile,_ he thought, surprised how nauseous that made him feel.  But he really didn’t want to think about that right now, so he leaned over to ask Cruella:

“Where’s our ever-lovely Snow Queen?” he murmured, noticing who was absent.  Ingrid had never looked happy to be in this exclusive villains’ club, but even had Cora _not_ possessed her heart, Killian would have thought she belonged with them.

“In the cellar, from what I hear,” the black and white haired woman answered, her eyes dancing.  “Apparently she tried warning the Savior, and our dear Evil Queen didn’t take kindly to that.”

Killian felt his eyebrows rise.  “What would possess her to do that?”

“How should I know?” Cruella drawled.  “Crossing the woman who holds your heart is certainly one of the dumbest things you can do.”

“Perhaps she simply didn’t like being forced into a life she didn’t want,” Ursula put in, but her blazing eyes were on Killian.

“That hardly excuses taking leave of your senses, darling.”

Whatever response Ursula planned to make ever arrived; Cora strode in, with Rumplestiltskin—as always—on her heels.  This time, however, the Crocodile looked far worse than he had before, bad enough that Killian actually felt a small flicker of pity for him.  The circles under were darker than ever before, and Rumplestiltskin moved like he was in pain, stiffly and woodenly.  His eyes seemed slightly unfocused and didn’t meet the gaze of anyone in the room.  There was obviously something wrong with him, and although Killian could feel a tiny bit sorry for any man who became Cora’s plaything, he wasn’t really interested in finding out what it was.  _After all, the Dark One_ isn’t _a man,_ he told himself, and focused on what Cora was saying.

Most of it was the normal drivel; Cora thanked them all for coming and reassured them that, despite the previous day’s setback, she was still on track to regain complete control over Storybrooke.  The heroes might have Regina’s help, now—though Cora failed to mention who had woken her up—but their combined power was still no match for her allies.  The words she spoke were perfectly poised and reassuring, but there was something just a little _off_ in the delivery.  There was just a touch of desperation in her voice that hadn’t ever been there before, and Killian watched that realization wash over everyone in the room.

“That’s all well and good, darling, but what are we going to do _now_?” Cruella interrupted Cora’s reassurances, crossing her arms.  “Needless to say, we all joined your side to win, so we’re eager to be on with it and start ruling Storybrooke.”

Cora blinked.  “Are you questioning my methods, Cruella?”

“Not yet.”

“I’d advise against that,” the Evil Queen said softly, her eyes burning with a furious fire that Killian had never seen from her before.  She didn’t say another word, but the dagger in her hand twitched, and Rumplestiltskin lurched forward, power suddenly crackling in the air.

“Oh, do call your dog off,” Cruella scoffed.  “None of us are going anywhere.  We’re simply growing impatient.”

“Of course you are.”  But the dagger still twitched again, and Rumplestiltskin’s arm shot up.  Magic hit Cruella square in the chest, throwing her back against the wall.  She hit hard; Killian could hear the plaster behind her crack as he dodged sideways.  What really caught his attention, however, was the way Ursula glared murder at Cora as Cruella picked herself up.  _This alliance is going to go to pieces soon,_ Killian realized.  Suddenly, he was very glad to be the first to jump ship.

Cora did not notice how ready to kill her Ursula looked, though; she was busy looking at everyone else.  “I _will_ destroy Snow and her pitiful little followers, and I will do it in my own time,” she said dangerously.  “Do _not_ question me.  Or my methods.”

The silence in the room was incredibly heavy this time, tense and thick.  No one wanted to speak, to bring Cora’s wrath down upon them.  Even Cruella kept her mouth shut once she was on her feet, even if she looked furious.  Seconds turned into a minute, and no one met Cora’s burning gaze.

 “Not to put too fine a point on it, Your Majesty, but there is one matter that needs addressing,” Jafar spoke up carefully.  “What would you like done about your other daughter?”

“No one touches Regina,” Cora answered immediately.  “I will deal with her.”

“As you wish,” Jafar inclined his head smoothly, and the meeting went on.

* * *

 

“ _That_ wasn’t particularly encouraging,” Ursula said after they were in the car and on the road, scowling at the dashboard.

“Tell me about it,” her lover snarled.  “Cora’s losing her touch.”

“You told me that we were picking the winning side,” she couldn’t help saying petulantly.  “You said that Cora was undoubtedly going to win and that we should jump in head first.”

Cruella looked away from the road to glare at her.  “Do you want me to say I was wrong?  Fine.  I was wrong.  Cora’s losing it.”

“You can say that again,” Ursula muttered.  “Watch the road.”

The car had drifted while Cruella looked away, and when her head snapped back she overcorrected, as usual, swerving into the opposite lane at eighty miles an hour.  Ursula didn’t bother to twitch, though; driving with Cruella was always an adventure.

“Try not to hit the trees, will you?” she said lightly.  “A car crash would only add to the bruises that the Dark One gave you.”

“Crybaby.”

She just snorted, and then turned serious.  “What do you want to do, Cruella?  Stick with her, or change sides and hope she doesn’t send Rumplestiltskin to murder us?”

“That is the rub, isn’t it?” Cruella scowled, whipping the car around a bend in the road and heading for Maleficent’s mansion.  “We need a bit of insurance on that front.  Even beaten down like he is, Rumple’s far too clever to avoid forever.”

“Too bad Cora doesn’t ever let go of that damn dagger.”

“No kidding.”

It went without saying that they both knew that control of the Dark One was the wildcard that could tip the balance of the war either way; if _they_ could get the dagger, for example, they would be able to destroy Cora at their leisure.  Rumplestiltskin would probably even be grateful to get away from her, though Ursula could think of a thousand and one reasons to _keep_ control of him.  There would be _so_ many advantages to having that kind of power at their disposal!

* * *

 

Henry let Belle into the Nolan house with a smile.  “Hey, Grandma.”

“Belle will do just fine, Henry,” she said, a surprised laugh coming out before she caught herself.  “I’m actually only your step-grandmother, anyway.”

“I know.  But I think Dad likes you better than he liked his mom,” the boy said, and Belle felt her heart melt just a little.  She’d never expected to become a grandparent like this—not for so many years, until Gabrielle married and had children of her own—but she couldn’t imagine having a better grandson than Henry, who was grinning.  “And I _know_ Grandpa Gold likes you better.  You’re his True Love.”

_I guess that’s in his book,_ she thought, feeling the familiar warmth run through her at the thought of her husband.  But the feeling was a little bittersweet, and still mixed with crippling worry.  “Is that what you’ve decided to call him?”

“Do you think he’ll like it?”

“I think he’ll love it,” Belle replied honestly and then forced herself to turn to the reason she’d come.  “So, are your other grandparents here?”

“Yep.  Mom and Mom are both here, too.”  Henry promptly raised his voice and shouted: “Belle’s here!  She wants to talk to people!”

Chuckling, Belle followed as Henry led her into the living room.  Not very long passed before Snow, Charming, Regina, and Emma all piled in, looking as tired and stressed as Belle felt.  _I guess they all live here now,_ Belle thought.  _At least that makes it easy to find everyone._

“Is something wrong?” Snow asked immediately, and at least that gave Belle the opening she needed to address the problem openly.

“Unfortunately, yes.  Jefferson called me yesterday, and Cora knows about our plan to send her to Neverland,” she said.  “She had Grumpy’s heart, and was listening in.”

“Yeah,” David nodded.  “He doesn’t know when she took it, but I guess this tells us that she had it before our war council met.  How did Jefferson know?”

“He didn’t say, though he didn’t know it was Grumpy’s heart she had.  Bae told me about that last night.”

“Great,” Emma muttered.  “Just…great.  Now what are we going to do about her?”

Belle glanced down at her hands, thinking about her conversation with Baelfire the night before.  She’d promised him that she’d wait…but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t plan.  “I have another idea,” she admitted.  “But I’d rather not go into it just yet…just in case.”

“We pulled every heart out of Cora’s vault,” Snow said, sounding a little hurt that Belle didn’t automatically trust them.  True, they had been more accepting of her—and of Bae—than Belle had ever expected (far more so that her father!), but she was still wary. 

_Am I afraid that they will encourage me, or that they’ll try to stop me?_ she wondered, but was saved from answering when Regina spoke up.

“No.  That’s smart.  I wouldn’t put it past Mother to squirrel away a heart or two where no one else can find them,” she said bluntly.  “From what I understand about the contract, anyone related to Rumple is safe, but other than that, any of us could be heartless and not know it.”

Snow turned to look at her sister in surprise.  “Robin woke you with True Love’s kiss. Surely that wouldn’t work without a heart?”

“Anything’s possible.  Until we take Mother down—or at least get Rumple back on our side—there’s no way to know.”  Regina shrugged, and then shot Snow a smile.  “But I did check to make sure I still have my heart, given that I was Mother’s guest for so long.  And I do.”

“That’s a relief,” Snow said, but it gave Belle an idea.

“Couldn’t you do that for others?” she asked.  “I mean, obviously not everyone, but it would give us at least a group of people we knew for sure weren’t being…manipulated.”

Regina blinked, looking at her like she’d never seen her before.  “That’s not a bad idea.  I guess Rumple didn’t just marry a pretty face.”

Leave it to Regina to couple a compliment with an insult, but Belle wasn’t surprised.  She’d worked with Rumple’s star student before, after all, and knew Regina didn’t really mean that.  She knew Belle was smart enough, but probably hadn’t expected her to have such a solid understanding of magic.  So, Belle just gave Regina a droll look and refused to take it personally.  Then a knock on the front door saved her from having to respond at all.

“I’ll get it,” David said, heading out of the room.  Snow exchanged a glance with Regina, and then, surprisingly, followed her husband, leaving Belle alone with just Henry, Regina and Emma.

“Look, I wanted to say I was sorry,” Emma spoke up quietly.  “I didn’t _want_ to shoot Gold, and I hope he’s all right.  But I had to stop him somehow.”

Belle was glad that Bae had told her about this, but she still had to swallow before she could respond.  “I understand,” she whispered.  “It’s just…you have to understand that he doesn’t want to do any of this.  I know people don’t believe that, but he doesn’t have a choice.”

“We know,” Regina cut in.  “I might not know as much about the dagger as I hope you do, but I know he can’t refuse commands Mother gives him.  Besides, it was pretty obvious to anyone with eyes that he was distracting Mother so that she didn’t notice the truck before David ran her over.”

“He was?” Bae hadn’t mentioned that, but then again, maybe he hadn’t seen it.  _Oh, Rumple…_ Her heart broke for her husband, yet again, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces that she wasn’t sure could ever be assembled again.  That, of course, only doubled Belle’s determination to do what had to be done, even if it meant risking her own life.  Rumplestiltskin was worth it.

“Look, I know you and I have never really been friends,” Regina replied quietly.  “But I’ll help you get the dagger back to him.  Somehow.”

That simple offer of help made the tears Belle had held back for days try to rise, and she nodded silently, unable to find words to express her gratitude.  _You have friends, Rumple.  You don’t always believe it, but you do,_ she thought, wanting nothing more than to be able to tell her husband that in person. 

“Emma, you’ve got a visitor,” David’s voice interrupted before Belle had to find an answer, and she looked over to see Hook, of all people, trailing the Charmings into the living room.  “He refused to leave until he saw you.”

The pirate’s eyes flicked around the room while Emma turned to face him.  “Seems you’ve got quite the gathering here, Swan.”

“It’s a family affair,” the sheriff retorted dryly, and that made Belle quirk a smile.  Hook clearly didn’t understand the joke, but his confusion only made it better.  Then, strangely enough, it was _Regina_ who met her gaze, rolling her eyes towards the pirate in an expression of distaste that Belle definitely shared.

“Is there a chance of speaking to you in private?” Hook said after a moment’s hesitation.

“If this is about your betraying Cora, after you told me and Bae in the _street_ that you wanted to help, you might as well just say it,” Emma replied bluntly.  “No one here is on Cora’s side.  Wouldn’t you know if they were?”

“I suppose so,” he shrugged, glancing around once more before speaking.  “I have just come from Cora’s, actually.  She called another meeting.”

“What’s her plan now?” Snow asked immediately.

“It’s more what she _didn’t_ say than what she did, actually,” Hook answered, stuffing his hands in his pockets.  Not for the first time, Belle wondered where Cora had acquired a second hand for him, but she supposed that was a question for another day.  “Cora was firm enough in saying that she’ll destroy you and your family—no offense meant, of course—but she failed to give details, and resorted to intimidation to keep people in line.”

“That’s hardly a new tactic for my mother,” Regina put in dryly.

“Actually, love, it _is_.  These people aren’t allies she frightened into siding with her—like me, they chose Cora because they thought she would _win_ ,” the pirate corrected her.  “The idea was simple enough: heroes always ally to carry the day, so villains should do the same.  But now it’s not working.  Cora’s little alliance is coming apart at the seams because she’s too angry to keep it together.  You can’t use the Dark One against your allies and expect them to want to follow you.”

“You’re saying that her alliance is falling apart?” Emma pressed.

“Aye, it’s starting to.  You won’t see it from the outside for some time yet, but the cracks are forming.”

Everyone in the room exchanged glances, some worried and others contemplative.  Finally, it was Henry who spoke up:  “That’s a good thing, right?”

“It would be if it wasn’t my mother,” Regina growled, but Henry still looked confused.

“Cora will probably get vicious as she grows more desperate,” Belle explained around the lump in her throat.  “I think we all hoped that we’d be able to defeat her without letting her resort to that.”

“I’m not sure she can be much worse,” the ten year old said pointedly.

“She can, lad.”  Surprisingly, that was Hook.  “She can.”

Henry still didn’t look entirely convinced, but he closed his mouth.  Belle didn’t know him as well as either of his mothers—or his adopted father, for that matter—but even she could tell that Henry was thinking about _something._   Regina, Emma, and David all glanced at the boy and then at one another, obviously thinking the same thing, but no one asked. 

The gathering broke up shortly after that, though Belle thought for a moment that Hook wanted to say something to her before he left.  The pirate hesitated, watching her for just a moment, and then shook his head and departed.  Belle was glad to see that, because she really hadn’t wanted to talk to him.  The last meaningful conversation between the two of them had wound up with her falling through some broken stairs while she ran away from Hook, and while Belle didn’t completely blame the pirate for that one, she hadn’t forgotten what he’d been after, either.  _Hook wanted the dagger,_ Belle thought grimly.  _He might be helping us—or Emma—now, but that doesn’t mean he’s any less a villain._

“Hey,” Emma said to her, catching Belle’s arm before she could leave.  “Is, uh, Bae at home?”

“He’s watching Gabi,” Belle confirmed.  “But he’ll be free as soon as I get there, if you’re looking for him.”

A tentative smile crossed the Savior’s face.  “Is it all right if I stop by?”

“Of course it is,” she replied, her heart skipping a beat in excitement for her stepson’s sake.  “Bae will be happy to see you.”

Did Emma blush?  It was hard to tell when she turned away so quickly, mumbling and embarrassed thanks as Henry grinned from ear to ear.  Belle didn’t have to be a Seer to know what was going to happen that afternoon, so she headed home.  And didn’t say a word to Baelfire.

* * *

 

Two hours later, Henry made his decision.

Both his mothers had headed out.  If he was going to sneak away, this was the time to do it.  David and Snow were downstairs, talking about something or another—probably how to beat the Evil Queen, since that was all pretty much anyone talked about in this house these days—and Henry knew that they were distracted.  They were worried, as well they should be, because Cora was _dangerous_.  He’d been saying that for almost a year, ever since Belle had given him the Book, but no one had really grasped it until Emma had shown up and his mom had woken up.  But Regina had headed out to talk to Maleficent, hoping that the dragon sorceress would join them, while Emma had gone to talk to his other dad.  He knew exactly what Emma was going to do, even if Emma hadn’t said, and Henry thought it was fantastic.

But it wasn’t going to be _fast_ enough.  Sure, she and Baelfire would get married and then that would protect Emma, Snow, and David, too, but how long would it take them to get married?  Something had to be done soon, and Henry couldn’t believe that the adults hadn’t figured out the easiest way to defeat Cora.

He had, though, which was why Henry had climbed out the window and was ready to do what had to be done.  He’d done this before, swinging out to the tree near his room and scrambling down, and the second time was even easier than the first.  After all, he’d been carrying his backpack and the Book last time.  This time he only needed himself.  And maybe a way to get a ride towards the edge of town, because otherwise it would be a _really_ long walk.

Maybe Ruby would give him a ride if he got to the diner.  She was usually pretty good about helping out, Henry decided as he hopped to the ground.  Robin wouldn’t be a good option because he’d know exactly where Henry wanted to go, and he probably wouldn’t take him.  Granny wouldn’t, either, but Grumpy had a van.  Or he could get Doc to take him in his Miata—

“Henry Daniel Nolan, what _are_ you doing?” a voice said before he could even turn away from the tree, and Henry whirled around to find his adopted dad staring down at him, hands on his hips and a look on his face that said he remembered the last time Henry had snuck out like this.

He thought fast.  “Um…going for ice cream?”

“Good try.  The ice cream shop is closed, remember?” David said, and Henry’s heart sank.  “Next excuse?”

Growing up, even with both his parents cursed, Regina had always been the disciplinarian.  This side of David, the quick-witted and forceful side, was one that Henry wasn’t used to, and it was a little unsettling.  He _liked_ David like this—when he wasn’t catching Henry sneaking out, anyway—but differences of this sort were the reason why Henry found it easier to call David ‘Gramps’ than ‘Dad’.  The dad he’d grown up with had kind of been swallowed by Prince Charming, and while Charming was infinitely cooler, sometimes Henry missed the dad who had played video games with him and let him get away with pretty much anything.

“I wanted to go talk to Belle.  About the Book,” he tried again, this time careful to come up with a more plausible excuse.

“I doubt that.”  David gave him a hard look.  “Your Book is on the kitchen table, and Belle was over here earlier.  Tell me the truth.”

Swallowing hard, Henry decided that if anyone understood, Charming should.  _He_ knew about taking risks to protect those he loved, and Henry was only going to do what had to be done.

“I’m going to see the Evil Queen,” he answered, squaring his shoulders.  “She doesn’t know that the contract applies to me, too, and after what happened yesterday, she’s going to want to lock me up to get at Mom.  Then Grandpa Gold will get the dagger back, and everything will be okay.”

“Oh, Henry…” David sighed.  “You know none of us are going to let you do that.”

“But it’s the fastest way to defeat her!  I’m not a little kid, and I can help.  She doesn’t know, and—”

“And what if she tries to hurt you?”

Henry shrugged.  “That’ll make her lose the dagger, too.”

“You do know that the contract won’t actually _protect_ you, right?” his dad/grandfather asked.  “Cora would still kill you, even if it would break the contract, and I can’t let that happen.”

“She didn’t kill me last time.  She just put me under a Nightmare Curse.”

“That’s not a ‘just’, Henry.  Not at all.”

“But I’m okay!” he protested.  “And the Evil Queen won’t go after Belle or Bae—or even Emma once she realizes she and Bae are married—because she _knows_ that’ll break the contract.  But she doesn’t know about me yet.  Please, let me _help_.”

Taking him by the shoulder, David tugged him towards the house, and Henry let his dad lead him inside.  He didn’t _want_ to go, but he knew that expression.  Even David Nolan had worn it from time to time, and it told Henry that he really wasn’t going to win.  _I can always run away later,_ he decided.  _They can’t watch me_ all _the time._

“I know what you’re thinking,” David said gently.  “You’re thinking that you can get away later, and try again.”

“I—why would I think that?”

“Because I know you.  But you can’t do this.  I know it seems like the best idea from where you’re standing, but you have to understand that _you_ are the one person who holds this family of ours together.  Without you, the alliance we’re building won’t work at all.  And it would break _all_ of our hearts if Cora hurt you at all.”

“But…”

“Especially mine,” David continued, and Henry looked up to meet his grandfather’s eyes.  “I know this is hard because I’m so different, but I’m not going to stop caring for you just because I’m your grandfather and I’m not quite the same man I was when I was your dad, okay?  I love you, Henry.  We all do.  But if you can’t promise me—and I mean give me your solemn word—that you won’t try to sneak out again, I’m going to have to ground you.”

“I don’t love you any less because you’re not the same,” Henry said quietly, feeling awkward.

“I know that.”

David hugged him, and for a moment, Henry just held on tightly.  He understood what David was saying, even if he didn’t agree—he was still the only one who _could_ tempt Cora into unknowingly breaking the contract, and someone had to do something soon.  But he knew enough about the way things had been in the Enchanted Forest to know that this side of the family hadn’t always gotten along with Rumplestiltskin, and if Henry was the one thing that held _their_ alliance together, he wasn’t going to mess that up.

“I promise not to sneak out and try to find the Evil Queen again,” he finally said.

He’d just have to find another way to help. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly early update since I’ll be away tomorrow. I hope no one minds. ;) Also, a bit of information if you’re interested—I’m anticipating 102-103 chapters total. I’m nearly done with Chapter 101 now, so we’re definitely approaching the end game.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Ninety-Four—“Breaking Barriers,” in which Emma goes to tell Baelfire what she’s decided, Regina visits Maleficent, Cora tries to send the Jabberwocky after a new target, Zelena gets some revenge, and Belle reconciles with her father. A little.


	94. Breaking Barriers

“I turned the bug around twice and did six laps around town before I managed to drive here, so you’d better let me in before I run away,” Emma said as Bae opened the door, making him blink.

“Come in, then,” he said, stepping out of the way despite his confusion.  Belle had come back from the Charmings’ house earlier in decent spirits—or at least as good as she seemed to be most of the time, given what was going on—and Bae hadn’t thought any disasters were brewing.  _Then again, the way things change in this town, you never know,_ he thought.  “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah.”  Emma shoved her hands into her pockets as he closed the door, looking everywhere but at him.  “I just…I suck at this, okay?”

“Suck at what?  You seem to be doing everything pretty well to me,” Bae said, still utterly lost.

“Relationships.  Caring.”  Biting her lip, Emma looked up at him. “After I got out of jail, I promised myself that it would be just me.  That it wouldn’t matter.  I knew I could do fine on my own, because I was never going to let someone in like that again.”

Hearing that gutted him.  Had he screwed up her entire life?  Bae had always tried to tell himself that a girl like Emma would find a guy that actually deserved her, someone great who would be everything he hadn’t been, and who would stand by her regardless of where she was from.  He’d been too much of a coward to do that when he should have, and Bae had always known that he deserved her hatred for that. 

“I’m sorry,” he said for the hundredth time, knowing that he could say that a thousand times more and it would never be enough.

“I’m not asking for an apology,” Emma shook her head before Bae could continue. “I’m trying to make you understand, okay?”

“All right,” Bae nodded, making himself shut up.

“I tried anyway,” Emma admitted.  “I got in a couple of relationships, and after a while, I started thinking it was me.  I didn’t really _want_ to stay with any of them.  The first guy who ever seemed real enough to fall for was Graham, and it turned out that Cora had his heart the entire time.  At least that one wasn’t me, but it made me start to realize what the problem was.”

“I—” he started, only to have Emma cut him off.

“Will you shut up, Neal?  I’m trying to tell you that the problem was that they weren’t _you_.  I wasn’t just young and dumb when we were together.  I was in love with _you_ ,” she said hurriedly, and Bae felt his eyes go wide as his mouth hung open.  “I spent a lot of years telling myself that you were a dirtbag and you never loved me, and then here you are, trying to save the damn day and suddenly _not_ what I thought you were.  Then you ask me to marry you, and you try to be all gentlemanly and say it can just be on paper if it’s not what I want, and that we can end it after everyone is safe…”

She trailed off with a shuddering breath, and Bae kept quiet for a long moment to make sure he wasn’t interrupting again.  Finally, when Emma seemed at a loss for words, he offered: “It can be, you know.  We can even get a pre-nup that says that if you want.”

“I don’t,” Emma whispered.  “That’s why I waited so long.  It would have been a lot easier if I didn’t want to.”

“Didn’t want to…what?” he asked cautiously, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

Finally, Emma’s eyes found his, and they were wide and a little frightened—rather like Bae felt at the moment, actually.  They stared at one another in spooked silence for a long moment, each afraid to scare the other away, until she finally said:

“I want to marry you.  Not just as a contract.  You.”  She bit her lip, and then shrugged a little self-effacingly.  “Maybe we’ll fall apart in a few years.  Or even months.  But I want to give it a go.  We were…pretty good, once.”

Her admission struck him speechless, and all Bae could manage to stutter was: “You’re…you’re serious?”  

“If you just want it to be on paper, that’s okay.”  Emma looked ready to run away.  “I mean—I didn’t—”

“Emma, I want to marry you.  I love you,” he said quickly.  “I might have been a cowardly asshole to run away from you, but that never changed.”

“Oh,” she whispered, and they stared at one another for another very long moment, neither knowing what to say.  Finally, Bae decided to go for broke.

“Will you punch me if I try to kiss you?” he asked with a crooked smile.

Emma’s lips twitched into a grin.  “Come find out.”

She didn’t punch him.

* * *

 

Mal’s sitting room looked exactly like it had during the curse…with the exception of the old-fashioned bassinette holding her sleeping daughter.  Before the curse, Regina had never understood how motherhood could change her friend so much, but now she decided that it looked good on Maleficent.  She was no less dangerous, but she wasn’t afraid to show that she _cared_ , and Regina could see something coming back to life within Maleficent.  Whatever Stefan had taken from her all those years ago was blooming within her heart, and Regina was happy for her.

“I understand that you made some sort of deal with my mother,” she said delicately, watching Mal watch Lilith.

“She had my daughter,” her old friend replied defensively.

“Hey, I’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t have,” Regina answered quickly.  “I get it, all right?  I’d walk through fire to keep Henry safe.”

“Fire is hardly a danger to me,” Maleficent replied dryly, finally looking at her.  “But I see your meaning.  Yes, I made a deal with your mother to remain neutral.  She kept her end of the bargain, for once.”

“How neutral is neutral?”

A small smile tugged on Maleficent’s face.  “Well…I might have promised her that I wouldn’t act against _her_ when it actually came time to make our deal.  I think Cora was a little too concerned about my desire to roast her alive to argue with my phrasing.”

“I wish you _had_ roasted her,” Regina muttered before she could stop herself.  Years ago, she would have flinched at the idea of her mother’s murder, but now she knew it was necessary.  Regina still didn’t want to do the deed herself, but she would shed very few tears at her mother’s grave.  _If any_.

“What are you here for, Regina?” Mal asked bluntly.  “Are you here to say hello to an old friend, or because you want help?”

“Both, of course.”  She shrugged.  “I’ll settle for the former if it’s all you can give, but I’d have to be stupid not to want a dragon on our side.”

“You and the heroes, you mean.  That same sister of yours who rejected my _last_ offer of assistance?”

“Snow has learned her lesson,” Regina replied, wishing she could go back in time and kick her little sister for that stupid choice.  At least Snow and Charming hadn’t done anything _else_ back then, aside from alienating Maleficent when she’d offered to help try to stop the curse. 

“Has she?” the other sorceress asked archly.

“Yes.  Hell, we’re working with Rumple’s son and his bookworm wife, too, so it’s fairly safe to say that Snow and Charming have both become a little more open-minded,” she said firmly.  “They’re finally starting to understand that there are degrees of evil, and that you’re more of a softy than you let on.”

That last line brought a scowl to Maleficent’s face. “I’ve killed people for saying such things,” she growled.

“Trying to kill me would wake your daughter up,” Regina smiled sweetly.  “Besides, I know how hard it is to get them to sleep at that age.”

“Of course you do.  How _is_ your son?”

“Planning something sneaky.  He gets that from the other side of the family, unfortunately—Snow and Charming wouldn’t know sneaky if it crept up and bit them.”

That finally made Maleficent laugh, and their eyes met.  Yes, the old friendship was still there, and Regina could see that Mal had just been testing her, trying to see how deeply into the ‘heroes’ side Regina was, or if she retained enough of her old darkness to understand.  Regina had always walked the line between dark and light, tugged one way by her mother and the other by her sister, finally finding a balance that she instinctively knew Mal envied.  After a few moments, Mal spoke pensively:

“It so happens that my rather specific promise might just leave Cora’s _allies_ out in the cold, so to speak,” she mused.  “Or, where the fire is hottest, if you prefer.”

“Now you’re talking,” Regina grinned. 

“What do you have in mind?”

“I thought we’d start quietly.  We don’t want to waste our best hole card on something small, so all I really want right now is backup.  If things start to get hot, well…can you come make them a little bit hotter?”

Mal’s blue eyes gleamed.  “That would be my pleasure.  You don’t mind if I roast your half-sister, do you?  She’s a horrific bitch.”

“My boyfriend shot her in the face yesterday,” she said lightly.  “Roast away.”

Part of Regina might always mourn for what she _could_ have had with Zelena, but Snow was her sister.  _Snow_ treated her like sisters should treat one another.  Zelena just wanted to be in Cora’s good graces so badly that she didn’t care who she hurt.  So, Regina would mourn for Zelena if she died, but she wouldn’t cry too hard if Zelena insisted on fighting alongside the woman who wanted to kill everyone Regina loved.

“Lovely,” Mal purred.  “I don’t suppose your family’s new open-mindedness applies to my friends as well, does it?  Because I can tell you for a fact that Cruella and Ursula are none too pleased with your mother right now, and they might be interested in a new arrangement.”

“Snow and Charming can bite me if they don’t like it,” Regina shrugged, knowing that she could bring the pair around to reason.  “And, if Cruella and Ursula prefer just to be neutral instead of throwing in with us, we can work with that, too.”

Regina had never played this kind of game before—this was usually Rumple’s role—which was why it didn’t occur to her that those two would never really _stay_ neutral.  Oh, they’d make promises galore, and maybe even mean it, but eventually, Cruella would get bored and Ursula would be dragged along for the ride.  Mal might or might not go along with them, particularly now that she had a daughter to protect, but eventually, the other two Queens of Darkness would become a problem. 

However, even if she had thought of that at the time, she still would have made the offer.  They needed to deal with Cora, first.  Anyone else was just a secondary problem.

* * *

 

“Do you think I’m crazy?” Jabber asked flatly, reading the subtle lines of fear emanating out of the Evil Queen.  Oh, anyone else would not have seen it, but Jabber _fed_ on fear, and she could see the way Cora’s cold exterior was starting to fracture.  Had the woman actually had her own heart in her chest, the fear would have been so much more radiant, but unfortunately, Cora’s heart was in some location Jabber had been unable to find, and she was thus much more…muted.

“Excuse me?” Cora asked, staring at her incredulously.

“You want me to go after Ursula, all in order to frighten _Cruella_ into line,” Jabber drawled, ignoring the warning signs flashing around Cora.  “Firstly, you’re forgetting that Cruella generally doesn’t feel empathy for anyone, even her lover.  Secondly, have you forgotten the _dragon_ that Ursula lives with?  If I go after her, I’m likely to get roasted.”

“If you don’t, you’re likely to get hurt,” Cora snapped.

Jabber rolled her eyes.  “Try threatening someone else with your pet.”

She felt a little sorry for the Dark One; he stood behind Cora’s right shoulder, absolutely radiating pain and fear.  His fears had nothing to do with her, but Jabber could tell that Rumplestiltskin was very close to snapping.  There was a deal between them, one she intended to keep if Cora was ever foolish enough to try order her around without the Vorpal Blade in hand, but for now, she could do nothing for him.  _And he can do nothing for me,_ she thought irritably.  _Particularly if she keeps hammering him like this.  Then he’ll be useless, particularly if his inner demon_ wins _and I’m left with an entity of nothing save darkness that won’t bother to keep our deal._

“Would you prefer to be pinned to a wall for another century or so?” Cora purred, suddenly back on balance.  The Evil Queen was every bit as dangerous and unfeeling as Cruella, but in her case, it was because she _wanted_ to be unfeeling.  Oh, the tiny cracks were still there, but now her anger had overcome her fears, and Jabber had to be careful.

“Not particularly,” she answered, backing away a step.  “But I won’t be very useful to you if I get charbroiled, either.  Give me another target, one I can actually _reach_.”

Cora’s eyes narrowed ominously, but she didn’t insist on Ursula.  Not that day, anyway.  Instead, she sent Jabber after one of the idiot kings who were still arguing over who got to ‘rule’ which section of Storybrooke.  Jabber didn’t argue.  A meal was a meal, and the man’s son was smarter than he was, anyway. 

* * *

 

Her face still hurt a little.

Rumplestiltskin’s healing job had left no _visual_ reminders of the arrow that had pierced her left cheek and punched straight through right, but her face was still sore.  _I should punish him for that later,_ Zelena decided, and then spent several gleeful moments thinking about how she would make the Dark One suffer.  Surely her mother would be done with him by this evening; Cora had said she had other plans, and it was certainly Zelena’s turn!  Still, she had the entire afternoon to waste, and when she’d gone looking for the outlaw who had dared to shoot her, he hadn’t been home.  She’d thought about doing a tracking spell to find him, but then she would have had to figure out what in the apartment belonged to him and what had belonged to his gigantic roommate, which would have just been a hassle.  Besides, Zelena knew she could find him soon enough.  Or she could just make Rumple do it, which was a far more appetizing thought.

Still, she was _bored_.  Someone needed to suffer for Regina’s escape, but her mother had forbade her from going after Regina!  Zelena knew that she could beat her sister; she’d already done it once and then cursed her later for good measure, which meant there was no way Regina would ever get the upper hand.  But Cora had ‘other plans’ for Regina, which left Zelena trying not to pout.  That might have disappointed mother, just like the fact that Regina had gotten away while Zelena was supposed to be keeping an eye on her definitely had. Cora hadn’t said much, but Zelena knew that her mother was unhappy, and she desperately wanted to fix that.

_If that stupid puppet hadn’t distracted me with a foolish tale about authors and—_

Suddenly, Zelena sat up straight.  “That little rat!” she swore, her rage making the room around her shake.  It was obvious, now.  The heroes had wanted her out of the way.  August had distracted her on purpose!

Teleporting herself across town and straight into the puppet’s father’s apartment was easy.  Zelena was a little surprised to see Geppetto in there, too, but in the end, she didn’t much care.  The two had apparently been eating a late lunch, but as far as she was concerned, the fact that the puppet-maker was around was just dessert.

“Hello, doll,” she smiled at August as the former puppet lurched to his feet, eyes wide and terrified.  His father did the same, moving more cautiously, but no less afraid.

“Zelena—I—what can we do for you?” August aske shakily.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she cooed.  “I’m not here to take anyone’s heart.”

“That’s, uh, really good to know.”

“I’m here to kill you,” she said, just to watch them both jump.  And jump they did—Geppetto lunged for the phone, which she swept out of his reach with magic, and August tried to get between his father and her.  Flicking her hands carelessly, Zelena pinned them to opposite walls, grinning as both fought unsuccessfully against her magic.

“You can’t—” August tried to argue. “Not my father.  Please, not my father.”

She cocked her head at him, enjoying his pleading.  “Ooooh, poor baby.  You shouldn’t have tried to trick me if you didn’t want dear old daddy to die.”

“Please!”

“No.”

Zelena felt much better after two dead bodies hit the floor.  _There.  That will remind_ everyone _in this miserable little town that I’m not someone to be trifled with, and Mother will be proud of me,_ she thought, walking out the front door of the apartment and down the stairs.  She left the door open and passed several people on her way—all of whom skittered out of her path with gratifying haste—because what did she have to hide?  Her mother _owned_ Storybrooke, and Zelena wanted them to fear her, too.

* * *

 

Belle was quite certain that she’d never heard Emma Swan _giggling_ before, but it was a nice sound.  Even though her own heart was heavy and Belle found being optimistic harder and harder every day, hearing someone _else_ be happy actually served to lift her spirits.  She didn’t have to go into the living room to learn that Emma must have said yes to Bae’s proposal; the pair sounded far too gleeful to be anything but engaged.  _He loves her so much,_ Belle thought, staying in the kitchen and cutting up vegetables for stew.  Bae tried not to talk about how much he loved Emma, but like his father, once he opened up, his feelings were so very obvious if you knew what to look for.  

Sometimes, a tiny sense of envy would rear up, but Belle managed to quash it as she listened to the pair laugh.  She preferred to share joy rather than resent those that had it, and she knew that they would find a way to free Rumplestiltskin soon.  _In fact, Bae and Emma’s happiness might just be the key to that,_ she thought, pulling out celery to chop.  After all, Bae had told her that Cora had ordered Rumple to kill Emma during the brawl in front of town hall, and knowing Cora, she’d want to finish that job soon.  If those two could get married first, even if it was just a quick marriage certificate with a ceremony coming later, that might end everything.

Belle knew that Bae wanted her to wait because of that.  She _knew_ that he didn’t want her to put herself out in the open, which Belle felt was a little bit of a double standard.  Sure, Emma was tough and apparently had magic, but Belle wasn’t some wilting wallflower who was afraid to stand up to—

The sudden ringing of the phone cut her off, and Belle reached for it with a sigh.  “Hello?”

“Belle?” her father’s voice came from the other end, and her heart sank.  Belle knew she should be brave, but she really wasn’t emotionally equipped to deal with this right now.  “Sweetheart, are you there?”

Swallowing hard, Belle forced herself to answer.  “I’m here.”

“I wanted…I wanted to apologize.  I don’t want to be cut out of your life again, even if it means I have to accept that—that—Gold.”

She had to give her father a few points for managing _not_ to call Rumple a beast, but Belle was still wary.  She had to be, between Lacey’s terrible memories of Moe French kicking her out and Belle’s own experiences with her father’s prejudices.  She wanted to believe him, but common sense told her that one conversation, even if it included a metaphorical kick in the pants from Baelfire, was not going to mend their broken relationship.

“Are you only saying that because he’s not around right now?” she had to ask.

“Sweeting—”

“Answer me, Papa,” Belle cut him off, her voice hard.

“It makes it easier, yes,” her father replied.  “I won’t lie about that.”

“And when he comes back?” she pressed.  “I _love_ Rumplestiltskin.  He’s my husband, and the father of my child.  And you owe him an apology for almost killing him.”

“He seemed fine soon enough,” was the mulish response to that.

“Because _I_ brought magic here so that he wouldn’t die!” Belle burst out, remembering how terrified and how lost she had been that day.  She would bring magic to Storybrooke a thousand times, even knowing what the eventual cost would be.  Cora might have been using that magic to control Rumplestiltskin with the dagger now, but Rumple was alive.  And so was Baelfire.  _While there’s life, there’s hope,_ she told herself, trying to calm down.

“You…why would you do that, Belle?”

“Because I love him!” She was perilously close to shouting, but Belle didn’t care.   “Why can’t you understand that?”

There was a long silence on the other end, and she started to wonder if Maurice had hung up.  Then she started to wonder if she _wanted_ him to.  Finally, he said: “It’s a lot to get used to.  I suppose…I suppose I don’t understand it.”

“Well, at least that’s honest,” she said bitterly, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

“I do want to apologize, Belle.  I don’t want to lose you.”

Oh, those were the words she so very much wanted to hear, but there was something else that Belle had hoped her father would mention—but now it was clear he would not.  “David told me that you asked for their help ‘rescuing’ me.”

“Why would he tell you that?”  There was so much shock in his voice that Belle could picture Maurice standing open-mouthed on the other end of the line.

“We’re friends,” she retorted, figuring that calling David a friend was easier than explaining that David’s daughter was going to marry her stepson.  Or that they already had Henry tying the two families together.  Her father really didn’t need to know that, particularly if he still wanted to rescue her behind her back.

“He told me you aren’t trapped there,” her father said quietly.  “That you’ve been helping them fight Cora.”

“Of course I have.”  Belle felt a little offended.  “Did you think I was just hiding in the house?”

“I thought you were a prisoner.”

“I’ve never been Rumple’s prisoner.  Well, except maybe in the beginning,” she allowed.  “But even then, he treated me well.”  _Even if he was busy coming up with excuses for the little kindnesses he offered._   “Then, as I got to know him, I fell in love with him.  That’s why I went back after he let me go.”

“He let you go?” Maurice sounded almost too shocked for words.

“He did.  I traveled for two months, and I had a few adventures,” Belle smiled, remembering.  “But I went back, because I loved him.  And that’s why I’ve stayed.  Rumple isn’t as terrible as his reputation would suggest, Papa.  He’d never keep me with him against his will.”

“I guess I have a lot to learn, my girl,” he said quietly, and Belle felt a huge weight lifting off of her shoulders.  It wasn’t a perfect answer, but at least it was a start.

“Maybe we can talk sometime, then,” she replied.  “After…after things quiet down.”

Belle wasn’t going to let her father back into her life without reservations, but she _did_ want to give him another chance.  Perhaps she was too kind, but she didn’t like being at odds with her beloved papa—provided he was willing to accept her for who and what she was.  Accepting her family came along with that, as did apologizing to Rumplestiltskin.  She would make that clear when they met face to face.  _After we get Rumple back,_ she decided.  Belle could only face one crisis in her life at a time, and Rumplestiltskin had to be her priority.  Her father could wait.

After all, even though Maurice didn’t know it, the terms of Rumplestiltskin and Cora’s contract specifically prevented the Evil Queen from going after him, too.

* * *

 

“What did Regina want?” Cruella drawled, dropping into the chair across from Maleficent.  Ursula followed at a more sedate pace, as usual, but flounced  into the chair with greater drama.  Also as usual.

Lily was upstairs in her own room and asleep by now; Mal was in her office going over the books and trying to decide if she wanted to go into some less repulsive business.  Of course, she _could_ remain a Madam, just with a far more voluntary workforce; there had been plenty of ‘ladies of the night’ in the Enchanted Forest, and many of them preferred that trade to the ones the curse had given them.  Ironically enough, she’d been approached by two of them who definitely did _not_ want to go back to their old pimps, and who thought that working for a dragon-sorceress might be an excellent career choice.  The heroes wouldn’t like it, but every town had a seedy underbelly, and Maleficent merely had to decide if she wanted to own Storybrooke’s or not.

“An alliance, of course,” she replied airily, sitting back in her chair and studying her friends.  Yes, they’d enjoy the project of eliminating Storybrooke’s rancid troupe of pimps, too, wouldn’t they?  None of the Queens of Darkness liked that type, and they were more prone to sympathizing with the downtrodden ‘bad’ types than the good. 

“You told her about that promise of yours, of course,” Ursula said, reaching out to claim a handful of M&Ms out of the bowl on Mal’s desk. 

“I did.  I also told her that said promise didn’t govern you…and that I only promised Cora that I wouldn’t act against _her_.”

“You might have mentioned that to us earlier, darling,” Cruella grumbled.

“Did I forget to mention it?” She shrugged innocently.  “So sorry.”

They were friends, and always would be, but they did enjoy making one another _work_ for it.

“You’re giving us a way out,” Ursula said bluntly.

“I believe I just did.  Regina says her little allies would shut up about it if she told them to.”

Cruella snorted.  “Fat chance.  They hate us.”

“They hate Cora more,” Maleficent countered.  “She’s using Rumplestiltskin far too effectively, and no one appreciates having the full power of the Dark One turned against them.”

“I certainly didn’t,” was the grumbled response, and Ursula nodded in agreement. 

“That bitch needs to go down.  Zelena was already crazy, but Cora isn’t going to leave room for anyone else to have power in this town,” the Sea Witch said. 

“And I think we all know that we don’t want that,” Maleficent added smoothly.  “So, are we agreed, then?  Nauseating as it is, we shall help the heroes...and then make our own way?”

Her friends exchanged glances before nodding, and Maleficent proceeded to tell them about the young women who had approached them.  She’d already been half of a mind to kill Fagin; she could guess where Lilith had been, and although her daughter didn’t have any serious health issues, she’d been able to detect subtle signs of neglect.  Doing so would leave a gaping hole in Storybrooke’s underworld, however, and if they were ready to step into that gap…well, things could get very interesting.

Let the heroes think they were simply working for the greater good.  By the time this little war against Cora was over, the Queens of Darkness would be _the_ hidden power in Storybrooke, and there would be nothing Snow White or her handsome prince could do about that.

* * *

 

“You want to go out and get dinner?” Bae asked about the same time Belle hung up the phone.  “You, me, and Henry, I mean?  He probably deserves to be the first to know.”

Emma went a little pale.  “He’s going to be, um…”

“Enthusiastic?” he found himself smiling.  “I’ve known the kid for, what, nine days?  Even I can tell you he’ll be over the moon.”

“He’s always reminded me of you,” she said quietly, looking away.

“Hey, if you want to wait before we tell anyone—”

“No,” Emma cut him off.  “That was half the reason for doing this _now_ , right?  I mean, an engagement isn’t covered by the contract, so we need to tell Henry and get on with this.”

“Right.”  Part of Bae wondered if he ever would have convinced her to marry him under other circumstances—short of going to Tallahassee in the first place—yet he knew that was an answer he might never have.  _Provided we work out, I guess it doesn’t matter,_ he thought, trying to be pragmatic.  The possibility of marrying the woman he loved should have elated him, but man, things were complicated.  “You know, we should take this slow.  Aside from the getting married part, I mean.”

Emma snorted.  “You mean, like you still want to date after we get that little piece of paper signed?”

“If you’ll have me,” he said honestly.

“A few dates would be nice,” she replied, sounding almost whimsical.   “We never really got to do that.  More like we were just…um, running and breaking the law.  But real dates could be good.”  Then she grinned.  “Can you steal some of those millions your dad supposedly has squirreled away?”

“ _Millions?_ ”

“He’s the richest guy in town.  You think he got this huge pink mansion by accident?”

“Well, not so much accident as the curse.  Pop’s never been into pink, so I guess that I thought that was the curse or Belle’s doing.”

Emma laughed.  “I don’t think she’s a pink kind of girl, either.”

“So, um, a date.  What do you want to do?” Bae asked, trying to figure out what else there was to do in this town.  There was Granny’s, but that was a diner.  And the ice cream shoppe was now closed.  They’d already done the Italian place, but there was supposedly some Indian restaurant that he hadn’t been able to find yet.  Storybrooke really was a sucky place to date a girl compared to New York, but at least the girl in question was a hell of a lot better than Tamara.

“Aren’t you supposed to surprise me with that?”

“What, has being surrounded by medieval people suddenly made you less modern?” he shot back, and they laughed again.

Eventually, they settled on breakfast at Granny’s, but this time with Henry along so that they could tell him what they were planning.  Then they’d go tie the knot, and figure out where that meant life was going to take them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Ninety-Five—“Null and Void”, in which Bae searches for a ring, Cora attempts to mend fences with Regina, Jafar and Jefferson go on another trip, Emma and Bae break the news to Henry, and Cora sends Rumplestiltskin after someone he desperately does not want to hurt.
> 
> In other news, I finished the first draft of the last few chapters, and the final chapter count will be 102! I’ve got a few tweaks left to make, and probably a handful of scenes left to add (I typically wind up finding a few when chapters are done), but FOTS102 will definitely be the last chapter.
> 
> A note for ROC readers—I couldn’t get the next chapter of ROC done last night because I got caught up finishing FOTS, but expect it on Wednesday. :)


	95. Null and Void

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Semi-graphic descriptions of violence/torture this chapter. But it pays off in the end.

Co-parenting with her brother-in-law and her niece was strangely easy.  Regina was used to having David around, of course, but Emma was a bit of a wildcard, particularly since Emma had wound up moving into the Nolan house along with her parents.  Not that Regina begrudged Snow and David for wanting to have their daughter in the same house—or that she really minded—but it was just…odd.  The house was plenty big (it had eight bedrooms, which still left them with four empties to spare), and it did make sharing Henry a lot easier, but there were still times when Regina really wondered how they was going to cope with this long-term or if the wheels would snap off one day and their odd little family would fall apart.

However, at the moment, it certainly made things easier.  Regina had agreed to watch Roland that morning while Robin tried to sort out some mess or another at the fire department, but she hadn’t remembered that it was a teacher work day at the school at the time.  David was interviewing new employees for the shelter, so he’d be busy, and Snow was going to be hearing disputes all morning.  _It really is amazing how many things people can find to complain about when we’re still battling for_ control _of the damn town,_ she thought, straightening her jacket.  People would run scared if Cora so much as looked at them, but they were happy to hound Snow for days over stupid little arguments like why the newspaper hadn’t been delivered. 

“Got a date?” Emma teased her as the later walked downstairs. 

“Hardly,” Regina rolled her eyes.  “I’m babysitting.”

“For Robin?”

“No, for the postman.  Of course for Robin.”  _Just ask her, Regina.  Don’t hesitate because you’re embarrassed that you forgot something,_ she told herself firmly.  _This isn’t a competition to find out who can be Henry’s best mom._   Trying to sound casual, she asked: “Do I need to bring Henry with me, or can you watch him?”

“Mom, I’m ten, not two!” Predictably, Henry had walked into the room at the wrong moment, scowling.  “I can watch myself.”

Emma’s eye roll was perfectly timed to match hers’, and they exchanged long-suffering looks.  “I can watch him,” Emma said.  “Besides, Henry and I have a breakfast date with his dad.”

“You do?” Regina asked, just as Henry echoed:

“We do?”

“Yup.  It was supposed to be a surprise, but those never seem to last in this family,” Emma shrugged. 

“Tell me about it,” Regina muttered, thinking on her own situation.  Snow had been ecstatic when she’d learned that Robin had woken Regina up with True Love’s kiss, and Regina had an awful feeling that her sister was already halfway done with planning her wedding.  She’d shared dinner with Robin last night, and it had been wonderful, but Regina still wanted a little bit more time to get her feet under herself before making any kind of crazy commitment like that.

_I think I’m the only one of Henry’s mothers that has_ that _desire, though,_ she thought, glancing Emma’s way.  Yes, there was definitely something that Emma wasn’t saying, and Regina hadn’t forgotten about the contract.  She could figure out what Emma had decided, but she’d let the younger woman tell her in her own time.  There was no need to press.

Besides, she was already running late.

* * *

 

“You’re telling me that there isn’t a real jewelry store in this town,” Bae said incredulously as Belle unlocked the pawn shop.

“No, there is,” she answered, making herself smile as she turned the lights on.  Belle hadn’t set foot in the shop since the day Rumplestiltskin had given up the dagger, and she’d really wanted to stay away until they came up with a way to get him back.  But this was important, so she shoved her sick emptiness aside.  “It’s just full of cheap costume jewelry, nothing nice.”

“So you’re taking me to the _pawn_ shop?” her stepson said.  “No offense to Papa and all, given that his name is on the sign, but I doubt there’s going to be anything better here.”

“You might be surprised,” Belle answered, leading him towards the jewelry cases in the front.  “And besides, _you’re_ the one who waited until this morning to have a bit of a fit over not having a ring for Emma.  Good luck trying to get Juvelisto’s to open before eight, anyway.”

Bae groaned, but obligingly went over to look at the case full of rings.  The ones in the front case were the non-magical ones, of course; Rumple had done an inventory shortly after she’d brought magic and move the cursed and/or enchanted rings into the back.  As near as they’d been able to tell, these rings were all from the Land Without Magic; they’d appeared like the guitars and antique telephones when the curse had built the pawn shop.  Not everything in there had belonged to someone back home, after all.  Just most of it.

“There’s some pretty neat stuff in here, actually,” he admitted after a moment, and Belle stifled a laugh.

“That’s what you get for deciding that I don’t know what I’m doing,” she teased him, and was rewarded by a nervous smile.

“I still can’t believe she said yes.  I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and she’ll have changed her mind.”

“I don’t think Emma’s that type,” Belle said as reasonably as she could, even though she knew it wouldn’t calm his nerves.

“Not unless I get her a really crappy ring, anyway!”

They laughed together, and spent the next forty-five minutes trying to find a ring that would suit Emma Swan.  There really were a surprising number of rings in the shop—over two hundred, according to the last inventory—and Belle knew that getting one resized would be easy.  Finally, Bae picked out a diamond flanked by two rubies, set in gold.  The ring was at least a hundred years old, but he kept going back to it, and Belle knew that it would be perfect.

* * *

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jefferson asked Jafar.  “Wonderland is really a rather…psychedelic place.  Not the kind of place you want to go unless you’re tripping out on drugs or something.”

Jafar’s dark eyebrows rose, but the sorcerer still shrugged.  “I’m not terribly particular about the landscape if the world suits my purposes.  And, frankly, the more miserable the place, the less likely Cora is to visit.”

“I can’t blame you for wanting to get away from her, man, but there are seriously better places to do so than Wonderland,” the Hatter replied. 

Despite his own misgivings, he had actually come to like Jafar a bit.  He’d taken the other man along to Arendelle the day before and been rather surprised how much he’d enjoyed the trip.  Jefferson had particularly liked watching Jafar make mincemeat of that idiot prince who seemed to think he was going to be in charge.  Prince Hans apparently had a grudge against any and all magic users, and an ego even bigger than Cora’s, so it hadn’t gone over terribly well when Jafar had turned him into a monkey.  That adventure had turned into a whirlwind of pirates, a princess, and a very odd rescue mission that Jefferson hadn’t thought Jafar would be interested in, but apparently the sorcerer was very good at understanding when to seek power and when not to.  In the end, they’d left Princess Anna and her fiancé ruling Arendelle, and Jafar had decided the world didn’t suit their purposes at all.

“Humor me,” Jafar said now, folding his hands over his snake-shaped staff.  “If it’s really so terrible, you won’t have a hard time getting me to leave, now, will you?”

Jefferson just groaned.  If there was one thing he’d learned about Jafar, it was that he was impossible to dissuade once he had an idea in his mind, so he took the sorcerer to Wonderland, trying desperately not to think about his late wife and what had happened there before.

* * *

 

Her mother was standing in front of her when Regina got out of the car.

“Mother,” she grated out, trying not to grit her teeth.  There was no sign of Rumplestiltskin or—worse yet—Zelena, and Cora didn’t _seem_ to be ready to attack her.  Not that Regina was going to trust that.

“There’s no need to get your defenses up, Regina.  I’m not here to fight,” Cora said in that falsely-sweet voice she used all the time, the one that was supposed to convince Regina she cared about her.

“Sorry if I’m not so trusting.  The last conversation you and I had wasn’t exactly friendly.”

Cora frowned.  “Misunderstandings happen in every family, darling.”

“Most mothers don’t have one daughter stab the other with a sleeping curse,” she retorted. “Don’t call us a normal family.  We aren’t.”

“We could be,” her mother said persuasively.  “I know I was wrong to treat you the way I did, and I understand that you’re angry.  But I did it out of love, because I didn’t want you caught in the crossfire.  I didn’t want to see you hurt.”

“So, I’m supposed to feel special because you didn’t use a Nightmare Curse on me instead?  No, you just reserved that for my _son!_ ” Regina snarled.  “Don’t give me this ‘you acted out of love’ bullshit, Mother.  You wouldn’t know love if it bit you on the ass and left a calling card.”

That finally made her mother bristle.  “I’m here to offer you an olive branch, Regina.  Don’t throw it in my face.”

“Why ever not?  I chose my side a long time ago, right about when you killed Daniel.”  The old heartbreak roared back in on her, but now it was colored by fury and not just by loss.  “Do you even _remember_ Daniel, Mother?  You killed him to cast your curse because destroying _my_ heart was the ingredient that you needed.  So don’t talk to me about love.  You destroyed any chance of that we had.”

“And yet now you have a new love.”  The false sweetness was gone, replaced by murderous calculation that Regina knew all too well.

“If you even _think_ about threatening anyone I care about, Mother—and that goes from Snow to _anyone else_ —I swear I will find a way to kill you myself.  And then I will dance on your grave!”

Cora actually flinched at that last part, and Regina was glad.  It was high time that someone reminded her mother that she couldn’t have it all.  Unfortunately, that reminder only seemed to anger Cora, whose eyes flashed dangerously.

“You’ve brought this down on yourself,” her mother said softly.  “When you’re left with nothing, remember that I offered you a place by my side, a way to save those you love.”

“You can offer it, but we both know that you’ll never keep your promises.”  Regina snorted sadly.  “It’s the most dependable thing about you.”

“Regina—”

“No.”  For the first time she could remember, she cut her mother off, her voice hard.  “I’m leaving.  You can stop me if you want, but I’ll make a fight out of it.  I’m done knuckling under because of your threats.  I’m just done.”

Surprisingly, Cora let her walk away, and for a few hours, Regina actually felt like she had won.

* * *

 

Of course, they waited until the food arrived to actually sayanything important.  Not that Henry wasn’t happy to go out to breakfast with his birth parents; in fact, it was kind of special that he got to do so.  But he knew something was up, and every moment that ticked by—complete with loaded looks passing between Emma and Baelfire—he only got antsier.  Finally, Emma put down her hot chocolate and cleared her throat.

“So, Henry, there’s something that we need to tell you,” she said, sounding hesitant.  Henry, however, really didn’t want to play the wait-for-the-adults-to-clue-him-in game, so he decided to have a little fun with them.

“Let me guess.  Dad’s leaving Storybrooke and never coming back?” he asked before Emma could continue.

“No!” Bae looked at him like he’d gone mad, but Henry just shrugged.

“Emma’s going to move to New York and pretend she’s never heard of magic?”

“I wish,” Emma muttered, and then shrugged when they both looked at her.  “Sometimes, anyway.  Sort of.”

“Okay, then, so if nobody’s leaving, I guess it’s that you two are going to get married,” he said cheerfully, watching his birth mother try not to swear and his birth father shake his head ruefully.

“We really can’t keep secrets from you, can we?” Bae asked.

“Nope.”  He grinned.

Emma still looked nervous, though.  “Are you…okay with this, Henry?”

“Of course I am.  I know you two are still crazy about each other,” he replied.  “You try to hide it and he _really_ doesn’t, but I can see it.”

“Henry…” his birth mother groaned.

“What?” Henry shrugged.  “I’m just telling it like I see it.”  Neither of them seemed to know what to say to that, so he plowed on: “So, when are you going to tie the knot?”

“We were thinking tomorrow, actually,” Bae said quietly.  “It’s fast, but…”

“But we need to do it before I chicken out,” Emma said, and Henry leaned over to hug her. 

Sometimes his birth mother seemed so lost, and it was moments like this when he understood why she’d given him up.  Emma had grown up without a family, and she hadn’t wanted Henry to have to do the same.  Sometimes he wondered what it would have been like if Emma and Bae had been married before and never given him up, but he couldn’t really imagine growing up with any other parents other than Regina and David, even if David had been cursed.  Henry now had four parents, but that didn’t mean he loved any of them any less.  Just differently.

“You’ll be happy,” he said.  “I know it.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, kid,” she whispered, and Henry gave her his best smile.

Even as he did, however, a thought occurred to him—followed by a plan.  “Anytime,” he answered sunnily.  “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Bae asked, but Henry had already bounced out of his seat and was heading over to the counter.

“Just to talk to Belle!” he called over his shoulder, making his way over to his step-grandmother who didn’t want to be called that.

“Hello, Henry,” the former librarian smiled, but there was strain in her eyes that Henry knew wouldn’t leave until Grandpa Gold was safe again.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” he asked as quietly as he could. 

“Of course you can.”

“I need to find Emma and Bae a gift.  They’re getting married _tomorrow_ ,” he said, figuring that at least Belle probably knew, since Bae was living with her.  “Do you think there’s anything in the shop?”

“There are thousands of things in the shop, but I’ve got to head home after I pick up breakfast.  Babette can’t watch Gabi very long today,” she said.

“You could give me the keys,” Henry wheedled her.

“And let you wander around town by yourself?” Belle gave him a hard look.  “I don’t think so.”

Henry really missed the days when no one blinked if he wandered Storybrooke by himself.  Things were supposed to get safer when the curse broke, but instead everything had gotten worse, and he really wished that he didn’t have to come up with an adult to keep an eye on him just to make everyone feel safer.  Sure, he understood that the Evil Queen was dangerous—he’d been telling the adults that for _months_ before anyone believed him!—but if she went after him, it would break the contract, and then everything would be better.  Sometimes, he really thought that his parents (all four of them) just thought of him as a little baby that needed protecting.

“I could go right to the animal shelter afterwards,” he offered.  “Gramps will be there all day, and there’s a phone in the shop in case anything goes wrong, right?”

Belle sighed.  “There is, but I don’t like the idea of you going off by yourself.  What are you going to tell your parents?”

“Mom’s at Robin’s all morning, and I’ll tell Emma that I’m going to go find Gabi a birthday present.”  He had it all worked out already, and Henry knew it would work.  He didn’t need long to find them a present—probably only an hour, tops.  Then he really _would_ go to the animal shelter, because he really wanted to convince David to let him get a dog.

“Gabi’s birthday is in two months,” Belle pointed out.

“So?  I like to plan ahead.”

Another sigh, and Henry knew he had her.  “I’ll give you the keys on two conditions,” she said.  “One, you _promise_ me that you’ll go right to the animal shelter after you’re done—no stopping anywhere else, and you’ll call me David to let him know you’re on your way.”

“I can do that.  I promise.”

“ _Two_ , you don’t take anything that’s remotely magical, and you bring the gift by to show it to me before you try to give it to them.  I don’t want you pulling out some cursed amulet that will have a wraith pop out to suck people off to a netherworld.”

“You have those in the shop?” he couldn’t help the excited question from coming out.  “That’s so cool!”

“Henry.”  Belle gave him a hard look, and he made himself calm down.

“Sorry.  I’m a kid; I can’t help it.  But I promise I’ll show it to you first.  Maybe…maybe you’ll help me wrap it? I’m no good with wrapping paper.”

“I’ll help you,” she laughed, fishing the key ring out of her purse and handing it over.  Henry made sure to hide it with his body so that his parents didn’t notice, and then he thanked Belle and headed back to the table.  It was time to trick Emma and Bae into going off with each other so that he could find them a present.

Judging from the way they were looking at one another, that wouldn’t be hard.

* * *

 

Cora returned in a towering fury, and as usual, she took it out on Rumplestiltskin.  Ten days of such treatment no longer left him surprised, only hurting and drained.  Rumplestiltskin was growing disturbingly used to being her punching bag, but he wasn’t quite broken enough to feel fully grateful when she stopped earlier than usual, still fuming dangerously.  Still, the way she jerked the dagger to bring him to his knees was anything but kind, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t hold back a moan as his abused body obeyed her.

“These so-called heroes need to be taught a lesson,” Cora hissed.  “One that will _finally_ make them understand who the power in this pathetic little town is.  I will no longer tolerate defiance.  I will not allow this little rebellion to continue.”

“Spare me the rhetoric, dearie,” he rasped, knowing it was a bad idea but feeling a real surge of fear for his family.  He knew Bae and Belle were neck deep in whatever the heroes were working on, although Rumplestiltskin was too isolated from current events to know anything other than what little he’d gleaned during their outings.  Still, he couldn’t afford to let Cora go after his wife or his children, even if doing so would break the contract and free him.  Eventually, he knew that she would, but in the rage she was in right now, she would kill them quickly, which he could not allow.

So Rumplestiltskin protected them the only way he could: he brought Cora’s wrath down on him instead.

Cora didn’t disappoint.  Pain surged in through his curse, sending him crashing to the floor, screaming weakly.  Rumplestiltskin lost track of how long she kept him under, how long she used _his_ darkness to claw at his already shredded soul, but he was utterly unable to scream by the time it was over.  He just lay at her feet twitching and shaking, unable to focus and unable to even hear, floating in the pain.  Still coherent enough to wish that he _couldn’t_ feel pain, Rumplestiltskin knew that he wouldn’t manage to completely go under unless Cora let him, and given her mood, she wasn’t going to let him at all.  But she kept the pressure, kept the pain, lashing at him until the silent command of _on your knees_ made it through the haze in his mind.

Somehow, he made his way there, blood trickling out of his nose as he struggled to breathe.  But he couldn’t understand a word she said until the next command, _Focus,_ sliced through the pain, and Rumplestiltskin looked up at Cora woozily.

“I have a task for you.  Talk back to me again, and we’ll discuss it after a session of electricity,” she told him flatly, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t stop himself from flinching.

Hard.

“What do you want me to do?” he whispered, hating himself for giving in like this.  But everything hurt, and the burns from the previous session—just the night before—had barely even begun to heal.  Rumplestiltskin was shaking, and he couldn’t figure out how to stop himself.

“You’re going to kill my ‘grandson’,” Cora smiled.  “It is time that Regina learned there is a price for helping those heroes, and his death will hit them all hard.”

Rumplestiltskin’s heart plummeted.  He couldn’t.  Not a child.  Not _any_ child, let alone one he knew.

“Cora—” he started to protest, only to have her twitch the dagger and pain slam into him hard enough to make him scream.

The assault only lasted a moment, but it still knocked him over, and Cora was looming over him when his vision cleared.

“Yes, dear?” she cooed.

He was too tired, too hurt, to try to find a loophole.  All he could do was beg.  “Please not a child,” Rumplestiltskin whispered brokenly.  “I can’t—”

Another twitch of the dagger; another raw scream.

“You can,” Cora said bluntly.  “You will.”

“Please not this.  Anything but this.  Anything but a child,” he tried, not caring about dignity or his pride.  The one thing he had _never_ done, even in his worst moments as the Dark One, was hurt a child.  Rumpelstiltskin knew that doing so would chip away a piece of his soul he could never get back.

This time Cora just sliced down with the dagger, cutting his right side open, right along the bottom of his ribcage.  Pure darkness boiled into the wound, burning like acid, and Rumplestiltskin shrieked hoarsely, convulsing in pain.  He wanted to pull away from her but couldn’t, could only try to curl up and shield himself, even if it meant pressing the fresh wound into the cold cellar floor.  He was shaking and shuddering, feeling the darkness within him coiling and burning.

“Do you still want to argue with me?”

“Yes!”  _Anything but this._ He couldn’t fight her, but he _had_ to.

Another slice, this one to his left side, matching the one on the right, and Rumplestiltskin wailed.

“On your back,” Cora ordered, and he had no choice but to comply. 

Slowly, methodically, she brought the dagger down for another shallow cut, this one across his abdomen.  His vision went black, and Rumplestiltskin tried to scream, but the sound would barely come out.  The next cut was higher, and the third worked its way up his sternum.  None of the wounds were even remotely dangerous, and they didn’t even bleed much.  But they didn’t have to.  Each cut was like someone stabbed fire into his bloodstream, and Rumplestiltskin was reduced to a sobbing mess by the time Cora rolled him over and started cutting his lower back open, right on top of where some of the worst burns were and working her way downwards.

Then she forced him back to his knees, putting the dagger under his chin to drag his chin upwards while Rumplestiltskin stared at her through his tears.

“You’re going to go find Henry,” Cora ordered, her words clipped and precise.  “You’re going to rip his heart out.  _Then_ you’re going to take it—and him—to Regina.  And you will crush Henry’s heart in front of her.  Do you understand?”

The words were an inescapable command; Rumplestiltskin shuddered.  The broken whisper came out on its own:

“Yes.”

She could have done that earlier, of course.  Despite his arguments, he would have had to obey her.  But Cora wanted to break him far enough so that he stopped protesting, and Rumplestiltskin hated himself for falling so far.

* * *

 

Henry had been in the shop for an hour and still couldn’t decide what he wanted to get for his parents.  At first, he’d thought he could get them one thing to share, then he realized that they might not actually live together for a while, so he should definitely get them two separate things.  But what?  How could he decide what to get them, even if it was free?  He’d known Emma since October, and had already figured out that she didn’t put a lot of stock in material possessions, even if she did like nice music and good movies (though it wasn’t like he could find either of those in the pawn shop, unless she wanted a guitar, which there were three of).  Baelfire, on the other hand, had been in Storybrooke for about two weeks, and Henry had _no_ idea what he liked.  Picking something out was way harder than he expected, which made him really glad that he’d talked Belle into giving him the keys and came by himself.

He could give Emma the unicorn mobile, but that felt like cheating, since it was hers, anyway.  There were a bunch of paintings, but they all looked boring, and what kind of kid gave his parents a painting as a wedding gift?  Sure, if one of them had looked like it came from the Enchanted Forest it might be interesting, since Emma’d never seen it, but they all looked like generic stuff from this world.  There were two _really_ creepy dolls that he thought might be Geppetto’s dead parents—but that was a bad idea, given how everyone had heard just last night that Geppetto and August were both dead.  Thinking like that made Henry sad again.

Presents.  He was here for presents.  Maybe he could give them the rowboat hanging from the ceiling.  Then they might take him out in it, and that would be pretty cool.

* * *

 

Henry had tried to foist them off to have some ‘romantic’ time together, but that had turned into a trip down to the Rabbit Hole when they got the call that Keith had been seen driving drunk again.  That turned into a ride to the sheriff’s station, where they locked Emma’s former deputy away despite his drunken raging.

Not to mention the new bruise on his face that Bae had put there when the jerk had tried to feel Emma up.

“You looking for a job now that you’re staying here?” Emma asked him as they walked into her office. 

“You’re joking, right?” he asked.

“Only sort of.  I can’t exactly keep the Sheriff of Nottingham and Guy of Gisburne on as deputies, and you handled yourself pretty well,” she shrugged.

“I don’t exactly have any qualifications, you know.  Unless you count stealing.  Or hacking,” Bae pointed out.

“Neither did I.  Closest I ever got was becoming a bail bondsperson,” Emma replied.  “Wait a minute.  Hacking?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged.  “I sort of became a legal hacker.  I break people’s websites for a living then tell them how to fix them.  It pays pretty well, and I can do it anywhere I have internet access.”

Emma blinked, looking surprised, and then laughed a little.  “You went legit.”

“Mostly.  I still did a couple of under the table things, but I’ve been trying to get out of that.  Hard to do with some of the people in New York, though,” he admitted.  “It’s actually kind of good to get out of that city for a lot of reasons.”

“I bet.  So…you want to keep at that, or maybe do something else?”

“Wouldn’t it be a conflict of interest?  Working for you once we, um, get married and all…” Bae trailed off, and Emma actually blushed.

They were still feeling their way into what they were going to do once they got married, figuring out if they were going to try to get an apartment of their own, keep living separately, try to get partial custody of Henry, or just have a gentleman’s agreement with Emma’s dad and her aunt.  The fact that those two were apparently were going to keep living together—with the addition of Emma’s mom and maybe someday a certain outlaw and _his_ kid—made things a little simpler, but everything about their future was still amazingly complicated.  Bae was still stuck on the amazing fact that Emma was willing to _marry_ him, and that she didn’t just want to sign the papers and pretend nothing else had changed.  They were actually going to try to make this work, to see if what they’d had ten years earlier was solid enough to give them a future together.  He still felt winded when he thought about it, felt his heart beat faster. 

He wanted this so badly that it hurt, and Bae wanted to do it _right_. 

“You might be right,” Emma said quietly, shrugging.  “I don’t know.  I’ve never been married before.”

“Well, me neither, so let’s just make it up as we go along, okay?”

“Sure,” she grinned at him, and Bae wanted to kiss her again.  But he wasn’t sure if that would be welcomed, so he just kind of shifted awkwardly, probably looking pathetic as all hell.

Bae almost didn’t know she was coming before Emma darted in, pressing her lips to his as hesitantly as he’d kissed her the day before.  What had once been easier than breathing was now complicated and a little rough around the edges.  So, the kiss was short and not very sweet, but they smiled at one another anyway, a little drunk on the weird combination of newness and familiarity in their relationship.

“I’m gonna leave Keith here to sober up and then head over to the hospital,” Emma said after a moment, wearing a tiny smile.  “You want to come along, or you gonna head home?”

“I should probably head home.  Belle keeps thinking of going and trying to make herself a target, and I kind of want to keep an eye on her.”

That made Emma grimace.  “Good idea.  She really loves him, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah.  I don’t always get it, but she does,” Bae said.  “I’ve never even seen them together, y’know?”

“I have.  It’s almost cute the way your dad melts around her.  I’ve never seen anyone else boss him around the way she can.  Anyone else would get turned into a slug, but he never seems to mind when she does.”

For a moment, Bae thought back to the relationship between his parents, remembered the way his mother yelled at his father all the time, belittling him and always making demands.  But he couldn’t imagine Belle doing that; her touch was much softer, and he imagined that Belle could get whatever she wanted from his father with a smile and those blue eyes.  She wasn’t the shouting type, anyway.  She was gentle and kind, and Bae usually wondered what Belle saw in his father rather than the other way around.  _Then again, she would have fit him perfectly the way he was…before._

“I guess he has changed,” he said aloud, as much in response to his own thought as to what Emma had said. 

Abruptly, Emma took his hand and squeezed it.  “You go home and keep Belle from doing anything stupid.  I’ll finish up and give you a call later.”

“All right,” Bae replied and they did just that.

* * *

 

Cora had allowed him enough magic to hold back the worst of the pain, but she hadn’t let Rumplestiltskin heal himself.  No, she dangled that in front of him like bait that she knew she’d never let him take; by now, Rumplestiltskin knew that Cora would keep him in as much pain as she thought he could manage, right up until the moment he shattered completely and became desperate to please her in order to make the torture stop.  Part of Rumplestiltskin just wanted to plunge off that cliff now, because he knew where this was going to end.  Or, rather that it _wasn’t_ going to end.  Or at least not soon enough to save his sanity.

The latest command _burned_ into his soul, hanging there like a heavy brand as Rumplestiltskin wrapped his magic around himself like armor, using the darkness as a shield to hold back some of the pain and to give him the strength to do what Cora had demanded.  As presentable as he could be in his condition, he simply let his magic take him to where young Henry Nolan was, not bothering to work out a spell to pinpoint the location first.  It didn’t matter where Henry was; Rumplestiltskin would still have to do as he was bid.

_Go find Henry.  Rip his heart out.  Then take it—and him—to Regina.  Crush Henry’s heart in front of her._

The words echoed in his mind over and over again, louder than his own thoughts and twice as painful.  He had no choice, even when the ragged bits of his soul protested against murdering an innocent child.  But Rumplestiltskin did still start in surprise when he found himself standing inside his own shop, faced with a ten year old boy who jumped as Rumplestiltskin appeared in a cloud of dark smoke.

“Mr. Gold?” Henry asked cautiously, brown eyes wide and startled.

A quick look around the shop revealed that Henry seemed to be alone, and the relief that flowed through him made Rumplestiltskin feel terribly ashamed.  But if Belle or Bae had been there…he didn’t know how he would have coped with this.  He could only pray that neither of them was nearby when he’d have to take the boy to Regina.  Killing his former student’s son in front of her would be horrible enough without his family watching.  _I’m sorry,_ he thought towards Regina, knowing that he’d apologize to her even as he killed her child.  _I have to._

_Go find Henry.  Rip his heart out.  Then take it—and him—to Regina.  Crush Henry’s heart in front of her._

“Henry,” he said heavily, almost surprised by how hoarse his voice was.  “I’m sorry about this.  I truly am.”

Oh, the boy was bright.  Fear washed over his features, but he was brave, too, and stood his ground.  “The Evil Queen sent you to kill me, didn’t she?  Because she’s mad at my mom.  And everyone else.”

“Yes,” Rumplestiltskin said softly.  There was no point in lying to the lad when he was so valiant.

“Oh.”  Henry looked very young when he said that, and Rumplestiltskin felt his own heart break.  _Rip his heart out,_ the voice of his curse demanded, roaring up painfully within him.  _Do it now!_

“I’m sorry,” he repeated as his feet carried him forward, wishing that the boy would just run.  If he ran fast enough, he might find someone who could actually summon up enough power to stop Rumplestiltskin—

That was a ridiculous dream, though.  Henry backed up a step, swallowing hard, but he didn’t try to flee.  _Rip the heart out and revel in the darkness!_ the imp within him cackled, but Rumplestiltskin barely noticed it.  His eyes were on Henry, because, coward though he was, the boy deserved to have someone witness his courage.  And brave Henry was.  He bit his lip as Rumplestiltskin tried unsuccessfully to will his right hand to stop moving, watching in horror as it came up, moving rapidly towards Henry’s chest.  Henry gasped sharply as the Dark One’s hand plunged into his chest, trying too late to get away as fear contorted his young features.  Once, the feeling of wrapping his fingers around someone’s heart had felt like the height of power, but now it just made Rumplestiltskin feel sick.

A familiar weight landed in his left hand, a jeweled hilt worn smooth by centuries of use, and Rumplestiltskin’s head snapped down to stare at the Dark One’s dagger.  Abruptly, the magical chains around him disintegrated, the cage he had lived in for ten days vanishing.  He was _free_.  The dagger was in his hand, and no one could command him ever again.

No one could hurt him.

Stumbling back  in confusion, Rumplestiltskin released Henry’s heart just before he could pull it free of the boy’s chest.  Pain crashed in on him even as he instinctually used magic to push it aside, but that didn’t matter.  This didn’t make any sense; harming Henry should not have broken the contract, should not have returned the dagger to him.  Yet there the dagger was, held tightly in his left hand as Rumplestiltskin reeled for balance, catching himself breathlessly against the counter to his left.

“How…?” he stuttered, finally looking up at Henry.

The boy grinned at him, all traces of fear gone.  “I guess no one told you you’re my grandpa, huh?”

“ _What?_ ” Rumplestiltskin stared stupidly at that answer, certain he’d heard wrong.  That didn’t make sense.  It _couldn’t_ make sense.  Looking down at the dagger in his hand again, Rumplestiltskin blinked several times before he could bring himself to look back up at Henry.

“My dad’s your kid,” Henry replied.  “Baelfire.”

“He…what?”  This was almost too much for his pain-addled mind to wrap itself around, but his coherency increased as the fact that he was _free_ sank in.  Clearing his throat, Rumplestiltskin finally managed to ask a vaguely intelligent question.  “Bae’s your…father?”

“Yeah.  Kinda weird, huh?  But he and Emma, um, knew each other.  They both say it’s a really long story that started when they both stole the same car.  Though I don’t think I was supposed to overhear that last part.”

He had a grandson.  His son had a _son_ …and Rumplestiltskin had nearly killed him. 

“Oh, Henry,” he whispered.  “I’m so sorry.  I would never…” Rumplestiltskin trailed off.  The lad would never forgive him.  He’d had his hand in his chest and had nearly ripped his heart out!

Yet again, Henry surprised him.  “I know,” he said easily.  “That was all the Evil Queen.  Dad told me a bit about how the dagger works, and I know about the contract.  I knew you wouldn’t do it once you knew.”

His hands were shaking with relief; Rumplestiltskin sucked in a shuddering breath, trying to center himself.  “I still owe you an apology that words cannot express.”

“How about with presents?” Henry suggested jokingly.  “I’m a kid. Kids can always be bribed with presents.”

A surprised laugh tore out of Rumplestiltskin, and oh, it felt like it had been an eternity since he had actually _laughed._   “I think I can manage that,” he replied, swallowing back the urge to weep from relief.  He had a grandson.  Bae had a _son_.  Somehow, a crooked smile made it past the shock and relief.   “Every now and then.”

“It’s okay, Grandpa,” the lad said, stepping forward and—much to Rumplestiltskin’s surprise—hugging him around the waist.  Had he not used magic earlier to mitigate the pain, that might have been anything but pleasant, but because Rumplestiltskin had, it just made his heart fill to bursting.  Henry looked up at him.  “Is it all right if I call you that?”

“Of course it is,” he whispered, still reeling.

“We should probably get out of here before the Evil Queen figures out what happened,” Henry suggested.  “I know Belle’s at your house.”

“Belle...”  The mere thought of his wife filled Rumplestiltskin with longing, and he suddenly realized that he actually would be able to see her today.  Now, even.  He was so torn up inside that he was almost ashamed to let Belle see him like this, because she knew him better than anyone and would be able to see what a mess he was…but he needed her too badly to hide himself away.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t even realize he’d spoken aloud until Henry added:

“Can I come with you?  I’ve never been teleported before, and I really don’t want to be here when she comes looking for you.”

“Of course you can,” Rumplestiltskin replied, forcing himself to focus.  He had a grandson—and suddenly more family than he’d ever imagined.  There was no way this side of hell that Cora was going to hurt Henry, not while he breathed.

_Your time is coming, dearie,_ he thought darkly as his magic wrapped around his grandson, taking them both home.  _Soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Rumplestiltskin has the dagger back! Stay tuned for Chapter Ninety-Six—“Winds of Change”, in which many reunions happen, Cora tries to figure out why the dagger she has won’t work, and Regina goes to see Graham. And some fluff, finally.


	96. Winds of Change

Rumplestiltskin’s magic deposited him and Henry in the front hall of his house, and for a moment, he just closed his eyes and let the feeling of safety wash over him.  He was _home_.  The ten day long  nightmare was over.  He had the dagger, and he was free.

“That was so cool!” Henry gushed, ruining the quiet moment.  But Rumplestiltskin didn’t mind.  The brilliant grin on his grandson’s face—he had a _grandson!_ —was compensation enough.

“Henry?” a familiar voice called from the other room, and Rumplestiltskin’s heart skipped a beat.  “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Belle!” was Henry’s cheerful response as footsteps approached.

Suddenly, Belle was there, framed in the doorway leading from the living room.  Rumplestiltskin froze, almost dropping the dagger as he drank in her presence, just staring at her and unable to speak.

“Rumple?” Belle whispered, her blue eyes huge.

“Hi,” he breathed, utterly unable to come up with a more fitting greeting.

That didn’t matter.  Belle flew at him, rushing forward and literally throwing herself into his arms.  Drawn to her, Rumplestiltskin moved at the same time she did, catching her and holding on tight, clinging to her as her arms wrapped around his neck.  He was careful to keep the dagger from cutting her, but that was his only coherent thought.  Rumplestiltskin just melted into her embrace, finally feeling safe and whole.

“Belle…” he whispered shakily, barely aware of the tears running down his face.

“You’re back,” she replied, and she was crying too.  Drawing back as her feet hit the floor—he couldn’t hold her for long; his muscles were too wasted—Belle leaned her forehead against his.  A hand touched his cheek, and Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes, reveling in her touch after too long away.

“Yes,” he finally managed to say, smiling despite his tears.  “I’m home.”

“You have the dagger!”

Nodding, Rumplestiltskin opened his eyes and swallowed back the rage boiling inside him, pushing his curse away far more easily than he might have under other circumstances.  “Henry…” He smiled wryly.  “Apparently, I have a grandson.”

“So you do,” Belle smiled back at him, but then her expression sobered.  “Cora sent you after him?”

“I didn’t know,” Rumplestiltskin murmured, feeling broken.  Belle stroked his cheek gently, but another voice answered:

“No one thought you did, Papa,” Bae said, and Rumplestiltskin’s head whipped around to look at his son, who was standing with his hand on Henry’s shoulder.  “I didn’t either.  Not until Emma told me, anyway.”

“Bae.”  The whisper came out hesitantly; Rumplestiltskin wasn’t entirely sure where he stood with his son.  Their last conversation had been so short, and the two before that had been fraught with emotion.  Bae had every right to be angry with him, still, and Rumplestiltskin knew that even an honest apology only went so far—

Belle stepped away from him, and he almost whimpered when she did, until suddenly his son was hugging him tightly.  He was so surprised that it took him a moment to return the embrace, a relieved shudder running through his weakened body. 

“I’m so sorry, son,” he said again.

“I know, Papa.  You came back for me.  That’s what counts,” Bae said, and Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes on tears. 

“Rumple?” Belle asked quietly, her hand landing gently on his shoulder as Rumplestiltskin tried to swallow the need to cry.  “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” he lied unconvincingly.  Bae released him, clearly not believing it any more than Belle did; both of them were looking at him like he was crazy.  Rumplestiltskin let out a shaky breath.  “It was just a long ten days.”

The glance shared between his son and his wife said volumes about how well those two had come to know one another, and Rumplestiltskin felt another unexpected flush of warmth.  He couldn’t quite catch what they silently agreed upon, but there was obviously something there.  For once, however, Rumplestiltskin’s habitual paranoia didn’t engage, and he was content to let them plot behind his back.  Besides, he was far too tired and too hurt to try to try to figure it out.  His head was trying to spin, and only magic kept the pain in check now.

“Hey, bud, why don’t we go call all three of your other parents and let them know you’re here?” Bae suddenly asked Henry. 

“Okay.”  How had he never noticed how much that smile reminded him of Bae? _But you did, years ago.  Even when you were just Gold,_ he realized as Henry turned to him. “I’m glad you’re back, Grandpa.”

“Me, too, Henry,” he said quietly, glad for Belle’s hand on his shoulder.  It kept him anchored, let him know that this was real.  “And I am sorry.”

“It’s okay.”  Another sunny smile, and Henry followed Bae out of the room, leaving Rumplestiltskin alone with his wife.  But someone else was missing.

“Where’s Gabi?” he asked, sudden worry gripping his heart.

“It’s one o’clock,” Belle said gently, taking his free hand and squeezing it.  “She’s still down for her nap.”

“Oh.”  Relief made him want to cry, and before he knew it, Rumplestiltskin was wrapped in her arms again.  “Oh.  All right.”

“You want to look in on her?”

“Yes,” he whispered, the word a plea.

“Come on, then.”  Lips touched his cheek before Belle pulled away, leading him by the hand to Gabi’s room. 

There she was, his little girl, wrapped up in her blue nightie and sleeping peacefully.  Part of Rumplestiltskin burned to burst in, to wake her up and hold her tightly, but he was able to stop himself.  He was in no shape to do that right now, not mentally or physically, even as he belatedly told his magic to begin healing his various wounds.  Gabi would wake in an hour or two, and by then he could put himself together enough to be the kind of father she needed.  For now, it was enough to know she was safe.  _My entire family is safe,_ he realized, relief making his knees go weak.

With an effort, he stepped away from the door, closing it quietly and slumping against his wife.

“Do you want to hide the dagger before we get you cleaned up?” Belle asked, squeezing his hand.  He almost bristled, almost demanded to know why she thought there was anything wrong with him, but Rumplestiltskin caught himself.  Belle had been the veteran of far too many nights spent with Cora back when her caveats worked; she knew that he was far from all right.  He could lie to her, but why?  She’d know, and if he tried to be all right, Rumplestiltskin knew he would fail.  Besides, one look at him probably told Belle everything she needed to know.

“Yeah,” he answered, all too aware of how tightly he was still gripping the dagger.  He didn’t want to let it out of his sight, but once it was safely hidden behind his old defenses, no one would be able to reach it except him.

“Then let’s do that, and then go upstairs.”

* * *

 

It hadn’t exactly gone according to plan, but Henry was all right.  That was what mattered, and after Bae had his son recount every last detail of the story, he pulled out his phone to call Emma.  She’d freak out a little bit, too, but that was all right.  In fact, everything was better than all right.

His father was safe and that psychopathic bitch of an ‘Evil Queen’ was going _down._

“What’s up?” Emma answered the phone on the third ring, and Bae ignored Henry’s grin.

“Well, I’ve got news.  It turns out Cora’s a bigger bitch than we thought,” he started, only to have Emma snort.

“Not possible.”

“Yeah, it is.  Apparently, she was pissed off enough to send my dad after Henry—who’s fine—and well, Pop’s got the dagger back, and he’s home,” Bae told her, and then repeated for good measure: “Henry’s fine.  He’s here, too.”

“You’re sure?” she demanded, and Bae thought he heard something crash to the floor in the background. 

“Yeah, he’s standing next to me grinning like an idiot,” he answered.  “Apparently, Cora wanted Papa to rip Henry’s heart out, but since that’s covered by the contract, he got the dagger back as soon as he tried.”

 “But how could he—”

“He didn’t have a choice, Emma,” Bae cut her off.  “He didn’t want to.  He feels awful, particularly now that he knows Henry’s his grandson.”

“Right.”  There was a long pause.  “Sorry.  I just…”

“Me, too,” he breathed, thinking about how he would feel in Emma’s shoes.  The very idea of Henry being hurt was enough to paralyze him or send him into a towering rage, and Bae only imagined that feeling would grow with time.  “You want to let Regina and David know?  I don’t think Cora knows yet—apparently she hadn’t gone along for the ‘fun’—but they need to know he’s safe.”

“Yeah.  Sure.  I’ll call them.”

“Henry and I can come down to the station if you want.  I think Pop and Belle are gonna want some alone time.”

“That would be…nice,” Emma said, and Bae thought he could hear her hesitant smile.  “I’ll be here.”

“So will we.”

Hanging up the phone, Bae headed with his son to meet his fiancée.  Only once they were halfway to the sheriff’s station did the horrible thought occur to him, though—what if Emma didn’t want to get married now?  There was no contract to force their hands, and even though she said that she wanted to do this for them, what if that changed?

_Then I’ll keep trying,_ he told himself, trying to keep the worry out of his expression.  _I’ll never stop loving her, but if she wants me to let her go, I will._  

* * *

 

Belle had helped him undress, knowing that when Rumplestiltskin shook and twitched away from her, it wasn’t really her touch he was shying away from.   

“I’m sorry,” Rumplestiltskin whispered after he jerked back violently, making Belle miss the bottom button of his shirt.

“I know,” she said softly, reaching up to cup his face with her right hand.  “It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t want you to have to deal with—” he cut off in a sob, and Belle just pulled him into her arms.  He hesitated before hugging her back, but then clung to her with a vengeance.  Immediately, Belle felt his quiet tears wetting her neck, and she just held him tightly.

“I love you, Rumplestiltskin,” Belle told him.  “I can only imagine how horrible that… _woman_ was to you during the last ten days, but I’m here now.  And no matter what, I’m _staying_ here.  I don’t think less of you because she hurt you.”

“They both did.” She could feel him shudder as the words came out, and rage bubbled up inside her so quickly that Belle could barely contain it.  She had to swallow hard to keep her voice even when she asked:

“Zelena, too?”

Rumplestiltskin nodded miserably.

“Oh, Rumple,” Belle breathed, kissing him lightly on the cheek.  She couldn’t think of her own fury, not now; her husband was shaking and very nearly broken, and he needed her.  “I love you,” she repeated.  “No matter what.”

“And I love you,” he said softly, and for several long moments, they just held onto one another.  Finally, Rumplestiltskin’s trembling slowed a little, and she could feel him begin to relax.  

“Let’s get you into the shower, all right?” she asked, remembering how desperately he always wanted to wash away Cora’s touch before.  Now, after ten days with those two, she imagined that he was doubly in need of a good shower. 

“All right.”

He flinched a little as she pulled back, and Belle almost wrapped her arms around him again, but she knew that if she did, she might never let go.  So, she helped Rumplestiltskin shrug out of his shirt, noticing the half-visible cuts, burns, and bruises marring his chest and his back.  These wounds were worse than any Belle had seen Cora inflict in the past, and were of varying ages, showing that Cora had refused to let him heal himself after she had her ‘fun’.  Some of the wounds were nearly black and looked poisonously infected, stacked up like neat lines along his abdomen and his back.  Disgust welled up in Belle’s throat like acid, and again she had to swallow before she could trust her voice.

Biting her lip, she decided that she needed to ask.  “Are you able to heal yourself?” 

Rumplestiltskin nodded.  “It’s in progress,” he said quietly, and when he met her eyes, she could see how dizzy he was.  “What I can heal is, anyway.  It’s…slow.  Everything hurts so much that my magic is sluggish.”

“Will some rest help?”

“It should,” he said, trying to get his pants off.  But his hands were shaking too hard to manage the belt buckle, so Belle gently brushed him aside and helped.  Soon enough, he was undressed and Belle could see the full extent of the damage that Cora had wrought—and be grateful that she had seen such wounds (though never so terrible) before.  Fortunately, Rumplestiltskin had at least learned from their previous experiences, and was not trying to hide himself away in shame.

“Do you want me to leave you alone to shower?”  She didn’t want to go, but Belle knew Rumple was touchy in moments like this, and heavens only knew when the last time he’d truly been able to be alone was.

“No!”  Panicked brown eyes met hers, and Belle took his hands.  Rumplestiltskin’s voice dropped to a barely-audible whisper.  “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” she promised, squeezing his fingers.  “Not ever.”

* * *

 

He was taking too long.

Taking a deep breath, Cora resisted the urge to pace, sitting down and reclaiming the Dark One’s dagger from where it sat on her desk.  Carrying the weapon was a nuisance, albeit one she was more than willing to bear under most circumstances.  Still, since she knew that it could not be summoned with magic—even (or perhaps particularly) by the Dark One—it was something of a relief to be able to put the dagger down when she was the only one in the room.  Controlling Rumplestiltskin was certainly more _challenging_ that she had anticipated; no matter how badly she hurt him, he continued looking for loopholes, always trying to defy her.  She would have to break that habit out of him, and would eventually, but in the meantime, he was an exhausting pet to keep.

_Of course,_ she realized.  _I didn’t tell him that he had to return right away.  Is the fool trying to_ talk _to the heroes, or did Regina try to kill him for Henry’s death?_   She had to admit that the thought of her daughter attacking the Dark One for her beloved ‘son’s’ death was rather amusing, particularly since she had forbidden Rumplestiltskin to harm anyone of her bloodline.  Henry wasn’t included in that prohibition, of course, which only made things that much sweeter.

Still, she was tired of waiting, so Cora rose from behind the desk, straightened her shoulders and turned to the center of the room.  She raised the dagger and spoke calmly, willing Rumplestiltskin to appear on his knees before her.

“Dark One, I summon thee.”

She loved the power of having the most powerful sorcerer in the realm at her feet, impotent and furious—and frightened.  Cora never tired of ordering him there; it was such a spectacular sight, one that filled her with power and lust like nothing else.

But he did not appear.  _What is this?_ Cora glared furiously at the dagger, and then spoke again, more insistently.

“Dark One, I summon thee _now_.”

Yet Rumplestiltskin _still_ did not appear.  Only then did Cora realize that there was something _wrong_ with the dagger in her hand.  The weapon felt the same, at least in a physical sense.  It was the right weight and right size, and looked identical to the one she had been carrying for ten days.  Yet there was something…off.  When she sought to channel her power into the dagger, nothing happened.  It responded like any other weapon, absorbing the magic and thereby acquiring some minor but temporary magical properties of its own.  However, the dagger, the _real_ Dagger of the Dark One, did not absorb magic.  It enhanced it, channeled her power, her desire through its metal and into the Dark One, reinforcing her will and forcing him to obey.

Wide-eyed, Cora turned the blade over in her hand.  And then again.  The dagger looked right…but it wasn’t real.  This was a fake.

Someone had stolen the dagger, and she would murder whomever had dared.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin had been drifting in and out of sleep, letting his magic wrap a warm cocoon around him, healing his broken body while wrapped in Belle’s arms.  Intellectually, he knew only ten days had passed since he’d last been home, but he hadn’t felt safe in what felt like a lifetime.  It had taken his body a very long time to remember how to relax, but Belle just laid down with him, stroking his hair and helping him calm the shaking mess he had become.  Then they had both drifted off, just a little, until he felt the slight _tug_ on his magic and his eyes flew open.

The room was dark, but he didn’t need to see to know what had happened.  Cora had tried to summon him, had used the fake dagger.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t been completely sure that the swap would go unnoticed; he’d worked the spell to substitute his old duplicate dagger in for the real one in case the contract was broken, but the odds of Cora noticing the exchange had always been high.  The fact that she hadn’t made him want to laugh hysterically, made a high-pitched giggle well up within him and his body shake with mirth.  Perhaps he was a little unhinged; perhaps he was in no mental condition to decide what was funny and what was not.  But the thought of Cora impotently summoning him again and again and _again_ was hilarious.

He was free of her.  He was safe and free and he was going to rip her into tiny little pieces.  Relief flowed through Rumplestiltskin, making his limbs feel weak and his body shake.  He was finally, truly, _free_.  The bed he lay in was not Cora’s, and the woman curled up next to him was the woman to whom he had given his soul by choice.  _I’m home._   It finally sank in, and the nervous laughter welled up within him finally boiled over.  He was home.

“Rumple?” a sleepy voice mumbled from his right, and Rumplestiltskin tried to stop giggling, but he couldn’t.  He was home.   Belle repeated his name, sounding worried.  “Rumple?”

“I’m all right,” he finally managed to gasp, not sure when the laughter had turned to tears.  “I’m all right.”

She shifted, and Rumplestiltskin let himself retreat into his wife’s arms, sobbing and laughing and half trying not to imagine the look on Cora’s face when he never arrived. 

“I love you,” he whispered, holding onto her for dear life.  “And I’m home.”

* * *

 

“Mother?” Cautiously, Zelena stuck her head through the door to Cora’s office, having heard the crashing noises.  She was a little concerned; odds were that her mother was simply disciplining the Dark One, but Zelena had thought she’d heard the window break, and that could mean trouble.  “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is fine,” Cora snapped, turning to face her.  But Zelena’s eyes widened, anyway; it looked like a tornado had torn through the office, upending the desk, tearing both chairs into pieces, and destroying the beautiful painting that had hung on the far wall.  Now its frame was cracked and broken, with the canvas itself burned and melted away.

“Did something happen?” she gasped, unable to stop herself despite the warning look on Cora’s face.  “Are you hurt?”

“Of course I’m not, you stupid girl,” her mother snarled, and Zelena jerked back, feeling like she’d just been slapped.  Her mother had _never_ called her stupid.  Something terrible must have happened!

“What…what happened?” Zelena asked hesitantly, looking around at the disaster.  The large double window to her left _was_ broken, and the room was an utter mess.  Yet the window looked like it had been broken from the inside, not by someone trying to get in.

“ _This_ happened!”  Cora gestured viciously with the Dark One’s dagger.

“What did Rumple do this time?” Her heart leapt; maybe she could help.  “Oh, please let me punish him, Mother, please!”

“He’s not here.”  Now the words were quiet and dangerous; Zelena could see Cora gathering herself, magic whipping around the room as her fury was made tangible.  Had her _mother_ done this?

Zelena had experienced some pretty impressive magical tantrums in her youth, but she had never managed to create quite so much destruction.

“What?” she echoed stupidly.  “Can’t you just summon him?”

“This dagger is a fake,” Cora spat.  “Someone stole the real one.”

Shock made Zelena rock back, blinking.  “But how?”

“I don’t know.”  The wind finally calmed; Cora’s fury was under control again.  “But I aim to find out and make whoever did it _suffer_.”

“I’ll help,” Zelena promised, but her mind was racing.

Her mother had lost control of the Dark One.  She had never thought her mother could fail, had never thought Cora would so much as falter.  But someone else had control of Rumple now.  What would that mean for _her_?

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin and Belle slept for another hour or so.  Meanwhile, his magic raced through his body, no longer fettered by Cora’s desire for him to be in pain.  There were things he could not heal, such as any wounds made by the dagger, but the two hours he spent in bed did worlds of good for the rest of Rumplestiltskin.  He’d still be weak, of course; magic could compensate for malnutrition but not correct it, and Cora had been determined to starve him into submission if she could not break him.  He’d never been a heavyset man, but Rumplestiltskin knew that he’d lost rather more weight than he was comfortable with.  His ribs were easy to see—Zelena had mocked him for that just the day before—and the lethargy and muscle fatigue born of malnutrition had already started to set in.  Sleep couldn’t fix that problem, of course, but time would.

By the time the door opening jerked him out of his surprisingly peaceful nap—the nightmares would come later, perhaps when he was less emotionally drained—his magic had managed to heal about half of his wounds, which at least left Rumplestiltskin feeling enormously better.

“Mamma?” a quiet voice intruded even as Rumplestiltskin desperately redirected magic from healing to his own defenses, cursing himself for being caught so off guard.  “Why you sleep in middle of the day?”

“Gabi?” he whispered even as Belle stirred at his side.  His daughter had woken from her nap, and he’d been thinking of turning her into a slug.  Rumplestiltskin had never felt like more of a fool.

“Papa?  _Papa!_ ”

Belle turned the light on as Gabi practically flew onto the bed, dropping her stuffed purple crocodile and crawling into his lap.  Quickly, Rumplestiltskin wrapped his arms around his little girl, holding her tightly as smaller arms snaked around his neck.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s so _good_ to see you,” he breathed, blinking back the almost overwhelming desire to cry.

“Mamma said that you had to go away to protect us,” Gabi said, snuggling into his shoulder.  “She said you had to save Bay-fire.”

“I did,” Rumplestiltskin confirmed, managing not to laugh at the mispronunciation of his son’s name.  “But I’m back now.”

“For good?”  Clever little girl that she was, she knew to ask.

He kissed her forehead.  “For good,” he promised. 

“Missed you.”  She hiccupped a little, and Rumplestiltskin felt his heart break—both for his daughter and for his wife, who reached out to rub Gabrielle’s back gently.  His eyes met Belle’s over Gabi’s head, and he tried to give her an apologetic smile.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t have to ask to know how hard on Belle this separation had been; she’d been left to deal with a three-year-old who just didn’t understand why her father had to stay away.

“I missed you, too,” he said around the lump in his throat.  “And I love you, and your Mamma, and your brother, very, _very_ much.”

“We love you too!” Gabi declared, and Rumplestiltskin felt his heart twist in his chest.  He didn’t deserve love like this, not the beautiful love of his children or the amazingly pure love of his wife.  He was a monster dressed in a human shell; his time in Cora’s hands had reminded him of that like nothing had in years.  Someday, somehow, he knew that he would do something to prove to them that he didn’t deserve them…but being married to Belle had taught Rumplestiltskin a little about fighting for those he loved.

Terrified though he still was, he would have sacrificed himself again for them in a heartbeat.

* * *

 

Snow had always been closer to Graham than Regina had, but the Huntsman had tried to help both of them multiple times.  So, it was no surprise that they went to the asylum together to see him.  Of course, Graham didn’t _have_ to stay there now that he had his heart back, but they’d all been wary what might happen if Cora decided the crippled Huntsman made an easy target.

“How would you like to use those legs again?” Regina asked by way of greeting, and Graham’s eyes went wide.

“Can you do that?” he asked, sounding a little breathless.

Snow shot Regina a huge smile, and that was certainly reward enough.  All magic might have come with a price, but this one was definitely worth paying if it made her sister so happy.  Besides, Graham was a good man who her mother had victimized one too many times, and Regina always appreciated the opportunity to pry Cora’s ‘creatures’ away from her.  Particularly the unwitting ones.

“I’m not the best healer you’ll ever meet, but I preach a lot less than the fairies,” she said with a wry smile.  “It might take me a few minutes, but you’ll walk again when I’m done.”

“Where do I sign up?” the former sheriff asked immediately.  “I hate being useless.”

“You aren’t useless, Graham,” Snow said compassionately, but he just shook his head.

“Not having my heart was almost a comfort when I was stuck in this chair,” Graham explained.  “Then I could tell myself that I’d only endanger anyone who trusted me with secrets.  But now that no one can control me, I hate not helping.”

“Well, let me get to work, and then you can give us all the help you want,” Regina interjected before Snow could go all reassuring on them.  Snow meant well, but sometimes her touchy-feely personality was more than Regina could bear.

Healing Graham turned out to be far more straightforward than she thought, and Regina only needed to look one or two things up in the book she’d swiped from Rumplestiltskin’s shop.  Within an hour, Graham was up and walking, and Regina had never felt quite so good about helping someone as she did when he hugged her.

* * *

 

Bae was a little surprised how _happy_ the Charmings and Regina had been when he’d told them that his father had the Dark One’s dagger back.  He had expected a little more suspicion and a lot more mistrust; after all, although no one wanted _Cora_ to be able to command the Dark One, Baelfire knew from personal experience how very dangerous the Dark One was.  He wanted to trust his father, wanted to believe that Rumplestiltskin had changed, but he hadn’t exactly been able to talk to his father much when Rumplestiltskin was in possession of his own powers.  Yes, his father had apologized—and it had been an honest and heartfelt apology, exactly what Bae had needed to hear—but did he still turn people into snails at the slightest provocation?

Belle had tried to tell him that Rumplestiltskin didn’t do that these days, but Bae knew that he’d probably have to see it for himself before that sank in.  After all, he didn’t really know her very well, either.  He’d had no idea Belle or Gabrielle even existed eleven days ago, so as much as he’d come to like his stepmother in the ten days since his father had traded himself to Cora, Bae still felt cautious.  He’d expected the heroes of Storybrooke to feel the same way, but they all seemed a bit more comfortable with the situation than he did.  _Then again, they’re not going to a family dinner with the man, so I guess I get a different view of things,_ Bae thought wryly, letting himself into the house.

Immediately, voices drifted out of the living room.

“No, you _aren’t_ cooking, Rumple, so just stay down and relax,” Belle said firmly, in that don’t-argue-with-me tone that even Bae had learned not to ignore.

“I’m not an invalid!” his father protested.

“Rumple.”

“Belle, I’m—”

“What’s an in-valid?” Gabi interjected, and Bae snorted to himself, wandering forward to stand in the doorway leading into the living room from the front hall.  Gabi was on the floor building a castle out of blocks, while his father glared up at his stepmother, who was standing in front of Rumplestiltskin’s armchair, her arms crossed and looking fierce.

Her face softened when she looked at her daughter, though.  “An invalid someone who needs rest, sweetie.  Just like your father.”

“Papa should rest!” Gabi announced, and Bae didn’t miss the triumphant look that Belle shot his father.

Once upon a time, someone looking at him like that would have been turned into a toad.  Or worse.  But now Rumplestiltskin just scowled.

“That was low,” he grumbled.

“Very,” Belle agreed, and then dropped into a crouch in front of his chair, taking Rumplestiltskin’s hands in her own.  Her voice quieted.  “Please, Rumple?  I know you’re perfectly capable of cooking, but let me take care of you a little, all right?”

“All right,” Bae’s father gave in with a sigh, which made his eyebrows go up.  Then again, Bae wasn’t sure he would have been able to refuse those pleading blue eyes, either.

“Good.”  Belle’s smile was radiant.  “I already called Dove, anyway.  He’ll be by in a little while with everything we need, including some soup that should be easy on your stomach.”

That got her another half-hearted glare, but when that fizzled out immediately when Belle rose and kissed Rumplestiltskin on the forehead.  Gabi, meanwhile, looked up from her castle and spotted her older brother.

“Bay-fire!” she got up to run over to him, barely managing not to trip over her blocks on the way.  “Bay-fire is home, Mamma!”

“So he is,” Belle turned with a smile as Bae picked Gabi up and swung her around.  In some ways, having a kid sister was pretty cool.  She was a cheerful little bugger, anyway, and impossible not to like.

“Hey, you,”  he said to the cute munchkin, kissing her on the cheek.  She grinned and gave him a smacking kiss in return, but she was also clearly impatient, which was why Bae put her back down so that she could keep building her castle.  “I got your text,” he continued.  “But if you’d told me someone needed to pick up Granny’s, I could have done it.”

“There’s no need,” Belle replied with a shrug.  “Besides, I think Dove wants to see Rumple with his own eyes, anyway.”

_That’s…interesting._   Bae had found Dove’s loyalty to his father and Belle a little unnerving at first, even when Belle had told him the story about how Rumplestiltskin had more-or-less accidentially saved the shapeshifter years earlier and had thus earned himself a friend.  Now, with his father back in the house, it was even stranger to hear…because the Dark One hadn’t exactly been one to gain friends the last time Bae had seen him.

“How’re you doing, Papa?” he asked instead of mentioning how weirded out he was. 

“I’m fine, despite what Belle will tell you,” was the immediate answer.  Belle rolled her eyes, and Bae just plopped down on the sofa next to his father’s chair.

Rumplestiltskin did look better than he had earlier, when he’d seemed ready to fall off of his feet.  Bae hadn’t mentioned it when his father had brought Henry back, partially because he’d been too distracted by the fact that his son had been in danger and partially because he figured Belle could handle it.  Then, his father had looked horrible, obviously hurting and struggling to hide it, his brown eyes unfocused and swimming with pain.  Now…well, now he seemed to be a lot more in control.

But the dark circles under Rumplestiltskin’s eyes remained, and Bae thought he looked thinner than he had when he’d given Cora the dagger.  He looked a lot like he had in some of their worst months when Bae had been a child, back when there hadn’t been enough food for two and Rumplestiltskin went without to make sure Bae didn’t.  Bae hadn’t always realized how much his father sacrificed for him when he was young, particularly when his mother had been there to complain and put Rumplestiltskin down.  But as he’d grown, he’d realized exactly what Rumplestiltskin had done for him, particularly when it had just been the two of them.  Now he wore that same partially-broken but determined-to-go-on look that Bae remembered so well, and it made emotion well up in Bae’s throat.

“You sure?” he said quietly, careful not to let Gabi hear his concern.  “You look like you’ve gone through hell.”

Rumplestiltskin looked away, and his slight tremor told Bae everything that he needed to know.  _More_ than he needed to know.  “I’ll be all right,” Rumplestiltskin said softly, and then turned back to him with a tentative little smile.  “But I’m…thank you for asking.”

“Hey, that’s what family’s for, right?” Bae said, because they _were_ family.  Warts and all, rough spots or not, his father was his father.  Rumplestiltskin had proven to him that he wasn’t just some demon wearing his father’s face, and that meant a lot to Bae.  _Even if I will always wish he could have shown me that sooner, I can’t change the past._ On a whim, he reached out to squeeze Rumplestiltskin’s forearm.

His father’s smile was almost pitifully grateful, and it made Bae’s heart ache.  “Yes.  Yes, it is.”

“So, um, I have to ask, but you’re not going to go on some crazy murdering rampage, are you?  Because that would make my dating the sheriff kind of awkward,” he added as lightly as he could. 

“No.”  Surprisingly, Rumplestiltskin snorted with laughter.  “I left those behind me a few centuries ago.  I…I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice, and make my own child fear me.”

“It wasn’t you I feared, Papa,” he answered thickly.  “It was the demon I thought had taken you over.  I wanted you back…I just couldn’t find you in there.”

“I’m sorry.”  Brown eyes so like his own met Bae’s, and this really _was_ his father.  Not just the Dark One.  “It took me a long time to learn to control this darkness, and you suffered for that.”

“It’s okay,” Bae shrugged uneasily; the raw emotion of this conversation was getting to be too much.  “Besides, everything turned out pretty well.  I got a really cool kid out of the deal, and…” He swallowed back what he was going to say, but somehow his father figured it out, anyway.

“And Miss Swan?” Rumplestiltskin finished for him.

“I guess so.  Sort of?” Man, he hadn’t squirmed in embarrassment over a girl in a long time, but Bae was so damn in _love_ with Emma, and now he had to explain that to the man who had taught him to walk.

“You’ll have to tell me that story, someday.”  A small smile seemed to chase away some of Rumplestiltskin’s pain, and Bae found himself smiling back.

“Only if you tell me how the crazy scaly guy fell for Belle,” he countered.

“You have yourself a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Chapter Ninety-Seven—“Friends and Allies”, in which the heroes call a meeting, Cora does some spying, Jafar and Jefferson get back, and Maurice makes a humorous assumption.


	97. Friends and Allies

“You still don’t look that good,” Belle fretted, brushing hair out of his face after she finished settling Gabi into her car seat the next day.  “Do you want me to drive?”

He loved her madly, trusted her implicitly, but there were times Rumplestiltskin thought his wife might truly drive him insane.  “I’m perfectly functional,” he said, refusing to allude to the fact that he’d spent most of the night sobbing out nightmares in her arms and really hadn’t wanted to get out of bed at all that morning.  “I won’t look much better for a few days yet.” 

“I wish they’d waited,” she grumbled.

“I’m just surprised they invited _me_ ,” Rumplestiltskin snorted.

“They don’t hate you as much as you think,” his wife retorted.  “Some of them even _like_ you.  No one thinks that you were working with Cora by choice.”

“No one?” he repeated skeptically.  “Sweetheart, we both know that’s not true.”

“All right, very few people,” she relented, never losing her optimistic expression. 

Belle leaned in to kiss him gently, and as always, her kiss helped calm his raging insecurities.  His curse still hated her, all the more so because Rumplestiltskin had actually wanted to let his wife free him from the Dark One not many days before. However, if there was one thing Cora torturing him had accomplished, it was bringing the _man_ under the Dark One to the surface.  Had more time passed, Rumplestiltskin would have developed problems keeping his curse in check, but ten days had not been enough to let the darkness get a firm grip on his heart.  The blackness would grow, yes, but he still had the ability to keep the darkness from consuming him.

“Rumple?” Belle asked gently, making him jump.  “You still with me?”

Her hand was on his cheek again, and Rumplestiltskin allowed himself to lean into Belle’s touch for a moment before answering: “I can’t afford to show weaknesses.  Even if they _aren’t_ against us, I prefer their fear to their pity.”

“It doesn’t have to be one or the other, you know,” she frowned.  “We’re going to a war council with people you have helped, with our _allies_.  Some of them are even family, now.  If you trust them, they’ll trust you.”

_Family._ The Charmings were _related_ to him via their mutual grandson.  Yes, that would take a lot of getting used to.  He grimaced.

“I don’t want them to know how bad it was,” Rumplestiltskin admitted heavily.  Then a horrible thought occurred to him, and fear made the next words sharp: “You didn’t—”

“Of course not,” Belle soothed him.  “Bae knows a little more, but I didn’t tell him much.   Though I think he’s guessed some; he’s as clever as you are.”

“All right,” he whispered.  The idea of his son knowing what had happened to him was unsettling, but Bae was a man now, and…and maybe anything that humanized Rumplestiltskin in his son’s eyes was a good thing.  His inner manipulator recognized that immediately, much though the spinner behind that cringed.  His son might have forgiven him, but they still had a long way to go before their relationship even began to resemble the closeness they had once shared.  Fear rose again.  _It can’t help.  He’ll only see me for what I really am._ Bae knowing how badly broken he was, knowing how helpless and how afraid he’d been, could only make that worse, couldn’t it?  Bae had seen him utterly unable to fight Cora, had seen—

“He’s not ashamed of you,” his wife cut into his thoughts.  “He doesn’t think less of you.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Rumplestiltskin whispered before he could stop himself.  He could only stare at her.  Belle didn’t understand, did she?  “No one wants a coward for a—”

“Don’t you _dare_ call yourself that,” Belle cut him off fiercely.  “You are _not_ a coward, Rumplestiltskin.  Do you have any idea how brave you have been?”

* * *

 

“…I’m not brave,” Rumplestiltskin told his little wife as Cora watched in amusement, having used a vial of her pet’s blood to create an airtight—and untraceable—seeing spell.  Now she could watch them in comfort for as long as the spell lasted, watching the images play across her favorite mirror.  Rumplestiltskin looked like he thought the girl was crazy.  Was there trouble in paradise already?

“Of course you are,” the maid replied.  “You knew exactly what Cora would do to you, and yet you gave your freedom up to her, anyway.”

“She had _Bae._ ”

“Don’t you see?  That’s bravery, and the fact that you’re here, that you’re willing to meet with everyone else and fight against someone who hurt you so badly tells me just how strong you are.”

“I’ve never been strong,” he whispered, and Cora wanted to slap him.  Of course he had been strong. _Power_ made him strong.  It was love that made Rumplestiltskin weak.  Belle, however, took a different—and far more foolish—approach.

“I _believe_ in you,” the young woman said passionately.  “Will you trust me?  I know you can do this.”

_Does_ she _have the dagger?_ Cora wondered as Rumplestiltskin muttered something ridiculous about love and trust.  Of course, anyone who possessed the Dark One’s dagger should not stoop to pleading and _asking_ for anything, but that slip of an idiot girl might have been that foolish.  Did she think he would hate her less if she gave him the illusion of choice?  But no, Rumple was looking at his ‘wife’ with moon-eyed love, melting into the all-too-gentle kiss she gave him.  No, that was not a man who felt controlled by this woman.  Cora knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t look at Belle like that if she had the dagger.

If not Belle, then _who_?  She had tried to summon the actual dagger, using more of Rumplestiltskin’s blood, but the effort had failed.  So had all of her efforts to discover who had stolen it; there were no traces of magic on the room, and she had barely turned her back on the dagger long enough for it to have been taken.  Still, someone must have done so, because Cora knew full and damned well that she hadn’t broken the contract she had so foolishly signed.  _Well, now when I take it back, the contract will not bind me at all,_ she realized, smiling slightly.  Her spell was beginning to fade as Rumplestiltskin and his little maid climbed into his Cadillac, but that didn’t matter.  Spying on them had answered two questions for her, and she would discover who had the dagger in time.

Perhaps Regina had finally summoned up the necessary steel to do what had to be done.  If her daughter was controlling their mutual mentor, Cora thought she might actually applaud—provided Regina didn’t do something foolish like send Rumplestiltskin after her own mother.  _Zelena?_ she wondered. Her elder daughter had both access and opportunity, but Cora did not believe Zelena would have done the deed.  No, Zelena was too hungry for approval, and Cora had allowed Zelena to ‘play’ with her pet more than once, giving Zelena the dagger so that she might command Rumplestiltskin to do whatever she wanted.  Zelena was satisfied with her lot in life, which meant someone else had done it.

_The pirate, perhaps?_   Hook was an actual possibility; he was skilled at breaking and entering, and Cora was all too aware of his annoying obsession.  But she didn’t think that Hook was foolish enough to betray her, even if he was bedding that fairy on the side.  _Besides, if he had the dagger, Hook would be the Dark One, now._ No.  Another unlikely thief.  The pirate didn’t have the patience to wait.

Her magic sputtered and then flickered out; Cora glanced at the mirror and sighed in annoyance.   For a moment, she contemplated refreshing the spell, but using blood magic—particularly someone else’s—to spy was terribly inefficient.  You could generally only hear what the individual whose blood was used said; had Belle not been standing so close to Rumplestiltskin, Cora never would have heard her end of the conversation. 

“I shall simply have to gather more hearts,” she told her reflection, rising and squaring her shoulders.  Having lost her collection was particularly annoying, now; she knew the heroes were gathering for a war council, but she did not know where they were going and would have no way to observe what was said. 

Still, that was not the end of the world.  While her enemies’ leadership was distracted, Cora could take advantage of the situation to prove her power to Storybrooke.

* * *

 

They were the last ones to arrive.  Rumplestiltskin never would have admitted to anyone—even Belle—that his stomach was a mess of butterflies and it took all of his self-control just to walk into that room with so many people.  Intellectually, he knew that he needn’t fear any of them, that he could turn the lot of heroes into snails without breaking a sweat.  But emotion and intellect did not always align, and he’d spent the last ten days trapped in a cage and utterly unable to defend himself.  The coward inside him burned to break and run, and Rumplestiltskin wanted nothing more than to go home and hide himself away from the world.  Then he could just retreat into Belle’s arms and stay away from everyone else until he felt vaguely confident again.

“Sorry we’re late,” Belle said before he could speak, and Rumplestiltskin cursed his lingering fears and jumpiness for letting her get in ahead of him. 

_Not really projecting power today, are we, dearie?_ his curse mocked him.  His damn demon should have been happy to be free, but instead it was cranky; had Cora controlled him longer, the spread of blackness and darkness in his heart would have become irreversible, and Rumplestiltskin knew that his curse sought to gain control of its host.  His wife, however, continued to speak, all the while looking at the heroes with slightly narrowed eyes:

“We didn’t receive word of this meeting until a few minutes ago,” Belle continued, clearly unhappy that no one had bothered to invite them until the last minute—and that they were coming at all when Rumplestiltskin was still unsteady on his feet.

Not that he was going to show _these_ people that.  But Belle knew.

“We’re just glad you could come,” Snow said smoothly, and Rumplestiltskin thought he saw Regina smirk slightly.

_Leave it to Regina to find this funny,_ he thought wryly.  The group the Charmings had gathered seemed to be the same as the one from the war council he’d interrupted last time, except Regina and Henry were here now and the Blue Fairy, interestingly enough, was not.  _Did they think I might try to take another shot at her?_ Rumplestiltskin almost snorted aloud.  He didn’t _like_ Reul Ghorm, but he wasn’t going to try to kill her of his own volition.  Not today, anyway. 

His eyes scanned across the group quickly, assessing strengths and weaknesses and filing things away.  Granny, Ruby, and Grumpy were there, of course, even if none of the three really belonged in a meeting like this.  Archie probably didn’t, either, but at least the cricket was always a voice of reason. Robin Hood was undoubtedly there because of Regina, but he was a clever sort and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t object to the outlaw’s presence—the fact that Robin had saved his wife and child under the curse was not something he’d ever forget, anyway.  Henry looked excited to be included, even if the adults probably _should_ have left him behind.  Then again, he and Belle should have left Gabrielle at home, too, but without the contract to protect her, there was no way that they were going to let their daughter out of their sight.  Belle had already settled her into a corner with a coloring book, and Rumplestiltskin waited for her to be finished.

“Did you seriously invite _him_?” Grumpy demanded before anyone else could speak, and then threw a guilty glance at Rumplestiltskin’s wife.  “No offense, Belle.”

“What?” Belle turned to face the dwarf, who Rumplestiltskin seriously began to think about turning into a toad.  “I can’t believe you’d say that, Grumpy.  Rumplestiltskin is here to _help._ ”

“He took my heart!”

“Not by choice!” Belle snapped back immediately, and Rumplestiltskin felt like such a coward for letting his wife defend him like this.  He’d _told_ her this would happen.  None of them would ever see him as human; hate and fear were much easier emotions, and _why_ had he agreed to try to help these people?

Grumpy rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on.  No one knows if that dagger thing is real or not—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  Or any stupider than you have to be,” Regina cut him off with a snort.

“I’m only saying what everyone is thinking,” Grumpy insisted.  “It sounds to me like that dagger was a convenient excuse to play bad guy whenever he wanted to, but now that it looks like we might win, he’s jumping ship and crying about how some piece of metal can control him.”

_Say something or let them all know you’re a coward_.  He wasn’t sure if the thoughts were his own or the voice of his curse, but either way, he was right.  So, Rumplestiltskin turned to Grumpy as calmly as he could, acting like their opinions didn’t matter to him—because they _didn’t_ —and trying an amused smile on for size.

“Did you have any choice when Cora held your heart?” he asked coolly.

“Of course not.”  Grumpy looked at him like he was an idiot, and it was all Rumplestiltskin could do not to roll his eyes.  Instead, he pulled one of the two empty chairs out for Belle, letting her sit next to Ruby before he took the seat next to Archie.

At least the cricket didn’t hate him.  _I think_.

“Well, then we can compare notes on how being used as a puppet feels all day if you wish, but I, for one, would prefer to discuss Cora’s demise.”  Sitting back in his chair casually—and ignoring how his body screamed in protest—Rumplestiltskin looked at Snow and Charming.  “I should probably begin by saying that she’s _not_ going to live through this.  I hope that’s not a problem.”

The young monarchs exchanged looks, but it was Regina who spoke up.  “I think we all know that’s coming,” she said, giving her stepsister a hard look.  “Since Mother apparently knows about the original plan to drop her into another world, I think that option is off the table.”

Curious, Rumplestiltskin glanced at Belle, who gave him a little shrug.  “Jefferson and I were planning on dumping her in Neverland.”

“Neverland?” His heart skipped a beat.  Keeping his voice level was hard with the lump in his throat.  “Be glad that didn’t work.”

_Don’t think about that now._

“Do you have any better ideas?” Snow asked, looking a little pained.

“You can’t possibly have pity for the woman,” Emma put in.  “She’s killed—or had killed—over twenty people in the last eleven days!  Sure, a trial by jury would be nice if we could lock her up long enough, but I’m getting the impression that she’d just break out.”

“Speaking of killing, what are we going to do with the person who did most of that killing?” Granny asked bluntly, and Rumplestiltskin felt fear shoot up his spine, making his entire body tense.  _They’ll try to lock me up,_ he worried.  _They’ll do it again, and Cora will get away, and she’ll never stop looking for the dagger.  Then she’ll find it, and—_

With an effort, he pulled his thoughts away from that runaway train of terror, forcing himself to roll his eyes.  “I’ll tell you what, dear,” Rumplestiltskin snapped, turning a glare on the old woman.  “I’ll make a deal with you.  I’ll kill Cora, and you stop whining about things outside your control.”

“Rumple,” Belle breathed, but he was too angry—too frightened—to back down.  Fortunately, he could hide his fears underneath darkness and anger as well as he’d always been able to, even if that meant ignoring the worried looks his son was throwing his way.

But he had no way to pretend that the hand Belle laid on his forearm wasn’t a gigantic relief, that it didn’t help him center himself and fight back his fear.

“Like we can trust you to do her in,” Granny scoffed before anyone else could speak.

“Well, you don’t have a lot of choice, now, do you?” Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “Who else is going to do the deed?  You and your trusty crossbow?  I think not.”  He turned to his old student after sneering at the old woman.  “Regina, do you feel up to killing your dear mother?”

She winced.  “I’m—she’s always beaten me before.  I can take Zelena down, sure, but Mother…she knows all my tricks.”  Squaring her shoulders, Regina turned a glare on Grumpy.  “So you need to stop antagonizing the one person who _can_ take her down.  Got it?”

The dwarf glared back, but Archie got in before anyone else could start an argument.  “We’re all allies here,” the prince said firmly.  “We can’t afford to start fighting amongst ourselves.”

“That depends upon who is calling who an ally,” Granny interjected pointedly, and Rumplestiltskin thought Regina’s fury might literally make her blow up—or at least her magic.  Despite his discomfort, he was starting to find the arguments amusing—though hardly useful.

“The door’s right there if you don’t like the company,” Regina snapped, and seemed ready to go on before Snow laid a hand on her arm.  Ruby likewise seemed to be trying to calm Granny down, but the tension in the room was thick and oppressive.

“I’ve got a question,” Bae cut in before the cranky old bat could respond.  “Didn’t you guys pass some sort of law or another that pardoned everyone for anything they did under the curse?”

Immediately, Rumplestiltskin saw where his son was going with that line of questioning, and he had to hold back a bittersweet smile.  _He’s brilliant,_ Rumplestiltskin thought.  _I missed_ so _much of his life, but he’s still utterly brilliant._   Pride helped displace his discomfort for a few moments, and when he glanced Belle’s way, she flashed him a smile.

“We did,” David said slowly, studying Baelfire curiously.

“What are you getting at?” Snow asked, looking intrigued.  It was always nice to know that his pet prince and princess weren’t idiots, but it was even more interesting when their daughter picked up where _his_ son left off.

“You say that someone using that dagger removes your free will, right?” Emma asked, looking Rumplestiltskin’s way.  “Just like the curse did for everyone else, or like anyone whose hearts Cora has now.”

There were at least a dozen ways in which that parallel didn’t add up, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t have the energy to quibble over details.  Besides, he could see where Bae was going—and that the Savior was actually trying to help him, too.  It wouldn’t do to sabotage that because he preferred specifics to generalities.  _They’re your allies,_ said a voice inside him, one that sounded rather like Belle.  _You have to play this smart.  Don’t alienate them._

“More or less,” he allowed, feeling a tightness across his shoulders and fighting down the desire to cover up his vulnerabilities with hostility.  Rumplestiltskin’s voice dropped to a whisper before he could stop it.  “Rather more.”

_Don’t,_ he told himself firmly. _Just don’t._ Being willing to not work with these people didn’t mean he had to let them in.  _They’ll only take advantage of your weaknesses to trap you, dearie,_ his curse taunted him.  _You let them know how_ damaged _you are, and they’ll use that against you._

They’d try to lock him up.  They’d try to take the dagger and they would—

“Well, then I’d think this would apply,” Emma said pointedly, and after a moment, her parents nodded.

* * *

 

They popped out of Jefferson’s hat in the park.

“Well, that’s done,” Jafar snorted, brushing himself off as the Hatter watched in amusement.  The sorcerer hadn’t believed him, had he?  That was the way of powerful magic users, though.  They always had to see things for themselves.  Even the reasonable ones were idiots about portal jumping.

“I told you Wonderland was utterly mad,” he reminded his companion, and then shrugged.  “Though I do have to admit that was a little…worse than usual.”

Jafar barked out a laugh.  “So you did!  Still, I think that little world might have its uses.”

“If by uses you mean ‘is a place where Cora isn’t’, it does have that going for it,” Jefferson replied.  “If only that.”

“That, my friend, might be more than enough.”  Jafar looked thoughtful, glancing around Storybrooke Park.  “Is it just me, or are things…quieter than usual?”

“Looks pretty normal to me,” Jefferson shrugged again, his mind already on how he would apologize to Grace for having been away for so long.  The few hours they’d _meant_ to spend in Wonderland had turned into an overnight dash to get away from the damn Caterpillar and his goons, which Jafar had enjoyed a lot more than Jefferson had.

Still, the sorcerer _had_ saved his life when he hadn’t had to—getting a second person to come through the hat would have been easy enough so that Jafar could make it back—so that made him all right in Jefferson’s books.  Even if Jafar seemed to like Jefferson’s least favorite realm.  _Or maybe it’s my second least favorite realm.  I swore I’d never go back to Neverland, after all; that crazy manchild is more than_ anyone _can handle.  And Narnia wasn’t exactly a blast, either…_

“It isn’t,” Jafar interrupted his thoughts, gesturing towards an empty swingset with his staff.  “It’s a beautiful Saturday morning.  Why aren’t there children playing in the park?”

“Because there’s a psychopathic Evil Queen trying to take over the town?”

“Point.”  Dark eyes narrowed.  “Still, something just feels…wrong.”

“If you say so.  Personally, I think it might just be people running scared from that battle two days ago,” he reasoned.  “You know, the one you conveniently managed to arrange for us to be in Agrabah during.”

A hint of a smile touched Jafar’s face.  “Are you objecting?”

“Not in the slightest.  Anyway, I’m going home to hug my daughter.  If you need—”

_Ring!_   Jafar’s ringtone wasn’t a bit of music—though Jefferson _had_ tried suggesting to him that he use ‘A Whole New World’, which hadn’t gone over well—but it still cut into their conversation easily enough.  A scowl replacing his amused expression, Jafar took one look at his phone and then put it back in his pocket.

“If anyone asks you, we were in Wonderland right now,” the sorcerer said.

“Cora?” Jefferson guessed.

“Of course not.”  It was a lie, but one designed to protect Jefferson, so the Hatter let it slide.  “I would never ignore my dear friend the Queen.”

He snorted.  “Oh, never.”

“I do, however, want to get the lay of the land before doing anything…precipitous.  So, I propose you lay low and prepare to make another journey.  Just in case.”

“I’m not leaving Grace here, no matter how bad it gets.”

Jafar blinked.  “Of course you won’t.  I wouldn’t ask you to.”

* * *

 

David had known that the meeting would be a little tense, but they’d needed to get everyone together in one room and figure out where they were going.  Regina had been able to vet everyone beforehand and guarantee they still had their hearts (with the exception of the Golds, but David felt they could be certain _those_ three hearts remained where they belonged), which at least gave him confidence that no one could eavesdrop on this war council.  Still, he’d known that inviting Rumplestiltskin would make everything…interesting, much though he and Snow both acknowledged that it had to be done.

He liked to think they would have invited the Dark One—now Henry’s _other_ grandfather—even if Regina hadn’t pointed out to both of them that Rumplestiltskin was the only one who could take Cora down.  She’d said the same thing in the meeting, too, though that didn’t keep Grumpy and Granny from staring at Rumplestiltskin suspiciously.  _You mean hostilely,_ David corrected himself, letting out the breath he’d been holding.  Emma and Baelfire had at least come up with a reasonable way to avoid trying to arrest Rumplestiltskin for his part in Cora’s recent bloodbaths, but the meeting had still turned nasty far quicker than he’d expected.

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Snow said in response to Emma’s proposal.  “No one who has been controlled by Cora, regardless of her method of control, will be held responsible for their actions.  Cora is to blame.  Everyone else will receive a full pardon for--”

“I didn’t ask for some pardon, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin cut in, his drawn face unreadable again except for the sneer he wore. 

“Rumple,” Belle said quietly, and David watched the Dark One turn to face his wife as she put a hand on his arm.  The silent byplay between them was fascinating to watch; Rumplestiltskin was so very different here than he had been in the Enchanted Forest, quieter and far less flamboyant, but the same power radiated from him.  Yet Belle seemed impervious to that danger, and Rumplestiltskin’s sneer faded away as she gave him a small smile.

“I think what Rumplestiltskin means to say is that he’s never been your subject,” Belle turned to Snow to say, but David didn’t miss the way that her hand slid down Rumplestiltskin’s arm to squeeze his fingers gently.  “But we’re grateful for your consideration, and it is very nice to know that no one is going to target him for actions taken outside of his control.”

_Wow.  That was diplomatic._ To David’s left, Snow blinked and nodded, clearly deciding to ignore the prickly Dark One and take the compromise Belle had offered.  For his part, David just kept watching Rumplestiltskin, noting how tired and pale the older man looked.  _He looked awful the day Emma shot him, too, so it’s not that,_ he realized.  _What_ did _Cora do to him?_

“Then we should discuss how best to handle this situation,” Snow continued briskly.  “After all, Cora isn’t the only threat—from what we understand, she’s gathered an impressive collection of allies.”

“Not all of which are entirely happy with her,” Regina put in.  “Maleficent, Cruella, and Ursula are happy to be neutral if Cora goes down.”

“Neutral in what direction?” Ruby spoke up for the first time.  “Sorry for asking, but those three aren’t exactly known for behaving well in public.”

“Though I don’t think _anyone_ will argue if Maleficent wants to turn Cora into Barbequed Evil Queen du Jour,” Grumpy put in.  Several people snorted approvingly, but Regina shook her head.

“Sorry, but that’s not on the menu.  Maleficent won’t move against Mother, and even if the other two won’t fight against us, neither Cruella or Ursula is going to fight _with_ us out of the ‘goodness’ of their hearts.”

“What’s Maleficent’s problem?” Grumpy asked.  “She still miffed that no one wanted to ally with her before the curse, or did she make some sort of deal with Cora?”

“Don’t be an idiot.  Mother took her daughter, and Mal promised not to go after her so she could get Lily back,” Regina retorted, eying the Dark One speculatively.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t seem to notice, so Regina continued: “Though it’s worth mentioning that she didn’t promise not to act against any of Mother’s other allies.”

“Well, that’s something, at least,” Snow nodded.  “What about the others?  Jafar and Ingrid are both powerful, right?  And there’s also Zelena.”

“Ingrid’s heart went missing,” Emma spoke before Regina could reply. 

“Cora has it.”  Surprisingly, it was Rumplestiltskin who spoke up in a flat voice, and he shrugged when every eye turned to him. 

Realization seemed to hit Emma hard.  “ _You_ took it from my car by the docks.”

“Be glad you didn’t notice, of I would have had to kill you,” the Dark One replied simply, and David watched several people bristle.  Emma, notably, wasn’t one of them, but David still spoke quickly to forestall another argument.

“Right.  So, Ingrid is with Cora whether she wants to be or not, and Zelena is probably happy to stick with Cora, too.   Jafar is probably a wildcard.  Anyone else?” 

“Jafar is the one who told Jefferson about how Cora knew about our original plan for her,” Belle spoke up for the first time.  “I don’t think he wants to work with her much longer.”

“Wow, you mean someone on Team Evil is sane?” Baelfire joked, and a nervous laugh rounded the room.  But an undercurrent of relief came along with that laugh; the odds were somewhere around even, now, and they actually stood a chance.  _Better than a chance if Rumplestiltskin can deal with Cora as easily as he seems to think he can,_ David thought, squeezing Snow’s hand.

“What about the Jabberwocky?” Regina asked.  “I think it goes without saying that no one in this room wants to meet up with her.”

“Again,” Emma muttered darkly, and David didn’t miss the way Baelfire lightly bumped his shoulder against hers.

“I don’t think she’ll be a problem,” Snow said slowly, glancing his way.  David shrugged, and his wife continued: “The Jabberwocky doesn’t seem to want to work for Cora, either.  If someone can get the Vorpal Blade away from Cora, I think she’ll just leave.”

“Yeah, but does anyone want to trust that…whatever she is?” Grumpy asked, and David was starting to wonder if the dwarf was just being difficult because he could.

“I expect a crossbow bolt between the eyes will kill _her_ quickly enough if she’s lying,” Granny said with a shrug, all too obviously not looking at Rumplestiltskin.

That comment caused an uneasy silence; no one seemed willing to start another argument, and Rumplestiltskin ignored the bait Granny had offered, staring blankly at the wall.  David was starting to wonder if the Dark One was even listening to them bicker, or if he was so bored by the meeting that he’d simply tuned out.  _Or there’s something wrong with him,_ David thought, studying the drawn face and noticing the dark circles underneath Rumplestiltskin’s eyes.  Belle still had a hand on his arm, though now the gesture seemed more protective than anything else.

Finally, Archie cleared his throat, looking at Regina.  “Do you think that Zelena might be willing to listen to reason?  I understand the two of you didn’t grow up together, but she is your sister.”

“Half-sister,” Regina corrected the former cricket, and David saw Snow give her a sad smile.  “ _Crazy_ half-sister.”

“She still might listen to you,” Archie pressed.  “I say it’s worth a chance.”

“And I might have a _chance_ of convincing Mother to shove her own heart in, too, but I’m still not going to try,” was the snapped reply, and Snow got in quickly before Archie could try anything else.

“I think that what we’re all getting at is that we should remove Cora’s allies before…anyone goes after Cora herself,” she said briskly.  “The fewer allies she has, the weaker she becomes.”

The next twenty minutes were spent covering details, and eventually it was decided that David, Baelfire, and Robin would go after Bo Peep, while Emma and Snow arrested Fagin.  Belle volunteered to call Jefferson to see if he might serve as a go-between with Jafar, and Regina said that she’d go check her mother’s vault to make sure there were no other hearts there.  Unsurprisingly, Rumplestiltskin didn’t volunteer to do anything, but David could read him well enough to know that there was no way he wasn’t going to go after Cora.  He seemed willing to wait to let the others do their legwork first, though, and that was probably the best they would get from him, so David didn’t argue.

* * *

 

No one answered when he knocked on the door.  Maurice waited several minutes, knocking again and then trying Lacey’s old cell phone number, but there was no response. 

_I suppose that tells me what Belle thinks of me,_ he thought, turning away from the door with his shoulders slumped.  _I should have listened to the prince._   David had told him to talk to Belle, to believe her when she said that she was where she wanted to be.  Yet he’d dithered—a terrible habit he’d always had—trying to find some way to convince everyone that his daughter was still a prisoner of the Dark One.  Rumplestiltskin had taken her away in a _deal_ , for crying out loud!  That wasn’t a way to build any kind of relationship, let alone the kind of marriage that Belle claimed they had. 

But his daughter had never lied to him.  Eventually, Maurice had managed to shove aside enough of _Moe’s_ distrust of what his daughter said and think about the situation.  Belle had said the same thing back in the Enchanted Forest, and his girl had never been one to give in easily.  If she was a prisoner, she would have said so—or at least she would have said so here, where people had more freedoms and a monster demanding a young lady become his maid would not be allowed.  That meant that Belle had to be telling the truth.  She loved Rumplestiltskin, no matter what that Beast saw her as.  She’d made her choice…and that meant Maurice had been an utter fool.

However, Belle had apparently decided that she’d waited long enough, so he trundled back down the walk, staring at his feet as he went.  He’d keep trying, because Belle deserved a father who would listen to her.  But he would have to try another day.  If Belle was home, she clearly wasn’t receiving visitors.

He almost bumped into the jauntily dressed young man who was heading up the walk, and did a double take when he realized that this wasn’t the Dark One’s son.  He’d only met Baelfire (?) once, but aside from sharing dark hair, this man didn’t look much like him at all.

“Excuse me,” Maurice said absent-mindedly, sidestepping around the other man.

“No one home?”

He blinked.  “I beg your pardon?”

“I asked if anyone was home.  I’m looking for Belle,” was the easy response.

“Why would you be looking for her?” The words were out, sharp and hostile, before Maurice could stop himself.

“Who are you, her father?” the other man shot back with a laugh.  “It’s none of your business.”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”  Instinct told Maurice not to like the sound of that response—but maybe…  _Maybe he’s more than a friend?  Maybe Belle is better off than I thought?_ Only a horrible father would hope his daughter was having an affair, but surely that was safer than claiming to love the Dark One.

“Ah.”  The young man’s face transitioned from shock to a blinding smile as he held out a hand.  “I’m Jefferson.  I’m a friend of Belle’s from back home.”

“A…friend?”

“What, you think she doesn’t have them?” Jefferson snorted.  “And no, nothing else, before you get all crazy on me.  If there’s anyone in _any_ realm foolish enough to cuckold the Dark One, it’s not me—and it wouldn’t be with Belle.  She’d slap me silly.  Anyway, I’m a portal jumper.  I used to do a lot of work for Rumplestiltskin.”

“Then why are you looking for her?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Honestly? I was hoping she could tell me why the town is so eerily quiet.  I’ve been away since yesterday, and it feels like there’s a giant anvil just waiting to fall on everyone’s heads.  I’d like to know what’s happening.”

“I can’t help you there,” Maurice admitted, glancing back at the house with its darkened windows.  “No one answered when I knocked.”

“Pity.”  Jefferson shrugged, and turned away.  “Ah, well.  It was nice meeting you.”

Maurice watched him go, struggling to piece together what he knew of his daughter’s life.  She had friends he had never met.  She had a _daughter_ who he had not known about back home, and a stepson who looked older than her.  Belle had built a life without him, a life to replace the one she had bravely turned away from—and the one he had denied her with his rejection when she had come to make peace.  He had missed so much.

Would she even want him back, now?

* * *

 

The meeting had broken up into small knots of people, everyone discussing what they’d do next.  It was a really weird group of people when you got down to it, even if you _hadn’t_ learned most of their stories through Land Without Magic fairytales.  Unfortunately for Bae, he had learned about them that way, and although he knew that most everyone was different from the way the outside world looked at them, he still found his head spinning from time to time. 

Like now, when Robin Hood turned to one of the seven dwarves and asked about a fairy’s health.

“How’s Astrid doing?” the outlaw asked Grumpy.  “I heard she barely managed to escape the convent.  Ana was worried about her—she and Will were by last night.”

“She’s all right,” Grumpy said in a voice that could be charitably considered a growl.  “No thanks to _some_ people, though.  Did you know that _six_ fairies died in that attack?”

Bae didn’t need to follow Grumpy’s gaze to know who the dwarf was glaring at; everyone knew that Cora had sent Rumplestiltskin to do her dirty work on that front.  He hadn’t asked about that incident yet (or any other; his father had been so quiet after dinner the night before that he hadn’t wanted to pry), but he knew enough to know that _no_ fairies would have escaped if Rumplestiltskin had truly wanted to kill them all.  Grumpy, however, was glaring at Rumplestiltskin like he was the devil incarnate, even though the man in question was doing nothing more dangerous than looking over Gabi’s shoulder at the moment.

His little sister really was crazy when it came to coloring; Bae could see her showing off her masterpiece to their father, but for the life of him, he couldn’t tell what the picture had started life as.  Now it looked like a rainbow colored hippopotamus with an eagle’s wings, but he didn’t think coloring books included animals like that.

A voice broke through his thoughts as an elbow landed solidly in his side.  “I _said_ that went better than I expected.  Not that you were listening,” Emma said pointedly.

“Sorry.  Guess I got distracted.”

“Tell me about it,” his ex-girlfriend (was she an ex? Or was she his fiancé?) grunted.  They still hadn’t talked about whether or not they were going to get together now that the contract wasn’t there to protect anyone, and Bae had been too chicken to ask.

_Guess that apple fell closer to the tree than I’d like to admit, huh?_ he thought, trying not to sigh.  But now wasn’t the time.  They had work to do, and a town to save. 

“So, we’ll start after lunch?” he asked, looking back over at Emma as Snow and Charming headed for the door, deep in conversation with Granny.   She never got a chance to answer, but Bae hadn’t been watching to see Grumpy stalk across the room and grab Rumplestiltskin by the shoulder, roughly spinning the sorcerer around as he snarled:

“You tried to kill Astrid, you son of a bitch!” the dwarf snarled.  “Everyone else might give you a free pass, but I’m not gonna forget that you stole my heart, either.  You’re every bit as bad as the Evil Queen, and just as rotten!”

Everyone in the room froze, just waiting for Grumpy to turn into a snail—or something worse.  Even Bae didn’t move, because there was no way he could get there in time to make a difference.  Grumpy had poked a hornet’s nest—but Rumplestiltskin hadn’t moved.

Instead, he’d stumbled back a step, wide-eyed and frozen, cringing away from the hand on his left shoulder.  Terror flashed through his brown eyes, and his face was more drawn and pale than ever.  _He’s wearing the expression of someone just_ waiting _to be hurt,_ Bae realized.  Neal Cassidy had traveled in a _lot_ of questionable circles in the Land Without Magic, particularly when he’d been a fifteen-year-old trying to pretend to be older.  He knew about all kinds of nasty things that people from the Enchanted Forest had never even dreamt of, and he’d definitely learned to recognize the classic signs of an abuse victim early on.  He’d just never expected to see his _father_ exhibit them.

“Grumpy!” Belle’s voice cut through the sudden silence even as Bae lurched into motion.  He was closer than Belle, and bigger too.  Someone had to intervene, and no one else seemed willing.  Belle wasn’t giving up, either, shouting:  “Stop it!”

The dwarf didn’t seem to hear her; his eyes were still on Rumplestiltskin as he yanked the Dark One back towards him.  “You think playing house with Belle and a little kid is going to get you any sympathy?” he demanded.  “Everyone knows what you are.  Everyone—”

Magic lashed out, slamming into Grumpy and forcibly shoving him back.  The dwarf bounced off the nearby wall, intact but clearly winded.

“Don’t touch me,” Rumplestiltskin snapped, but Bae could hear the panic in the words before his father reined it in.  Suddenly, he was all Dark One again, standing straighter and his eyes flashing dangerously enough to _almost_ hide the fear in them.  “If you ever try it again, dearie, you’ll be spending the rest of your days as something small and slimy.  Understood?”

“Yeah, threaten me, ‘Stiltskin,” Grumpy jeered, lurching forward.  “That’ll—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Bae cut in, reaching the dwarf and shoving him back so that he could get between Rumplestiltskin and the dwarf—and hopefully forestall any small-and-slimy-making spells.  Once he did, however, he noticed what Grumpy hadn’t yet: Grumpy’s right hand was stained red with blood. 

Wheeling around, Bae snapped his gaze up to his father’s left shoulder.  Rumplestiltskin was wearing a black suit jacket, but the shoulder seemed wet and shiny.

“Papa?” he asked, staring at the blood.  “You’re hurt?”

His father had left behind a potion so that his wounds could be healed that first day, and he’d seen Rumplestiltskin make giant gashes disappear with a flick of his fingers.  Bae had even seen someone shoot his father with an arrow right between the eyes as a child, and _that_ hadn’t been a problem.  How could Rumplestiltskin be hurt now?  Grumpy didn’t seem to have a weapon, although Emma was now next to him and glaring the dwarf down, so why was there a new kind of panic in his father’s face?

“It’s fine,” Rumplestiltskin tried to say, but Bae was already moving forward.

“Let me look,” he said, a knot of worry making his stomach hurt.  Bae didn’t wait for permission; he stepped forward and started unbuttoning his father’s shirt.  He met no resistance, and it didn’t even occur to him that his father was shaking slightly until Belle reached them and grabbed Bae’s wrists.

“Bae,” she said softly, pulling his hands away.  Somehow that made him look up at his father’s face, pinched and drawn and so very uncomfortable.

“Leave it,” Rumpelstiltskin said softly, finally seeming to find his voice, and Bae wanted to kick himself.  Hard.

_Ten days with that woman really messed him up,_ he realized too late.  He’d meant far better than Grumpy had, but that didn’t matter.  Bae had still done the same thing, invading his father’s personal space and not giving him a choice in the matter.  _Just like Cora didn’t,_ he knew.  Cora—and probably her crazy daughter who had seemed willing to rape _Bae_ while he’d been their prisoner—had clearly not been one to take no for an answer, and she’d had the dagger.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, reaching out a tentative hand to touch his father’s right arm.  He hadn’t meant to frighten him, hadn’t realized Rumplestiltskin _could_ be so frightened, and Bae felt like a fool.  He’d known, intellectually realized, at least, that Cora had treated his father horribly, but he’d never understood how bad it was.

“It’s all right,” his father smiled, and it was that broken smile that came straight out of Bae’s childhood, from when Rumplestiltskin was struggling to be strong for his son. 

A quick flick of fingers righted Rumplestiltskin’s suit, and erased the bloodstain, too.  Bae _burned_ to know where that bloodstain had come from, but he wasn’t going to ask since he’d already made enough of a mess of things.  Unfortunately, Emma didn’t share the same hesitation.

“You okay, Gold?” she asked, not unkindly.  “You can make the blood disappear, but it was still there in the first place.”

“I’m quite fine, Sheriff, thank you.”  Oh, the walls were up, now.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t had them when Bae was a kid, but he could see them now, high and strong to protect a fragile heart most people in this room probably didn’t think Rumplestiltskin had.

“Bullshit.”  That was Regina, striding forward.  The gesture she sent Grumpy’s way was anything but friendly.  “Did this idiot do that to you?”

Bae watched as Belle silently slipped right hand into his father’s left, her other hand sliding around to rest on the small of his back.  Her touch seemed to calm the hostility he could feel radiating from Rumplestiltskin, but that still didn’t answer the question.  A word from Rumplestiltskin—even if it was a lie—could make this entire war council go up in flames, tearing their alliance apart before they managed to defeat Cora.  Bae could see the lines being drawn, could see Snow and Charming wanting to side with the dwarf, while Regina automatically seemed to take his father’s side.  Emma seemed inclined to do so as well, though she was more doubtful—but she probably saw the same signs of abuse that Bae did, given the lives they’d both lived.

“No,” Rumplestiltskin said after a moment, his voice hoarse.  “That wound predates our friendly dwarf.”

“What, did you forget how to heal yourself?” Regina gave him a look that said she wasn’t buying it.  But her next words sounded surprisingly worried.  “Sell me another one, Rumple.”

Rumplestiltskin flinched; everyone saw it, but Bae would have bet his father’s fortune that none of them were ballsy enough to mention it.  He looked at Belle, who smiled encouragingly, and then glanced away before meeting Regina’s eyes squarely.

“Wounds made with the dagger aren’t something I can heal,” he admitted quietly.  “You can thank your darling mother for that one.”

“I’d rather just hold your coat as you kill her,” Regina replied, and that seemed to be the right thing to say.

Rumplestiltskin’s smile was crooked.  “I may take you up on that one, dear.”

“Any time.”

* * *

 

She would have to start over.  Jafar was still off with the Hatter—or he was ignoring her calls, which was _not_ a wise course of action—but the rest of her allies were more or less reliable.  Zelena, of course, would back her regardless of what had happened, although Cora was not going to count on that.  Still, a strong element of Cora’s power base had always rested on the fact that her enemies never knew exactly whose hearts she possessed, so she would have to begin her collection anew.

Sitting behind her rebuilt desk, Cora put pen to paper once more, drawing up a list of those she would seek out first.  _Hearts,_ she wrote.  _Regina’s outlaw.  Charming.  Prince Thomas.  The wolf girl.  The Cricket.  Grumpy._   The last one would be a repeat, but no one would expect her to take the brash dwarf’s heart twice.  As for Snow’s asinine prince, well, Cora planned on killing him very nearly afterwards, because she’d been thwarted enough on that front and burned for revenge.  The others were close to Snow, save for the outlaw who _dared_ love a princess.  Cora would punish him, too.  The fact that Regina had—yet again—chosen an entirely unsuitable man was not lost on her mother, but she would simply have to re-teach the lesson she had thought Regina already learned.

But Regina was not the first person who required punishment.  Not even Snow fit that bill now.  No, Rumplestiltskin took priority.  Whomever had stolen his dagger away had invalidated her contract with him, and now Cora was free to make him pay.  A judicious amount of mirror magic had failed to show her who had it in their possession.  That left her with one inescapable conclusion, of course; whomever had previously had the dagger had been foolish enough to give it back to Rumplestiltskin.  Fortunately, she knew his weaknesses, and she knew exactly how to exploit them, too.

_Belle._

She wrote the name with relish, putting it under a new category.  No, she wouldn’t take the little maid’s heart.  She had better plans for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, dear. Cora has a new plan—but what do you think she’s going to do? Stay tuned for the answer in Chapter Ninety-Eight—“Ashes and Alliances”, in which Zelena seeks revenge, the heroes go after Cora’s accomplices, Regina and Rumplestiltskin have a heart to heart, and Cora makes her move.


	98. Ashes and Alliances

This wasn’t exactly the life her mother had promised.  They weren’t _ruling_ anything, and Zelena had seen the pirate kissing a damn _fairy_ not an hour earlier, when she’d crept into town to drink in the chaos and terror.  In fact, the stupid heroes had all been gathered in the diner, since they’d been walking out in groups when she’d seen them, talking cheerfully and not at all properly frightened.

That was _wrong_. 

Watching them made Zelena’s blood boil, and she burned to come out of hiding and put those so-called heroes in their places.  But then Regina walked out, laughing with that outlaw, and Mother had said that Regina was not to be harmed.  _Mother has plans for Regina,_ Zelena told herself, taking a deep breath in hopes that it might calm her.  Still, she _hated_ her sister, hated the idiot who had been given everything and had thrown it all away.  Oh, Mother had turned to Zelena eventually, but the fact that _Regina_ had lived the life that should have been hers all along would always rankle.  Zelena tried hard not to think of that most of the time.  When she stood by her mother’s side, powerful and ready to rule this miserable little town, ignoring Regina’s past was easy.  Now, however, with their mother’s power waning, Zelena found herself growing angrier and angrier.

_Mother_ will _win._ She knew that.  Of course she did.  Zelena knew how powerful and how clever her mother was, and with Zelena by her side, Cora would not fail.  They were unbeatable when they were united, even if her pesky little sister was prancing around with the outlaw who had _shot_ her.  Oh, she wanted to kill him so badly…but her mother had forbidden that, too.  Cora wanted Robin Hood’s heart—but perhaps that could work to Zelena’s advantage, too.

Or maybe she could do something else, she realized, watching Regina and Robin split ways.  She still had a stock of four leafed clovers from Oz.  She could impersonate Regina and steal her precious little outlaw away, ruining this so-called ‘True Love’ that her sister cherished so much.  She could make Robin love _her_ —or, better yet, destroy the pair of them by having his child.  Oh, that would be glorious.  All she had to do was fetch a pendant and get to work.  Or maybe she would just break the outlaw down until he forgot all about Regina.  Then she wouldn’t even have to bother with a pendant; she could just make Regina’s little lover _pay_.  Wouldn’t that be sweet?

_I can have revenge on her_ and _help Mother,_ Zelena decided, ignoring how uneasy the thought of Cora’s future plans made her.  They weren’t failing.  This was just a temporary setback.  Zelena was only starting to think about small measures of revenge as a way to fill the hours until they reclaimed Storybrooke.  Then Regina would suffer or join them—as a lesser princess than Zelena, of course—and the other heroes would die.  _I’ll keep him as a pet,_ she decided, watching the outlaw.  He was handsome enough, and her mother would reclaim Rumplestiltskin soon.  It was time Zelena took someone of her own.

* * *

 

“So…that bow of yours,” Bae said, eyeing the outlaw.  “It can hit _anything,_ you say?”

“The arrow always finds its target,” Robin confirmed.  “I have to be able to see the target, of course—and able to loose an arrow—but the arrow will do the rest.  It rather makes being a talented archer kind of pointless, to be honest.”

“I’m more interested in the part about how it can track someone who teleports,” Bae replied.  “Sounds like a good deal since we’re heading after Bo Peep.”

“She’s not very magical, if at all,” David put in as the trio climbed into the truck that had run Cora over.  They’d met after lunch, as planned; everyone who had a role what Henry had christened Operation Beartrap had set out at the same time, working to capture or stop as many of Cora’s allies as possible.  Their mission should have been one of the easier ones, but no one wanted to take chances.  David continued: “Only her shepherd’s crook is.  I think.”

“Well, let’s not take chances, yeah?  From what I hear, she’s got a few bully boys who like to run around smashing shops when people don’t pay her.”

“Bullies I can deal with,” Robin said with a smile, slinging his bow off his back.  Bae took the center seat, between the outlaw and the prince—who had apparently worked together before, judging from their easy rapport. 

“Plenty of experience?” he couldn’t resist asking.

“Well, I do have to admit that I was more than a little put out to discover Nottingham as part of a town’s law enforcement yet again, but I understand Emma’s put a stop to that,” Robin said with a smile.  “Though I honestly won’t be surprised to find he’s working with Bo Peep, assuming she’d hire a lout like that.”

 “She would,” David said grimly, steering the truck through a right turn.  “I’ve dealt with her before.”

That made Robin turn, inadvertently jamming his longbow into Bae’s calf.  “Sorry.  Never carried it inside a car before,” the outlaw apologized as Bae hissed, and then said to David: “I didn’t think Bo Peep was anywhere near a big enough warlord to threaten royalty.”

“She wasn’t.”  David shifted uncomfortably, reminding Bae vividly of Emma when she was trying to find a plausible lie.  After a few moments, however, David seemed to opt for the truth.  “I, uh, wasn’t exactly born a prince.  I was adopted.”

“Truly?” Robin echoed even as Bae sat back in surprise, his earlier worries about how Emma being a princess complicated their relationship subsiding a little. 

“Yeah.  I was a shepherd for most of my life, until his father wandered into it and made me a prince. It’s a long story.”

“Oh, joy,” Bae groaned.  Maybe he did have to worry.  _I should have read that entire Book,_ he realized. _I think there are a_ lot _of surprises in there._  “That seems to be the theme of a _lot_ of lives in this town.”

“I can’t really complain,” David said with a smile.  “I would never have met Snow if I hadn’t had to replace my twin brother—who was the original Prince James—and even if it’s been crazy, my life’s turned out pretty well.  And my mother got a lot better life out of it, too, even if I had to pretend she wasn’t actually my mother for a lot of years.”

“That’s…awkward,” Robin replied, even as Bae remembered what Hook had told him so many years earlier.

_“I didn't kill your mother. We fell in love, and we ran off together. Your father lied to you. He was too much of a coward to tell you the truth. He tore out her heart and crushed it in front of me.  And I've spent every moment since then wanting revenge.”_ He’d never asked his father about his mother—too much had happened since he’d reunited with Rumplestiltskin, and part of him really didn’t want to know if Hook had been telling the truth.  What Bae remembered of Milah wasn’t the perfect image of a mother that Hook had tried to convey; she’d never wanted him around, had always been happy to leave him when she’d gone off to gamble or drink.  He very much doubted that Milah had ever talked to Hook about going back for him…but he needed to know what had happened.  Even if Hook had been telling the truth.

Somehow, he managed to tune out the rest of conversation on the way to Bo Peep’s butcher shop, staring into space and wondering how he would react if his father told him that he _had_ killed his mother.  _He said it took him a long time to come back to himself,_ Bae thought.  _But I only spent a few months in London before I wound up in Neverland, which means that if he killed her while I was there, it couldn’t have been long after I left._   Was that a good thing or a bad one?  Bae didn’t know, and before he could make up his mind on how he felt, David stopped the truck and they headed in to arrest Bo Peep.

In the end, it was ridiculously easy.  All it took was Robin shooting one of her goons—who _did_ turn out to be the former Sheriff of Nottingham—and Bo Peep came along quietly enough.  She complained and tried to mock David, of course, but that didn’t seem to get her very far.  They also demanded her records of the protection money that various shops had paid her, which seemed to put Bo Peep out a lot more than being arrested had, but they managed to finish up before an hour was out.

* * *

 

Regina was not the person who Rumplestiltskin expected to show up at his house.  When he heard the doorbell ring, he’d been half expecting her mother, figuring that Cora would be in a rage and ready to try to take back what she thought was hers.  Or Zelena, perhaps.  Zelena’s presence would not have surprised him, given how terribly she wanted to prove to her mother than she was a force to be reckoned with.  But, when he stepped away from the spinning wheel that he had brought up to the living room—the better to be able to watch Gabrielle as he worked on his newest idea—he found Regina waiting impatiently on his doorstep.

“We need to talk,” his protégé said bluntly.

“Well, then do come in,” he replied as coolly as he could, stepping back and allowing Regina inside.  Belle had headed out to talk to Jefferson, which left Rumplestiltskin with their daughter, but he hardly minded.  And at least Regina had come alone.

Being around people still made him more uneasy than he cared to admit.  That morning’s meeting had left Rumplestiltskin a burned out ball of tension, and he _hated_ himself for freezing up with that idiotic dwarf grabbed him.  It was bad enough that he couldn’t stop the reaction, but the entire room had seen it.  His weakness had been on full display, everything he’d promised himself he would _never_ be once he had power roaring to the surface.  _If she even_ thinks _of bringing that up…_

“You said you’d get rid of Mother,” Regina said without preamble, and at least that was a topic Rumplestiltskin could safely discuss—even if he did have to shove down the dual spikes of terror and rage whenever he thought of Cora.

“I said I’d kill her, yes,” he answered, choosing his words to avoid any possible misunderstandings as he stopped in the hallway outside the living room.  He could watch Gabi from there well enough.  “I do hope you’re not experiencing a misplaced bout of familial love and coming to change my mind.”

“She killed Daniel.  She tried to kill _Henry_ ,” was the immediate response, hard and angry.  “I don’t have any problems with you filleting her.  I just want to know if you can do it.”

“Come again?”

“Don’t pull the impenetrable Dark One act with me, Rumple,” Regina snapped, sounding exasperated.  Then she lowered her voice with a sigh.  “I’m not trying to pry, or to poke at…whatever she did to you.  I just want to know if you’re up to it.”

“Is that _concern_ , dearie?” Rumplestiltskin asked before he could stop himself, taken aback by the worry in Regina’s eyes.  _She just wants to make sure she won’t have to deal with her mother going after her family again,_ he thought, not sure if the words were his own feelings or his curse.  _She doesn’t care about you.  Why would she?_

“Yes, damnit!  You’re my friend, all right?  Why is that so hard for you to understand?”

_She just wants to get inside your defenses while you’re weak,_ his curse taunted him, and at least this time Rumplestiltskin recognized his inner imp’s voice well enough to shove it aside.  Mostly.

“I can handle Cora,” he said quietly, ignoring the question he didn’t know how to answer. 

“I know what my mother is capable of, you know,” Regina said quietly.  “I know she—”

“Don’t.”

The cold finality in his voice seemed to give her pause, but after a moment, Regina shrugged.  “Just tell me you aren’t this much of an ass about it to your wife.”

“No.”  A strained laugh escaped before he could stop it.  “No, Belle wouldn’t put up with that for long.”

“Good.”  She didn’t seem to know what to say after that.  Regina looked like she was going to try to offer some kind word or another, however, so Rumplestiltskin got in first.

“And what about your big sister?” he asked, unable to handle the pity he could see shining in Regina’s eyes.  “Will you deal with her?”

“I don’t like the idea of killing my own half-sister, even if she is a crazy bitch,” she admitted quietly.  “But…she’s kind of nuts, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”  _And if you don’t kill her, I will._ “Zelena is also a danger to everyone you care about.  She hates you more than you can understand.”

“I wish someone would tell her that growing up with Mother was no big prize,” Regina grumbled.  “Sometimes I _wish_ she’d abandoned me in some basket somewhere.”

Now it was his turn to offer her an understanding half smile.  “No, you don’t.”

“Okay, fine.  Maybe I don’t, but only because then I wouldn’t have known Daddy.  But that doesn’t mean that Zelena isn’t utterly nutso for wanting to be Mother’s prized daughter.”

“You _can_ try to talk her over on to our side if it’ll make you feel better,” Rumplestiltskin suggested, knowing that it wouldn’t work, but that it would be a useful way to distract Zelena while Cora’s other allies went down. 

“You think she’d do it?”

“No.  But I’ve been wrong before.”

Regina snorted.  “Are you sure you don’t just want me to pick a fight with her?  I…I remember what you said last time, about not playing to her strengths.  I think I know what to do if it comes to that.”

Turning to study his former student, Rumplestiltskin saw a confidence in her eyes that Regina had been missing for far too many years.  Yes, this was the woman she’d been meant to be: not some perfect hero, but someone on the right side willing to do whatever it took to protect those she loved.  Cora had tried to break that out of her, yet had never succeeded, and a small part of his battered heart felt _proud_ of her.  Regina wasn’t his daughter, and never would be, but at least he’d managed to do mostly right by her.

“Zelena’s pendant is the source of her power,” he replied.  “She was born magical, but in becoming one of the Four Witches in Oz, her power was channeled into it.  If you take the pendant away, she’ll be powerless.  At least for a while.”

He hadn’t meant to share that little tidbit; Rumplestiltskin wanted Zelena _dead_ , not locked in jail.  But the oddly paternal corner of his heart couldn’t let Regina face off with Zelena without telling her that, either.  _You’re growing weak, dearie._

“Thanks.”

Regina gave him an odd look, but they parted ways amicably enough after that.  After Rumplestiltskin convinced her to hand him a vial of her blood, anyway.

* * *

 

Cora stopped outside the right hand cage, glowing heart in her hand.  Ingrid hated looking at her own heart, hated the spots of blackness that corrupted it, but she found her gaze drawn to it regardless.  _Is this what I am?_ she wondered, not even looking at the woman who had beaten her so thoroughly.  _A villain?  Or a victim?_

Somehow, she had the feeling she was somewhere in between, and that was even more pathetic.  _I had such grand plans,_ Ingrid thought sadly.  _I was going to find my sisters.  I was going to re-earn Emma’s love, and make up for the mistakes I made in pushing her too far.  And now Elsa remains trapped in that urn, and I don’t even_ know _if it’s here in Storybrooke._ How could her plans have gone so far awry?  Ingrid hadn’t wanted to take part in this vicious war Cora had started.  She’d intended to lay low and wait for the heroes and the villains to exhaust one another, keeping an eye on Emma just to make sure she was safe.  Instead, she’d been dragged into the middle, forced to do things she found reprehensible. 

“I have a task for you, dear,” Cora said coldly, and Ingrid reluctantly looked from her own heart to Cora’s face.

“Don’t say that like I have a choice,” she replied, sitting on the floor and not bothering to get up.  Her entire body ached, and Cora would force her to do whatever she wanted, anyway.

“Oh, but you do.  If you obey me in this, I’ll give you your heart back,” the Evil Queen replied all too sweetly.

“No you won’t.”

“Actually, I will.  Provided you agree not to work against me.  You can then try to win Emma’s love, or whatever it was your plan required,” Cora shrugged.  “Feel free to.  Anything that separates Emma from her nauseatingly _good_ mother is something I will welcome.”

_There’s always a catch with her,_ Ingrid cautioned herself, despite the way her breath caught in her throat.  Cora had to be lying.  “Are you still going to try to kill Emma?” she demanded.

“Of course.”

“Then your answer is no,” she snarled, coming to her feet before she could stop herself.  Ingrid wished she could will ice to her hands in that moment, _burned_ to freeze Cora solid, but while Cora held her heart, her magic only sputtered and died on her fingertips.  “You can make me do your dirty work, but I’m not going to serve you willingly.”

“As you wish.”  Another shrug, and then Ingrid felt the paralyzing effect of heart control starting to sink into her bones.  “You’re going to freeze someone’s heart for me.”

Ingrid could only listen in horror.

* * *

 

“Well, this isn’t what I expected,” Emma sighed, looking at the burnt mess in front of Fagin’s Group Home.

“How can we be sure it’s him?” Snow asked.

“Well, what’s-his-name—Sikes?—did say that he _saw_ his boss get burned to a crisp,” she pointed out, shrugging.  “Though I suppose we could call Maleficent and ask, assuming you have her number.”

That made her mother shudder.  “You know…I think I’ll just look at the security footage,” Snow replied, gesturing at the camera by the front door.  “Seems easier.”

“And it doesn’t involve pissing off a dragon.  Good idea.”

_But how in the world am I going to arrest a fire-breathing_ dragon _?_ she wondered as they trudged up the steps to demand that Sikes let them look at the footage.  Emma was still Sheriff, and as weird as this town was, she had to do something.  They’d wanted to arrest Fagin, not scrape him off the front porch.  _And why in the world would Maleficent want to go after a lowlife who turns kids into thieves?_

* * *

 

“I got your message,” Jefferson said as he walked into the shop.  “What’s up?”

Belle had been leafing through a book on summons and blood magic, her mind full of research and ideas, so she hadn’t heard the door open.  But when she heard her friend’s voice, she looked up with a smile.

“You’re back!  We weren’t sure if you were still, uh, in the Hat somewhere,” she said to her friend.

“Nah, Jafar got sick of Wonderland eventually,” he replied with a shrug, shooting her a grin.  “Am I hearing the rumors right?  Is he free?”

“Yes,” Belle replied, feeling her heart lighten just at the thought.  Rumple had a long way to go before he was all right, but the important thing was that he was _home_ , and he was free.  Jefferson had an odd relationship with her husband, she knew, part friend and part employee, but seeing his concern for Rumplestiltskin warmed Belle.  “Rumple’s home.”

“Good to hear it, particularly since that trick didn’t include a trip to Neverland.” The portal jumper shuddered.  “Nasty place, that.  Makes Wonderland look, well, wonderful.”

“I can only imagine.”  Placing a bookmark in her book, Belle squared her shoulders and got to the point.  “I need your help.”

“You or we?” he asked immediately, gesturing dramatically.  “I hear there was a big heroic confab earlier today.”

Belle couldn’t help herself; she giggled.  Jefferson’s sense of humor had been one of the brighter spots of her early days at the Dark Castle, and she’d always had the feeling that he knew more than he let on about her relationship with her ‘employer’.  Jefferson was a good friend, and she regretted putting him in this position.

“The idea is actually Rumple’s,” she answered honestly, which at least seemed to reassure Jefferson a little.  “You’ve been working with Jafar a lot lately, haven’t you?”

“Playing taxi driver, mostly.  Or tour guide.”

“I’m not acquainted with Jafar, so would you pass him a message?  All we want to know is if he would be willing to meet with me?  Or Rumple, if he prefers, though fewer people will probably notice him talking to me,” Belle said.

“You want to sway him away from Cora.”

“Or towards neutrality, yes.”  She took a deep breath, and figured she should state the facts bluntly, even if they made her stomach twitch a bit.  “Rumplestiltskin _is_ going to kill Cora, Jefferson.  Jafar needs to understand that if he stands with her—and particularly if he gets in the way—Rumple isn’t going to hesitate.  And he’s not working alone.”

Jefferson laughed.  “The heroes’ club gave him probationary membership, huh?  Oh, I’m going to have to needle him about that one.  The Dark One is playing hero!”

“Jefferson.”

“What?” he snickered.  “It’s funny.  If I’d have told him this before he met you, he would have turned me into a slug with a very small top hat.  Or maybe a ferret.  That’s what he always threatened, anyway.”

_“Jefferson._ ”  Not laughing was hard.  Much like Belle, Jefferson had long since realized that Rumplestiltskin was more bark than bite, or at least when it came to people he liked. 

“I’ll talk to Jafar,” the Hatter relented.  “I promise.  He’s kind of hiding from Cora at the moment, anyway—”

The door to the shop swung open yet again, revealing a pale blonde woman wearing a long white dress.

* * *

 

Cora’s wards had been recently revamped.  Previously, she’d used an abundance of blood magic—a shortcut _both_ her daughters had a tendency of using—along with a decent amount of power to keep unwanted intruders out.  Then, once Regina had escaped her clutches, Cora had used Rumplestiltskin’s power to remake the wards on her summer home, furious that Robin Hood had slipped through a crack Rumplestiltskin had left the first time.  However, she’d clearly rushed through reworking them a second time the previous night…because the flaws showed.

Slipping into her cellar was all too easy.  He had taught Cora most of these spells, and she had clearly not been patient enough to do all of them _right_.  He could recognize Zelena’s touch on some of the spells, but even their combined strength was not enough to keep him out.  His power was raging, surging, ready for anything—the Dark One had been trapped into subservience for too long and was now eager for an outlet.  For once, Rumplestiltskin gave his magic the release it craved, melting the defenses away and teleporting into the cellar in a swirl of red smoke.

He had actually expected to find Ingrid there, but much to his surprise, her cage was empty.  In fact, the entire cellar was empty, and when he stretched his senses out in a spell, he realized that the house was as well.  _Strange,_ he thought idly, casting another spell with the sweep of his right hand.  _But not entirely surprising._ Cora was probably out trying to regain some power, and she was probably going to use Ingrid to do that.  _That’s a problem for the heroes,_ he thought to himself.  Rumplestiltskin did pity Ingrid a bit—she actually seemed to be trying, belatedly, to follow his advice from long ago—but he couldn’t afford to be distracted, now.

He hated this place, but he wasn’t here to sightsee or to allow the memories currently bubbling up to overwhelm him.  Rumplestiltskin had come to fetch something he knew Cora had buried under the floor—along with something _else_ he hoped was there, too.

Yet forgetting that he had been strapped to that table by the far wall was impossible.  _Everything hurt, Cora was smiling, and he kept trying to turn his head away from her but she wouldn’t let him—_ No.  He would not do this.  Not here and not now.  Even if Rumplestiltskin knew the blood on the floor just two feet from where he stood was his own, even if he would never forget what had happened in this hellhole.  He felt like he could hear his screams echoing off the walls even now—

Magic shot out of his shaking hands, tearing the concrete floor up in a whirlwind of power and rage.  Most of the stone crumbled and shattered under the assault, but some came up in chunks that swirled around Rumplestiltskin like a particularly dirty tornado.  Forcing himself to focus, he lowered his hands and ignored the way his entire body was trembling.  As he did, the tornado drilled into the floor, opening a hole in the basement’s foundations.  His magic cleared the dirt and grime away quickly, and Rumplestiltskin twitched his fingers to banish the tornado, peering into the hole.

At the bottom lay a short sword with a peculiarly curved blade, which was covered in ancient runes very few could read.

Sighing, Rumplestiltskin summoned the blade to his hand, feeling the odd surge of power run up his arm as he did so.  He had hoped that Cora’s heart might also be hidden here, but the Vorpal Blade appeared to be the only item Cora had buried, even when he cast a third enchantment to dissipate any glamour or concealment spells.  Still, he had what he came for.  Rumplestiltskin might have been the Dark One, but he never broke a deal.

* * *

 

“Can I help you?” Belle asked, looking at the newcomer with wide eyes.  She looked incredibly tense, though Jefferson wasn’t sure why.  Wasn’t this Sarah Fisher, the owner of Any Given Sundae?  She’d always seemed like a harmless enough woman—

“I’m here to deliver a message,” was the mechanical response, and Jefferson didn’t need to be a sorcerer to recognize what _that_ meant.  He’d seen it often enough.

“Belle, someone’s got her—”

“Her heart, I know,” Belle cut him off as Jefferson turned to move between his friend and the ice cream lady.  He wasn’t exactly a hero type, but he knew Rumplestiltskin well enough to know that the Dark One would get him out of _any_ amount of trouble if Jefferson defended Belle.  Belle, however, simply squared her shoulders and looked at their visitor.  “What do you want?”

“She’s not the one with the message, dear,” a second voice said, and Jefferson and Belle both whirled right.  Cora was standing in front of the display case under the guitars, a heart in her hand.  Smirking.

_Oh, shit._

“Hello, Cora,” Belle managed to say the words evenly, and damn, Jefferson admired her strength.  “Rumple’s not here, but I’m sure he’ll be sorry to have missed you.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will,” the Evil Queen purred.  “Particularly once he finds what I’ve done to you.”

“Even if you kill me, it won’t make him love you,” Belle retorted.  “He’s better than that.”

Cora laughed.  “You really are a naive little girl, aren’t you?”  She shook her head, as if feigning sadness.  “Still, he _does_ have a strange little affection for you, so I suppose you’ll do.”

“You know that if you hurt her, _Rumplestiltskin_ will hunt you till the ends of the earth,” Jefferson found his voice to put in, hoping like hell that Cora might see sense.  Or that his call would work.  _Come on, Rumple.  Get your formerly scaly behind in here fast!_

“Do be quiet, Hatter.  I’ve already blocked you trying to call him,” was the immediate response, and Jefferson felt his heart sink.  “If you behave yourself, you might even make it out of this alive.  After all, _someone_ has to tell Rumple the news.”

“And what news exactly is that?” Belle spoke up again, and Jefferson could hear the hint of a quaver in her voice.  She was so brave, Belle was, but he could understand why she was afraid.  Jefferson was, too.  Somehow, he’d backed up so that his back was against the counter, with Belle just a foot or so away to his right, but this wasn’t the kind of threat unity would help them face.

Cora simply smiled and turned to the ice cream lady.  “Freeze her, Ingrid.  And make it slow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter Ninety-Nine—“An Ocean of Darkness”, in which Rumplestiltskin keeps his deal with the Jabberwocky, Cora creates a neat little display, Maurice tries to help his daughter, and Rumplestiltskin walks into Cora’s trap.


	99. An Ocean of Darkness

“So, is there anyone else left on the list?” Robin asked as he and Baelfire walked down Main Street side by side.  They’d left David at the Sheriff’s station with Bo Peep and three of her goons, and both men were rather eager to get the rest of Cora’s allies out of the way.

“Seems we got everyone,” his new friend answered with a shrug.  “Now that Emma said Fagin had been burned to a crisp, Cora seems to be out of non-magical allies.”

“That’s almost a pity,” he snorted, shifting his bow from his left hand to his right as they walked.  “Though I’ll take it.  Not that any of us will know what to do with ourselves if the town turns quiet when this is all over.”

Baelfire laughed.  “What, are you going to go live in the woods with the Merry Men, just to stick with tradition?” he said teasingly.  “Or are you going to move into Regina’s big house and just add to that family?”

“I—we never said anything about that,” Robin found himself stuttering as his face grew hot.  “We’re—I mean, Regina and I—we’re just figuring things out.”

“Hey, I can’t say cast any stones, man.  I’m trying to get back together with my ex.  At least you just have your cursed self for competition, _and_ you woke her up with True Love’s Kiss.  I’ve got my own boneheaded mistakes to overcome.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he reassured the other man.  “I’ve seen how Miss Swan looks at you.  I think—”

A green swirl of smoke appeared not ten feet in front of them, and Robin cut off as he stopped cold, backing up a step and grabbing an arrow with his left hand out of habit.  He didn’t bother trying to change which hand held the bow; Robin was almost as good with his off hand as he was with his right, and worst came to worst, he _was_ shooting a magic bow. _Even if that does feel like cheating sometimes._  

“There you are,” Zelena purred, and Robin felt an uneasy shiver run down his spine.  Regina’s loony sister was sizing him up like he was a piece of prized meat, and Robin really didn’t trust that look.

“I’m afraid I didn’t know you were looking for me,” he quipped back, exchanging an uneasy look with Baelfire.  “If I had, I’m sure I’d have been elsewhere.”

“How dare you talk to me like that, you insufferable little worm?” Zelena snarled, goaded immediately into anger. 

“Well, last time I saw you I shot you, so I thought I was being nice,” Robin retorted, unable to fight back his grin.  He’d _always_ taunted enemies, even when the odds were dramatically against him.  _Rather like when you’re facing a pissed off sorceress, come to think of it.  Great odds here, Rob._ Smashing _odds._

Blue eyes narrowed with fury.  “I’ll make you _pay_ for that!” 

Zelena’s hands came up, and he could see magic sparking in the air, ever so slightly.  Robin wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about the magical arts—he’d always thought it was wiser to avoid the business, frankly—but he knew enough to know that things were about to get bad.  Baelefire was already backing away, and so was he; they both could see how things were going to go down, and Zelena was clearly operating on something less than a full tank of sanity.  There weren’t a lot of options, and Robin only had a split second to decide if he was going to run or fight, anyway.

So he shot Zelena again.

Of course, she tried to teleport away, but the wonderful thing about a magical bow was that the arrow really _would_ find its target.  So, when Zelena appeared behind them, the arrow simply changed course and zoomed right between Robin and Baelfire, nailing Zelena in the high in the right cheek.  Unfortunately, Robin had aimed for her eye this time—a surer and faster kill shot than going for the heart—but he’d shot left handed.  His aim had been a little off, she’d been moving, and, well, magic just didn’t recognize the importance of a few inches one way or another when it redirected an arrow at a teleporting witch.  Still, the arrow buried itself in her cheekbone, and Zelena’s howl of pain echoed down the street.

Meanwhile, Robin nocked another arrow on his bow and let that one fly, too, but since he _hadn’t_ hit her in the eye, Zelena saw that one coming and disappeared in another swirl of green smoke.  The arrow circled where she had been for a moment when she didn’t reappear, and then sped northwards, undoubtedly towards Cora’s summer home.

“That’s going to be a nasty surprise for her in about five minutes,” Baelfire commented, watching the arrow fly away.

“Pity we won’t be there to see it,” Robin grumbled.  He had no idea what was wrong with that woman, or what she’d wanted with him, but he had a bad feeling that she was trying to get at Regina. 

_Sorry, lady,_ he thought without regret.  _I might not have magic, but I’m hardly some damsel in distress you can use against your sister.  And next time I’ll shoot you somewhere you can’t survive._

* * *

 

Finding the Jabberwocky was easy; when you knew what to look for—or were as steeped in dark magic as Rumplestiltskin had always been—the creature stood out like a beacon of fear and darkness.  She had chosen a cave near the waterfall as her own,  probably not wanting to spend any more time around Cora than she had to, and Rumplestiltskin took himself there with a thought. 

He was, however, careful to teleport himself _outside_ the cave.  His two experiences with the Jabberwocky made him plenty wary of her capabilities, and he had absolutely no desire to repeat those experiences.  Just thinking of being at her mercy was enough to make his stomach heave nervously, and pushing his fears aside was hard. _I made a deal,_ he told himself firmly.  _I will not break it._   Besides, at least he had the Vorpal Blade.  If the Jabberwocky proved less honest than he expected, Rumplestiltskin could always pin her to the wall down here and no one would be the wiser.  With that thought in mind, he glanced around the outside of the cave, deciding that it would be easy enough to wall Jabber in if it came to that.  Having a plan always made him more comfortable, so Rumplestiltskin strode inside the cave projecting confidence that he did not have.

“I have a visitor,” a familiar voice whispered before he was even three steps inside, and Rumplestiltskin stopped cold, trying not to shiver.

“Indeed you do,” he replied, willing his voice not to shake.  “I always keep my end of a deal, after all.”

“You have it?”

Suddenly, Jabber was in front of him, her eyes wide and excited.  She looked strangely human like that, not slinking around in her normal threatening manner.  Instead, Jabber seemed almost breathless, unabashed hope in her expression.  _I know how she feels,_ Rumplestiltskin thought, feeling an unexpected flash of pity for her.  _Being in a cage like Cora’s wears you down to nothing._

“I do,” he answered, lifting the Vorpal Blade slightly to demonstrate.

Jabber skittered back, hope shifting rapidly to wary fear.  “And now what will you do?”

“I always keep my end of a deal, dearie.  We had an agreement that whichever of us should find the opportunity would free the other.  I do not require your assistance, but I believe this belongs to you.”  Shifting the blade in his hand, Rumplestiltskin offered it to her hilt first.

“You’re the Dark One.  How can I be sure this isn’t a trick?” she whispered.

“If you know anything about me, you know it isn’t,” Rumplestiltskin replied with a shrug.  “Take it.  I may be many things, but I have no desire to enslave someone else.  Not now.”

Quick as a cat, Jabber darted forward and grabbed the blade, her hungry eyes staring at the sole weapon that could trap her like she could not get enough of it.  She’d pulled it away so fast that she almost cut Rumplestiltskin’s fingers, but he managed to avoid that, and simply waited until Jabber regained enough composure to stare at him.

“Now what?” she asked, sounding saner and happier than he’d expected.

“Well, I also came to ask you if you’d like the first crack at our mutual enemy,” he smiled.  “I’m going to kill her, but if you’d like to soften her up…?”

Rumplestiltskin knew what kind of terror the Jabberwocky could inflict, and he cheerfully wished that on Cora.  _For eternity, if I could, but I really do want to kill her sooner than that._

“She has no heart,” Jabber protested.  “I can’t read her.”

“Leave that part to me.”

Jabber looked down at the blade and then back up again, licking her lips nervously.  “Are you making that a condition of our deal?”

Interesting though he found the fact that Jabber seemed determined to keep her end of the bargain—and perhaps to even the scales—Rumplestiltskin shook his head.  “It’s merely an offer.”

“Then no.  I just want to leave.  I want…to be normal,” she whispered.

_Normal?_   That was the last thing Rumplestiltskin wanted, and the idea itself was vaguely disquieting.  But then, he didn’t have to devour people’s fears to survive.  Perhaps his curse was more merciful than whatever infected the Jabberwocky, so he just inclined his head to her.  “Then I recommend borrowing some of Cora’s belongings before you venture out into the world.  She won’t be needing them.”

* * *

 

Cora created the cage within the ruins of the town hall.  Rumple would appreciate the irony, she decided, stepping back to survey her handiwork.  The little maid stood in the center of the round cage, already shivering wildly.  There were two white streaks in her hair and frost forming on her designer clothing; all in all, Cora was quite pleased with how this had turned out.  Ingrid was still glaring at her, but given that she still possessed the Snow Queen’s heart, that was all Ingrid could do.

“Rumplestiltskin will come for me,” the foolish girl said, trying to sound strong despite the way her teeth chattered and her arms were wrapped tightly around her body for warmth.

Cora smiled wolfishly.  “Of course he will, dear.  I’m counting on that.”

Now, where _was_ that annoying daughter of hers?

* * *

 

Robin called Regina, but Bae headed to the pawn shop.  He’d only been there once before, and still found the idea of his father owning a pawn shop absolutely ludicrous, but Belle had mentioned that she was going to head there for the afternoon and do some research while Rumplestiltskin did things that were best not mentioned in polite company.  So, Bae hurried across the street after Zelena vanished, shaking his head at the sign that read “Mr. Gold”.  Even if the name _was_ fitting, it was just plain weird, but Bae didn’t have time to editorialize on that.  Zelena was utterly crazy, and he had a feeling that she’d be back as soon as she managed to heal the wounds both of Robin’s arrows caused.

Of course, the fact that he was in a hurry was why he wound up running face-first into the door.  The sign read open, but the door seemed stuck.  Shaking it hard didn’t make the damn thing move, either. 

“Belle?” he called, shouting to be heard through the glass.  He heard a muffled—and decidedly not feminine—response, and Bae felt something twist inside him.  _Something’s wrong._

Bae vaguely remembered there being another door around back, though, so he jogged into the alleyway quickly.  That door was stuck when he tried it, too, but it was a lot less sturdy than the glass one up front, so Bae backed up a few steps, lowered his shoulder, and rammed his way through with a crash.

“That was certainly an interesting entrance,” a voice said from above him as Bae rolled over onto his back.  Breaking a door down hurt a hell of a lot more than it ever seemed to in movies, and his shoulder felt numb and on fire all at once.  Blinking, he found himself staring up at Jefferson.

“Where’s Belle?” he asked, sitting up carefully and trying not to put his hands in broken glass.

“Not here.  Cora took her.”

“Cora _what_?” Bae found his feet suddenly, staring at the portal jumper and demanding:  “Why the hell are you still in here, then?”

“Because I was stuck, that’s why.  She sealed me in and took my phone, saying that she didn’t want to give the game up _too_ early,” Jefferson snapped.  “She had the chick from the ice cream shop freeze Belle’s heart.”

For a moment, all Bae could do was stare, his mouth wide open and his brain refusing to work.  He could see where this was going, could tell what Cora’s grand plan was.  That realization made _Bae_ feel cold, frozen to the bone, and he barely got the next words out: “Was Belle…?”

“She was shivering like mad when Cora took her away, but she was still alive.  C’mon,” Jefferson grabbed his arm, and he never noticed how that made his shoulder ache.  “We need to get outside so we can call your father.”

Bae let Jefferson haul him through the broken door, his mind whirling too rapidly to even consider the cell phone in his pocket.  How stupid _was_ Cora?  Did she really think she could win like this?  _Could_ she?  Bae had a sinking feeling that his father might just be messed up enough to give into Cora’s demands if it kept his family safe, but they couldn’t let Rumplestiltskin do that.  Putting the Dark One’s powers back under Cora’s control would utterly negate any of the gains they’d made in the last few days—and that didn’t even consider what Bae knew the bitch would do to his father.

He had to talk him out of this, but _how_?

“Rumplestiltskin,” Jefferson said once they were outside, saying the name like it meant something even though there was no one around to listen.

“Um, you’re talking to yourself…” Bae trailed off expectantly.

“No, I’m not.  He can hear you if you summon him with his name—”

“I can, though your timing could have been better, Hatter,” his father cut in, barely moments after he appeared in a swirl of maroon smoke.  There were still dark circles under his eyes, but he looked more put together than he had that morning.  “What do you want—and what did you do to my shop?”

Jefferson hesitated, and Bae knew he had to speak quickly.  “Belle’s gone.  Cora took her after having Ingrid freeze her heart—Jefferson said she was alive when Cora took her, but you _know_ what she’s going to want, Papa.”

For a moment, he wasn’t even sure that Rumplestiltskin had heard him, and then Bae watched all color drain out of his father’s face.  His eyes went wide and his mouth opened slightly before snapping shut, and Bae saw his father swallow hard.  The circles under his eyes seemed even more pronounced now that he was so pale, and Bae hated to be the bearer of bad news, but there was no use  sugarcoating this.  His papa had to know what had happened.

“Yes,” Rumplestiltskin whispered.  “Yes, I know.”

“You can’t—”

“I know,” his father cut him off abruptly, and then turned and walked into the pawn shop, his strides purposeful and quick.  Exchanging a mystified glance with Jefferson, Bae followed, with the Hatter right on his heels.

“What are you going to do?”

Instead of answering, Rumplestiltskin flung a hand at the shattered glass and broken side door, both of which were immediately enveloped in a cloud of dense black smoke that Bae could practically feel his father’s fury and desperation radiating out of.  When the smoke cleared, the door seemed as good as new, but the way it slammed shut behind Jefferson threatened to undo the fix immediately.  The door rattled ominously in its hinges, but Rumplestiltskin’s voice was deathly quiet when he turned to the Hatter.

“Tell me _exactly_ what happened, Jefferson.”

Immediately, Bae turned to look at Jefferson, and somehow wasn’t surprised by the paleness of the other man’s face.  Jefferson licked his lips nervously, looking like he’d love to be having any conversation instead of this one, but he _had_ been the one who’d called Rumplestiltskin in the first place.  That had to count for something, didn’t it?  _I really hope Papa’s not about to turn him into a snail because he was here when Cora decided to drop by.  It’s not like Jefferson could have stopped her!_

“Cora sent the chick from the ice cream place—her real name is Ingrid, or some such—here and was right behind her.  She’s got the ice lady’s heart, and ordered her to freeze Belle slowly,” Jefferson answered tensely.  “Cora told me to tell you that you could find her where you, uh, ‘failed to properly terrorize people’.  Whatever that means.”

Brown eyes narrowed ominously.  “Did she, now.”

It wasn’t a question, but Jefferson still nodded.  “Look, Rumplestiltskin, I—”

“Don’t apologize,” Bae’s father cut him off in a hard voice, making both Jefferson and Bae blink.  “Just don’t.”

Bae could _feel_ his father’s pain radiating out of those last words, could see the terrified worry for Belle exuding out of every tense line of his body even as Rumplestiltskin strode into the shop proper, heading for the counter.  Several books were stacked up there, about half of them open and in languages that Bae couldn’t recognize.  But Rumplestiltskin didn’t seem to have a problem; he immediately started skimming over the pages Belle had left off on, his gaze intent.  If he knew his hands were shaking, he gave no indication; he just finished with one book and shifted to the next, then to the third, and then finally a fourth. 

Then Rumplestiltskin smiled, a razor-sharp, cold-blooded expression that sent a shiver down Bae’s spine.

“Papa?” he asked quietly.  “What will you do?”

Those cold brown eyes met Bae’s, and if Bae had been anyone else, he never would have noticed the pain and the worry raging beneath the fury.  But his father never blinked.

“I’m going to kill Cora, of course.”

* * *

 

Word spread around Storybrooke quickly, and Maurice hurried down to where the town hall had once stood, desperate to find out the truth for himself.  What Happy had told him _couldn’t_ be true.  Belle had to be safe.  There was no reason to think that she wasn’t.  After all, Belle had been fine despite the battles raging all over Storybrooke lately.  As far as Maurice knew, she hadn’t even been involved in those fights.  And yet, Happy had rushed up to Game of Thorns to tell Maurice that Belle was in some giant birdcage where town hall used to be, with no one else around, so he rushed out, despite telling himself that it had to be a lie.  _I knew that swearing herself to that monster would hurt her in the end!_ he thought, trying not to panic.

She was his daughter.  Maurice might not have understood nor agreed with her choices, but Belle would always be his little girl.  And if she was in trouble, he was going to find a way to help her, no matter what it cost him.  He’d already abandoned her once, let her make a deal to save _all_ their people.  Maurice never should have let her go, never should have let her take on that burden.  If Belle was right about Rumplestiltskin, well, maybe that had turned out for the best, but if she was wrong—and if Rumplestiltskin was in _any_ way responsible for the danger Belle was supposedly in—Maurice was going to find a way to stop that beast once and for all.

The tires of his truck screeched as he took the last turn, slamming on the brakes right in front of the ruin that was town hall.  It was hard to see from the street, but Maurice _thought_ he could make out a black-barred cage amidst the ruins.  That sight made his heart stop, and Maurice stumbled getting out of the truck, hurrying through what used to be the doors to town hall.  He almost stopped cold when he saw his little girl inside that cage, but somehow his feet carried him forward.

“Belle!”

“Papa?” Belle whispered, her arms wrapped tightly around her body and shivering wildly. “You can’t be here!  Please, you have to go.”

“Sweetheart, no.  I’m not leaving you here,” Maurice replied quickly, desperately tugging on the bars.  He couldn’t find a door, or even a lock; the cage was circular and barely big enough for Belle to turn around in, but there didn’t seem to be any way to open it.  Grabbing the bars with both hands, Maurice shook them as hard as he could, but nothing budged. 

“Papa, you’ve got to go.  Cora will be back anytime, and—” she cut off in a hacking cough, which made Maurice notice how her lips were blue.

“What did that horrible woman do to you?” he demanded.

“Froze me,” Belle whispered, her voice coming in short gasps.  “It’s going towards my heart.  But it’ll be okay.  I know it’ll be all right.”

Maurice swallowed hard, his mouth opening and closing several times before the words burst out: “How can you say that? How can you be sure?”

“Because her _dear_ husband is going to come rescue her, of course,” a new voice answered, giggling maliciously.  “Silly girl trusts the Dark One.  Still, she probably isn’t far off.  He’ll come.”

“What—what are you _doing_ to her?” Maurice whirled to look at a tall, red-headed woman, taking in the falsely sympathetic look on her face—which seemed marred by a huge, puckered up scar running from her cheekbone to the bottom of her jaw on the right side.  It looked half healed and nasty, but Maurice didn’t have it in him to pity the woman who was holding his daughter.  _Or the daughter of that woman,_ he realized.  _This must be Zelena._

“Oh, it’s not me.  _I_ can’t freeze anyone,” Zelena cooed.  “And I’m just watching until Mother returns—and enjoying your helpless little show.  Not much of a rescuer, are you ‘Daddy’?”

“Let her go!” Maurice pleaded.  “Belle’s a good girl, she’s not—”

“She’s married to the Dark One, ‘dearie’,” she cut him off viciously.  “Of course she’s involved.”

“But you can’t…” he trailed off, swallowing hard.  She could, Maurice knew.  Zelena could do whatever she wanted, and he couldn’t stop her.

“Papa, go,” Belle whispered, and he turned back to see her teeth chattering harder.  Belle hugged herself like someone who couldn’t get warm, shaking like a leaf.  “Please.”

“Belle, I can’t.”

“You can.  Please”—she coughed, and the motion made her entire body convulse.  “I don’t want you caught in the middle of this.”

Saying so many words consecutively seemed to exhaust Belle, and she slumped against the side of the cage, panting for air.  Maurice just wanted to scoop her up in his arms like he had when she was a little girl, just wanted to hold her tight and warm her up, but the cage was in the way and he could not.  And there was a smugly smiling witch behind him, whose blue eyes gleamed with mischief and malice. 

“How sweet,” Zelena cooed.  “And look!  Now the other heroes are here, but not their darker friend.  Should we put you in a cage, too, _Sir_ Maurice?”

He tried to walk away, but his feet wouldn’t move.  Maurice could barely even turn to see the other people who had run up, though he caught a glimpse of Snow White and Prince Charming, along with the Sheriff and Cora’s other daughter.  There was another man with them, too, one with sort hair and a bow in his hands, but Maurice only knew him as the chief firefighter.  The others stopped at the edge of the ruins, watching what was happening warily, but none of them approached before a swirl of purple smoke appeared to Maurice’s left.

“Do leave the poor florist alone, darling,” Cora purred.  “Let him go.  He’s not the one we want.”

* * *

 

“Emma will meet us there,” Bae said, hanging up the phone.  Against his better judgment, Rumplestiltskin had decided to drive to town hall.  His son had demanded that Jefferson drive, saying that he didn’t trust Rumplestiltskin not to snap, but Bae really shouldn’t have been so worried.

“I can handle Cora,” he replied, trying like hell not to snarl.  The effort was only partially successful.  Everything in him—both the curse and Rumplestiltskin’s own soul—was screaming for vengeance.  _She took Belle._   The words rolled through his mind over and over again, stoking his fury to a fever pitch.  At the moment, the only emotion stronger than his terror was his rage, and Rumplestiltskin felt his hands trying to shake.  He wanted to wrap them around Cora’s neck and squeeze, or—

“Pop, if your idea of handling her is giving her the dagger—”

“It isn’t,” Rumplestiltskin cut his son off in a hard voice. 

The Hatter, of course, could not stay silent.  “Tell me you have a plan, then.”

“Oh, I most certainly do,” he said softly, focusing on the view out the window. 

They were close, now.  Close enough that he could see the heroes rushing to the scene, drawn—as always—to the sound of trouble.  It was almost time, and Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes, forcing worry for Belle away for a moment as he carefully laid the threads for the beginning of the spell he would need.  Not thinking of Belle, not thinking of how she would be freezing and hurting and _dying_ , was almost impossible, but he managed to clear his mind for the necessary moments.  He’d done the important bits of the spell in the shop, using the vial of blood Regina had given him that very morning.  That conversation of theirs had seemed to be a lifetime earlier, but there were still a few hours before sunset on the 17th of March.  They had met with the heroes only that morning, even though the day had seemed to last forever.  But that didn’t matter.  He had what he needed.  It was time.

“We’re here,” Jefferson said quietly, sounding afraid to interrupt his thoughts.

“Good.”  Gathering magic to himself, Rumplestiltskin opened the passenger door and stepped out of the car, ignoring the looks the heroes gave him.  He didn’t care what they thought.  He was here for one reason, and one reason only.

_Belle._

Regina, however, clearly didn’t intend to let him do this alone, because she strode up and grabbed his arm before Rumplestiltskin could walk through the rubble that used to be a doorframe.

“She’s got Zelena in there with her, and you _know_ Mother has the Snow Bitch’s heart nearby,” his former student said bluntly.  “You’re going to need help.”

Rumplestiltskin yanked away from her, ignoring the flicker of emotion in his worn-out heart when Regina offered to _help_ him.  “If you go in there with me, she’ll kill Belle,” he retorted, and then forced himself to speak calmly.  “So, let me go in first, and once this turns into a fight, then you can charge in to your heart’s content.”

“You know what she wants.”

“Of course I do,” Rumplestiltskin snapped, sick and tired of being told the obvious.  “My son delights in reminding me of it, and _no_ , I’m not going to give your mother the dagger.  I’m going to kill her.”

She crossed her arms impatiently.  “Then what’s the plan, Rumple?”

While they’d argued—wasting precious time—Emma, her parents, and Robin Hood had approached, and none of them looked particularly intimidated by the peevish Dark One in front of them.  Jefferson and Bae had joined the group, of course, and being surrounded by so many _worried_ faces made Rumplestiltskin distinctly uncomfortable.  Could they truly be concerned for him, for Belle?  Of course not.  They just wanted to see Cora go down.  That was all.  None of them gave a damn about him.  _Except Bae,_ Rumplestiltskin thought, still a little stunned by the fact that he’d managed to patch up his relationship with his son.  _He cares.  And…perhaps Regina does._   Others in that group were family, now, too, and maybe even friends.  Those thoughts made an uncomfortable lump rise in Rumplestiltskin’s throat, and he scowled to banish it.

“Try to knock Ingrid out of the fight if you can.  Ice magic is hard to counter.  Or use Miss Swan to do it; our dear Snow Queen won’t want to hurt her,” he told Regina as dispassionately as he could.  “Then you’re welcome to wipe the floor with your big sister.”

“Be careful,” Regina said.  “You know you’re walking into a trap, right?”

That made him smile darkly.  “Have you _ever_ known me to do so without setting one of my own, dear?”

“Yeah.  I can think of one.”  But those words came from his son, and Rumplestiltskin turned to face Bae, swallowing back his nerves and his worry.

“That was different,” he said quietly.  “She won’t make the same deal twice.”

“One of these days, Belle and I are going to have a real long talk with you about the stupidity of self-sacrifice,  Papa,” Bae said with a crooked smile.  “But…until then, just try to take care of yourself, okay?  And Belle.  I kind of like her.”

“I’ll try,” Rumplestiltskin whispered, and when his son squeezed his shoulder, he didn’t shrug his hand away until he knew he could wait no longer.  It was time.

* * *

 

Belle had never been so cold. 

She didn’t wantto shiver as Zelena taunted her father, didn’t wantto let her teeth chatter so wildly or show how very much the freezing cold _hurt_.  But she couldn’t stop herself.  Her hair was already frozen at the tips, with ice starting to form all the way up to the roots, and her clothes were covered with a fine layer of ice.  Belle could already feel her movements growing sluggish, and she had to lean on the bars of the cage just to stay upright.  Her knees wanted to lock and to collapse out from under her at the same time, but Belle refused to crumble like that.

She knew Rumple was coming.  Belle knew that with the same certainty as she knew her own name.  Rumplestiltskin _would_ come for her, just as she would have come for him.  The only question remaining was how long it would take him to arrive, and if she’d be frozen solid, first.  Belle almost hoped that she would be, even if that was the cowardly way out.  Still, she imagined that being frozen solid would hurt less than the freezing process did, and Belle was very ready for the pain to stop.

“Oh, look,” Zelena cooed, wiggling in excitement. “The cavalry is here.”

“Indeed they are,” Cora replied, her tone as cold as Belle’s skin.  “But Rumple is the only one that matters.”

_Don’t call him that_ , Belle wanted to snap, and barely stopped herself in time.   _He’s not your friend, and he_ sure _isn’t your pet._   Cora, however, had turned emotionless eyes on her.

“The only question now is if he loves you enough to give up the dagger,” the Evil Queen mused, and Belle suddenly felt her body temperature plummet. 

“I would never want him to,” Belle said as strongly as she could, but she knew she wasn’t hiding how afraid she was.  _Please be smarter than that, Rumple,_ she thought as loudly as she could, turning laboriously away from Cora to watch the people gathering outside.  She couldn’t see her husband from her angle, but she could see Baelfire, and his body language didn’t look happy.  _I can’t let you do that to yourself again.  Not for me.  Please not for me._ Belle wanted to cry, but she was fairly sure her tear ducts were frozen.

“We’ll see how long that bravery lasts,” Cora snorted, just as Maurice tried to speak up again.

“Belle, sweetie—”

A wave of the Evil Queen’s hand sent him sailing towards the crumbled doorway, and Maurice cried out as he hit what remained of a wall.

“Papa!” But the shout came out as a wheeze, and Belle could barely stumble towards the bars.  She was so cold.  Her hands wouldn’t work when she tried to grip the front of the cage, and the sigh of relief she tried to exhale when her father struggled to his feet came out as a frigid cough.  She was angry with her father, yes, but that didn’t mean she wanted to see him hurt.  Fortunately, he wasn’t, which let her shift her attention elsewhere.

She could see outside a little better from this angle, and her husband was gone.  _Don’t do it,_ Belle thought as hard as she could. _I love you.  Don’t sacrifice yourself for me._

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin teleported himself the last hundred feet, landing right next to Belle’s cage.  Just looking at her inside a cage made his blood boil, and for once he was in full agreement with his curse. _Kill them both,_ his demon whispered.  _Make them suffer._ Power surged through him, fueled by both his rage and his love, but Rumplestiltskin let it simmer.  Those emotions were an oddly potent combination; the man he’d been and the monster he was merged in that moment, and Rumplestiltskin knew he could tear Cora and Zelena to shreds if he so desired.  _No,_ he told himself firmly.  _There is something I must do, first._

“Rumple,” Belle whispered his name, and she sounded terrible.  Just looking at her pale and ice-crusted face made his heart break, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t stop his hand from snaking between the bars to cradle her freezing cold cheek, no matter what his intentions had been.

“Just hold on, sweetheart.  I’ll have you out in a moment,” he replied softly, not giving a damn if Cora heard the emotion in his voice.  She already knew he loved Belle.  They wouldn’t be here if Cora hadn’t.

“I hate to interrupt the heartfelt reunion,” Cora interrupted even as Belle gave him a weak smile, “but I think your dear wife is running out of time.”

“You would know,” Rumplestiltskin said softly, his voice almost a sing-song as he turned to face her without letting go of Belle.  Soon enough, he felt icy fingers land on top of his, and he could _feel_ Belle’s trust flowing through him.

_I just hope this works,_ he thought desperately, refusing to show his doubts when Cora gave him that smug smile.  But her hands were empty.  Had she left Ingrid at home?  The Snow Queen was nowhere in sight, and that made this _much_ easier.  _She’s overconfident,_ he realized.  _She thinks this will work._

“I suspect you already know what I want, dear,” she said without preamble.  “So, I won’t waste time.  If you give me the dagger, I will have Ingrid remove the magic busy freezing your little _Belle_ to death.  What will it be, Rumple?  Your  freedom, or your wife?”

“Neither,” he growled, wiggling the fingers of his left hand and releasing the first spell he had ready.  Rumplestiltskin needed time, and that spell would buy it for him, holding Cora and Zelena back and preventing their magical attacks from getting through.  Oh, the shield would only hold for a minute or two under the onslaught those two would manage, but that was all he needed.

Cora blinked.  “I’m afraid this isn’t a negotiation,” she laughed.  “Give me the dagger, or watch your wife die.  Or do you love her so little?”

“I love her more than you could ever understand,” Rumplestiltskin replied, turning towards Belle as he twisted his left hand through the air flippantly.  The cage disintegrated around her, making Belle stumble forward.  Rumplestiltskin caught her gently.

“That won’t do you any good,” Zelena protested, sounding confused.

“Your tricks won’t save her, Rumple—” Cora started.

Ignoring both, Rumplestiltskin leaned in and kissed Belle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I’m leaving you with another cliffhanger, but hopefully it’s a nicer one this time! Thank you to everyone who has continued reviewing and who is still with me after all this time—it means the world to me to know that you’re enjoying my ‘little’ story.
> 
> Next up: Chapter One Hundred—“The Most Powerful Magic”, in which a kiss does its work and the final battle begins.


	100. The Most Powerful Magic

A burst of golden magic surged outwards from the pair, and Rumplestiltskin felt Belle sigh against his lips.  Her skin began to warm immediately, and after a moment, he felt Belle’s right hand come up, sliding around the back of his neck and tangling in his hair as pure light magic rolled through them like a tidal wave.

_This_ was the kiss he had denied himself since Belle had brought magic to Storybrooke.  This was True Love’s kiss, perfect and pure, everything any lover could ever wish for.  Back in the Enchanted Forest, this kiss—given innocently and unknowingly—had nearly torn the darkness from him, nearly breaking the curse of the Dark One.  Then, Rumplestiltskin had stopped it, had pulled back.  He’d needed the power to find Baelfire, and perhaps more importantly, he had not been sure what the darkness might do if it had been torn from him.  He had been so afraid, then, but now he had to risk everything, because pulling back would doom Belle.

It could leave him powerless, Rumplestiltskin knew.  He hadn’t dared let go, hadn’t lost himself in True Love’s Kiss, because being powerless with Cora around was almost assuredly a death sentence.  Yet Belle _would_ die if he did nothing.  Gabrielle was too young to save her mother, and even had she not been, Rumplestiltskin would not leave this to his daughter.  So, he pushed his screaming darkness down and put his power on the line, half hoping that this kiss might just free him, too.

He barely heard Zelena’s screech of fury, and ignored the way Cora’s magic slammed into the shield he’d thrown up a few moments earlier.  Rumplestiltskin just focused on Belle, feeling the coldness in her cheek melt away and then her smile against his lips.

“I love you,” Belle whispered simply, and Rumplestiltskin let his eyes slide shut in relief, just for a moment.

“And I love you,” he replied, relishing the feeling of True Love and light magic, two things he had never truly let himself feel before.  But the feeling passed quickly as their lips parted, and Rumplestiltskin could feel the darkness rushing back in on him, could feel his heart constricting once more.

Well, then.  That answered that.  Despite his hopes—and his fears—Rumplestiltskin remained the Dark One.  Perhaps his curse was simply not meant to be broken in this world, after all.  _At least that simplifies matters_ , Rumplestiltskin thought, pulling back from Belle after one more quick kiss. 

“Take your father and go, sweetheart,” he said, begging her with his eyes not to argue with him, just this once.  “Let me deal with these two.”

Blue eyes met his, resolute and brave.  He was terrified, but Belle never was.  “Are you sure?”

“I can’t risk you,” Rumplestiltskin pleaded.  “Not after coming so close to losing you.  Please, Belle.”

“All right.”  She nodded, and moved briskly to her father’s side, grabbing Maurice by the arm and pulling him back towards the shattered doorway even as Regina, Emma, Bae, and the others approached.

Everyone but Regina and Emma hung back, with Bae offering Belle a shoulder to lean on, but Rumplestiltskin ignored them all as he turned back to face Cora and Zelena.  Both were trying to destroy his magical shield, and he could feel it shuddering and weakening under the rain of blows, but it hadn’t fallen yet.  So, he took a moment to let his fury rise back to the surface, merging it again with his love for Belle and his desperate desire to keep her safe.  _If a monster I must be to keep her safe, a monster I_ will _be,_ he thought.  Letting out a breath, Rumplestiltskin embraced the darkness that Cora wanted so badly to rule.

“I’m sorry,” he directed an unapologetic smirk at his former lover, banishing the ten days of terror that were never far from his mind—or the years and years before that, when Cora had tormented first Gold and then Rumplestiltskin.  He needed to be strong today, not the weak and quivering mess he was inside.  So, Rumplestiltskin pushed aside his demons and continued: “Did you think we were _not_ True Love?”

“I know what you are,” Cora snarled, her once-pretty face screwed up in disbelief.  “Your True Love is power!”

“No,” Rumplestiltskin countered, stepping forward and calling magic to both hands.  “Power is useful.  Power is intoxicating.  But I’ve learned that it isn’t everything.  _Belle_ taught me that.”

“I’m going to kill her!” Zelena interjected, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t get a chance to reply as Regina scoffed.

“You get to deal with me first, big sis.  And this time, there’s not going to be any hiding behind Mother to save you.”

“I’d never hide!”

“Then come prove it,” Regina retorted, grinning.

Rumplestiltskin tuned those two out as they fought—he knew their relative strengths, and he knew which one would win.  Zelena wasn’t the threat; Cora was, and even as he turned back to face the Evil Queen, the shield between them collapsed.  Cora smiled victoriously, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t give her a chance to revel in her tiny triumph.  Whipping a hand out, he brought the darkest of magic slamming into her, using sheer power to rip Cora off of her feet and slam her against a broken pillar.  She cried out, but lashed back with a furious spell whose strength almost equaled the one Rumplestiltskin had felled her with, but he batted it aside.

The wall to his right burst into flames, but that was a problem for later.

“You’ve grown pathetic, Rumple,” Cora drawled, climbing to her feet and calling a fireball to her hand.  “You’ve grown _weak_.”

“Love doesn’t make you weak, dearie,” he snorted, “despite what you always say.  Love makes you stronger.”

 Cora launched the fireball at him without bothering to reply, but Rumplestiltskin twitched a finger, turning it around in midair and sending it sailing back at her.  She barely managed to teleport away, throwing more and more power at him when she landed in front of the burning wall on the right, but Rumplestiltskin just blocked that, too.  One spell got through, making him stagger back and every old wound he had burn with agony, but Rumplestiltskin caught his balance quickly, pouring power into his own body to mitigate the damage.  Then he turned again to face her, giving Cora a small smile he knew infuriated her, and then snapped his right arm up.

Invisible power hit Cora right in the midsection, picking her up off the ground and spinning her in the air like a tornado.  Sparks flew out of her fingers as the swirling darkness surrounded her, pulling her higher and higher—ten feet, fifteen feet, and finally thirty feet off of the ground.  _Punish her_ , his curse whispered gleefully, and Rumplestiltskin’s smile vanished as he brought his hand back down.

Cora smashed into the ground with a scream, and Rumplestiltskin thought he heard bones break from two dozen feet away.  Off to his left, Zelena made the mistake of looking at her mother, which gave Regina the very opening _she_ needed, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t bother watching as Regina pounded her elder sister flat—and then strode forward to yank the emerald pendant straight off of Zelena’s chest.  Instead, he watched as Cora struggled to her feet, and then repeated the same spell, tearing her up into the air again, this time even higher.  Cora howled in fury and pain and tried to attack him, but Rumplestiltskin batted those spells aside as he pulled the final threads of the spell he had begun in the car.

This time, Cora managed to get to her feet.  “Is that the best you have, Rumple?” she taunted him.  “The Rumplestiltskin _I_ knew would have killed me already!”

“Perhaps I’m enjoying watching you suffer,” he chuckled, and a part of him hated himself because he _was_.

“Or perhaps this is your much-vaunted ‘strength’,” Cora jeered.  “Love is weakness.  You can call it what you will, but it’s making you hesitate, no matter how much you claim to hate me.”

“Actually, it isn’t.” Rumplestiltskin smiled, feeling the weight of a heart land in his right hand.  “I was simply waiting for this.”

Cora might have realized the threat he held, because she threw a veritable wall of fire at him, which crackled through the air and burned the ground between them.  But Rumplestiltskin teleported away in a swirl of blue magic.  He knew her.  He knew that she’d move left, not right, that she’d wheel around and be ready to attack an opponent she was certain would be behind her.  Cora was a talented sorceress, but _he_ had taught her, and Rumplestiltskin appeared less than an arm’s length behind her, despite the way Cora had been certain to move in an unpredictable manner.

Then he shoved her heart back in her chest.

Gasping, Cora stumbled forward and away from him, emotion and feelings crashing in on her and clearly incapacitating her for a few crucial moments.  A better man would have backed off and given her space, but Rumplestiltskin was not a good man.  He was the Dark One, so he reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning Cora around roughly and grabbing her by the throat.  Stunned, she stared at him, shock coloring her expression until her eyes began to soften.

“If I was a better man, I would have simply crushed your heart,” he whispered, leaning in close.  “But I want you to know how it _feels_ , Cora.  I want you to understand that _I don’t love you_ , and you ruined that yourself.  You ripped your heart out for power, and it’s left you with nothing.”

“I…Rumple, I—”

“Your daughter hates you,” Rumplestiltskin continued mercilessly.  “You threw one away, and you tried to destroy the other.  You wanted her to live like you did, without _love_.  But Regina’s better than you, and always has been.”  He smiled, and it was a cold and deadly thing, devoid of any of the feelings he’d once held for her.  “And I married a woman who is so much better than you.  She loves _me_ , not my power, and that _was_ True Love’s Kiss you just saw.”

“But we were—we were”—Cora’s eyes cut right, desperate and full of emotions she didn’t know how to handle.  “Regina—”

“You made your choices, Mother.  Now live with them,” Regina snapped.  “I’ll mourn what you could have been, but you never were my real family.  I found that despite you.”

“Rumple,” Cora whispered, and it was almost a plea.  Her eyes fastened on him, and for a moment, something within him stirred.  But not much.

He shook his head.  “Goodbye, Cora.  This is where your story ends.”

Rumplestiltskin let the darkness loose, let it surge down his arm and _destroy_.  Cora went tense, her eyes went wide—and then she crumbled into ash.  Had he expected to take his time in killing her?  Perhaps.  But Rumplestiltskin had had enough of pain and protracted suffering.  He’d had his revenge, and that was enough.  Torturing Cora would only feed his inner demon; Rumplestiltskin, the man who had kissed Belle, simply wanted to stop being afraid.  He wanted it to be _over_ , and maybe he still felt enough for Cora to make her death quick.  Or perhaps he hated her too much to wait.

Either way, Cora was dead and would never harm his family again.

* * *

 

Regina didn’t realize it, but when she ripped the emerald pendant off of Zelena, that action shattered the spells Zelena had cast with that power.  Most of the spells were minor, but the one on the town line was far from that, and several flying monkeys fell right out of the sky.  Fortunately, Doctor Whale was _not_ one of the ones who broke a bone from the de-transformation, because he soon found himself dealing with a myriad of injuries from his formerly monkey-ified friends.

Unfortunately, two others that escaped unscathed were Greg and Tamara.  They even found one another right away, exchanging shaky glances until they were certain that they were deep enough into the woods that no one could hear them.

“What the hell was that?” Tamara asked, feeling her arms just to make sure they were there.  She felt silly for being paranoid, but after having had _wings_ and being trapped in the body of a monkey, Tamara wasn’t sure that she would ever feel normal again.

“Magic,” Greg replied bitterly.  “I told you this place was evil.”

“You were right,” she agreed, shuddering.  “This is… _unnatural_.”

Greg turned to face her, his eyes glowing with the fire of a man who genuinely believed in his own rhetoric.  “We need to finish what we came here for.  We need to destroy this place, and everyone in it.  They’re _all_ evil.”

“Here’s hoping the truck and trailer are where we left them,” Tamara breathed, glancing around the forest.  She had no idea where they were—her memories of her time as a monkey were already growing foggy, and even then she hadn’t known how to get around Storybrooke. She’d just gone where the magic sent her.

“We’ll find them,” Greg said determinedly, and Tamara tried not to sigh.  She really just wanted to leave, but she knew there would be no talking him out of this.

And, well, she wanted a little revenge, too.  Particularly on that red-headed bitch who had turned them into flying monkeys.

* * *

 

Belle hated being on the sidelines, but she knew that this was a battle Rumplestiltskin _needed_ to fight for himself.  She knew that her husband needed to prove to himself that he could face Cora down without showing his fears, and as much as Belle worried for Rumplestiltskin, she had to let him.  So, she pulled her father away and was immensely grateful when Bae joined them.  Her father would probably never understand her love for Rumplestiltskin, but Bae looked as worried as Belle felt.   Fortunately, the fight didn’t last long, with Regina taking Zelena’s pendant a few moments before Rumplestiltskin shoved Cora’s heart back in her chest and then killed her.  Part of Belle felt that she _should_ shrink away from watching her husband gloat at and then kill a woman, but those feelings were barely a flicker of regret against a huge backdrop of relief.

It was _over_.  That horrible woman was never going to hurt her husband again, and, well, Belle wasn’t going to tell Rumplestiltskin that he had been wrong to take a measure of revenge before killing Cora.  She had heard what he said, and if that helped him calm his demons, Belle was entirely on Rumplestiltskin’s side.  He hadn’t prolonged Cora’s suffering, and hadn’t unleashed that terrible darkness Belle knew lived inside him.  Honestly, she had expected Rumplestiltskin to do worse, and the happiness Belle felt over the fact that he hadn’t had nothing to do with Cora at all.  No, her concerns were for Rumplestiltskin’s soul, as always.

So, she just rushed to him after Cora disintegrated into a pile of ash.  Seemingly able to sense that she was coming, Rumplestiltskin turned and met her halfway.  Belle walked into his arms, burying her face against his shoulder and holding on tightly.

“It’s over,” she whispered, and she felt the slight shudder that ran through her husband.

“Yes,” he replied hoarsely.  “Yes, it is.”

Tipping her head back, Belle looked into his brown eyes, noticing how at least some of his fears seemed to have faded.  “You’re safe now,” she smiled.  “We all are.”

“Belle, I’m sorry she went after you like that.  If I’d thought—”

“Stop,” Belle cut him off gently.  “This isn’t your fault, and I’m _fine_ , all right?  I blame Cora, not you.”

Rumplestiltskin still looked terribly ashamed. “She did that because of me.”

“No, Cora did that because she was spiteful and didn’t understand love,” she corrected him, leaning in to kiss Rumplestiltskin lightly.  “I don’t blame you, and I’m not letting you blame yourself.  Just try to be a little happy, all right?”

“All right.”  The words were a whisper against her lips, and Belle smiled.

“Good.”  Going up on her tiptoes, she kissed Rumplestiltskin on the nose, finally earning herself a smile in return.  She could ask him later how he had been able to unfreeze her without breaking his own curse.  Rumple had told her more than once that magic was different here, but Belle had a feeling there was more to it than that.  Her questions, however, could wait.  For now she was content to bask in the fact that Rumplestiltskin was finally safe, and it was truly over.

“You can’t lock me away!” a shrill voice interrupted her musings, and Belle felt Rumplestiltskin tense.  Together, they turned to face Zelena who had clearly been caught trying to run away.  Now Emma and David each had one of her arms, and Zelena was spitting fire at both of them. 

“Sure we can,” Regina retorted. 

“On what charge?” Zelena scoffed.  “You don’t have anything that can touch me.”

“How about we start with murder and work our way backwards?” Emma cut in, and when Zelena started to roll her eyes, added: “Geppetto apartment has security cameras.”

“So?”

“So, you killed Geppetto _and_ August, and we have it on tape,” Emma snapped. “You’re going away for a long time, Zelena, so stop arguing.”

“You can’t!  I’m—”

“Nothing,” David interrupted.  “That pile of ash over there can’t help you terrify anyone now.”

Zelena reared back as if struck, her eyes wide and—for a moment—hurt.  But she recovered quickly, sneering at her sister.  “You’ll never hold me.  I’ll break out and avenge Mother, Regina.  And I’ll _start_ with your precious little son, too!”

“If you even _think_ about trying that, dearie, I’ll dispose of you with less hesitation than I did your mother,” Rumplestiltskin spoke up from Belle’s side, his voice ice cold.  He strode forward as Zelena’s head whipped around to stare, and Belle stayed at his side—less to stop him than to give Rumplestiltskin the support she knew he needed. 

“What do you care about her little brat?” the witch demanded.

“That ‘little brat’, as you call him, is my grandson,” Rumplestiltskin grated out, and the cold fury in his voice sent a shiver down Belle’s spine.  “And if you ever come near anyone in my family, I’ll kill you.”

Everyone stared, until Emma finally spoke up to fill the silence, sounding hesitant to do so but like she felt she should.

“Gold…”

“Oh, she’s safe from me so long as you lock her away, Sheriff,” Rumplestiltskin replied, and only Belle knew how much it cost him to say that.  But she was _so_ proud of him.  Rumplestiltskin was thinking instead of letting his anger and his pain rule him.  He knew as well as she did that killing Zelena now that she was powerless would turn the heroes against him, ruining the alliance they had worked so very hard to build.  _It probably doesn’t hurt that he knows how Bae feels about Emma,_ Belle realized.  _Or that he’s trying to prove to Bae that he isn’t a terrifying monster_.  “But I advise you keep her there.  If she becomes a threat, I’ll do everyone a service by removing it.”

“I’ll, uh, take that under advisement,” Emma replied, exchanging a glance with Regina.  The other Mills daughter, however, seemed a lot more unperturbed by the death threat directed towards her biological sister, and only shrugged.

Zelena, however, seemed miffed to be dismissed so easily.  “I’ll _always_ be a threat,” she snarled.  “You know that, Rumple, so why don’t you get it over with?  Or are you too _broken_?”

Had Belle not grabbed Rumplestiltskin’s hand and squeezed with all her might, she thought he might have killed Zelena then and there.  Just to be safe, she reached out and took his other hand, too, tugging Rumplestiltskin so he looked at her and not Zelena.

“You’re better than this,” Belle said softly.  “You’re better than her.  Don’t let her goad you.”

Rumplestiltskin smiled sadly, and she could see the broken pieces of his soul swimming in his eyes.  “No, I’m really not,” he whispered, but when he looked at Zelena, his expression was controlled and full of contempt again.  “But you, dearie—you’re just a tool.  A vindictive and nasty one, to be sure, but only a tool.  You’re not worth the effort.”

“How dare you? I—” Zelena cut off abruptly, her lips still moving but no sound coming out.  That only seemed to infuriate her further, of course, and her face went bright red as she tried desperately to shout at anyone and everyone, but only Regina’s snicker filled the silence.

“What?” Regina shrugged as everyone looked at her.  “You can’t say you enjoyed listening to _that_.  I just hit her with a silencing spell.  She’ll be fine.”

“It’s kinder than the arrows I keep shooting at her, love,” Robin replied immediately, stepping up next to Regina with a grin.  “But I completely sympathize with the desire to make her shut the hell up.”

“You can’t leave it on her forever,” Snow pointed out as most everyone else snickered.  Then the young princess glanced at Zelena.  “But…maybe you can wait until she’s safely locked away first.”

Regina laughed.  “I knew I’d corrupt you eventually,” she said, wrapping an arm around Snow.  “It just took a while.”

“Very funny,” Snow rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, too.

Belle and Rumplestiltskin let Regina and David take Zelena away, but it didn’t escape Belle’s notice that Emma and Baelfire headed off together, picking up Ingrid’s heart from the pile of ashes that had been Cora.  Apparently Cora _had_ kept the heart with her, even if she’d sent the Snow Queen away, and Belle almost headed over to meet them until her father stepped in her path.

_Not now,_ she thought desperately, feeling Rumplestiltskin tense _again_.  Belle knew that Rumple really just needed to get away from people right now; how he was handling the aftermath of Cora’s death so well, she still wasn’t sure.  There was undoubtedly at least a case of the shakes, and maybe a breakdown, coming in the future, and she just wanted to get him into private before that happened.  Squeezing his hand, Belle dredged up a strained smile for her father.

“Papa, now’s not a very good time—” she started, only to be cut off.

“I’m sorry,” Maurice said quickly, and Belle felt her mouth hang open.  “I…I didn’t believe you, sweetheart, even when you told me that you were in love.  I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.  I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

The unexpected apology made her blink, and much to Belle’s surprise, it was Rumplestiltskin squeezing her hand that helped her overcome her shock and find words.  “I, um, I’m glad,” she managed after a moment.

Part of her wanted to scream at her father that it shouldn’t have taken Belle almost freezing to death for him to see the light, but Belle knew very well where she had inherited much of her stubbornness from.  So, she stopped herself, instead focusing on the things that _really_ mattered.

“But you don’t just owe me an apology,” Belle said bluntly, coming back on balance.  “I know you were under the curse and it wasn’t all your fault, but Cora couldn’t have forced you to hurt Rumple.  You did that yourself, and you almost beat him to death.”

Maurice flinched, and Belle half expected him to walk away or offer an excuse.  But her father surprised her by nodding and turning to her husband.  “She’s right.  No one deserves what we— _I_ —did to you.  And I apologize.”

Rumplestiltskin didn’t seem to know what to say for a long moment, but after Belle squeezed his hand, he cleared his throat and shrugged.  “Your apology is…accepted.  And I suppose that, in the grand scheme of things, well, I survived.  Thanks to your daughter.”

“Belle?” Maurice looked at her in surprise, and Belle couldn’t help the slight smirk that crossed her face.

“I brought magic here,” she replied.  “Because there’s nothing in the world that can make me want to lose Rumple.  _Nothing_.”

“I…I can see we have a lot to talk about,” her father replied after a moment, and Belle almost hugged him.  He was trying, _finally_ , and that went a long way for her.  So, she gave him a glowing smile.

“And we have time,” she promised.  “But for now, Rumple and I are going to head home to check on Gabi.  I’ll call you tomorrow, all right?”

“I’d like that,” Maurice beamed, and Belle did lean forward to give her father a brief hug.  Then she got her husband away from everyone so that he could break down in private.

 

* * *

 

Regina supposed that she couldn’t blame Rumple for heading home after that battle.  It was obvious to anyone who knew the man that her mother had done quite the number on him.  Rumplestiltskin tried to hide how damaged he was, and most people seemed to fall for the act, but Regina knew him too well to think so.  _As a first hand survivor of Mother’s idea of ‘love’, I can definitely sympathize,_ she thought, leading Zelena down the street and so very glad that she’d left that silencing spell in place.  _Though I’m pretty sure Mother treated him worse than she ever treated even Daniel, and that’s saying something._

“You sure a cell will be enough to hold her?” Emma asked dubiously as they walked towards the sheriff’s station. 

“As long as I have her pendant, it will be,” Regina replied, wondering how in the world _any_ sorceress could be stupid enough to wrap their power up in some gaudy piece of jewelry.  _All I had to do was hit her hard enough to rip it off.  Who does thinks like that?_

 “Isn’t that a _really_ stupid way to contain your power?” Emma echoed dubiously.  “I mean, I’m really new at this magic stuff, and even I can figure that out.”

“Mother wasn’t recruiting based on brains,” she said dryly, and didn’t miss the affronted look Zelena shot her.  “Besides, we can keep an eye on her until we get a cell in the asylum ready with enough wards to suffocate a fairy.  That’ll hold her long term, whether she likes it or not.”

“Yeah, well, anything that keeps her out of _here_ and stops me from having to listen to her is a bonus,” her niece agreed, pulling open the door to the station. 

Much to both women’s’ surprise, Graham was leaning against the desk.  Regina and Emma both stopped cold, but the former sheriff grinned.

“I hear you could use a bit of help with law enforcement in this town,” Graham said cheerfully as Emma gaped.  “I do have to congratulate you on firing Keith, too.  I never did manage to get rid of that idiot.”

“That ‘idiot’ is standing right here!” Keith Nottingham objected from the left hand cell, which made Graham laugh.

“Graham, uh, I, um…” Emma stuttered and then trailed off, looking more lost than Regina had seen her since the Savior had decided to accept that magic existed.

“Relax, Emma.  I’m not trying to steal your job.  Besides, you were elected fair and square.  I only ever got the job from a curse, and Cora’s not exactly a good character reference. I’m happy to work for you.”

“How about with me?” Emma finally managed, and Regina found herself smiling.  Maybe they could make this town work after all.  Forming a government without her mother would be something new for _all_ of them, but so long as they could lock Cora’s cronies out and get good people in, she thought they might be all right.

She was, however, very grateful to dump Zelena in that cell and head out to find a place to store that damn pendant.  She left Graham and Emma to deal with her obnoxious half-sister, removing the silencing spell on her way out the door.  Regina would have left it in place had Emma’s stubborn sense of fairness not kicked in, and she could hear Zelena berating the current and former sheriff as the door swung shut behind her.

_Better them than me!_ she thought, and went to find Robin.  Who better than a thief to hide a valuable, after all?

* * *

 

Emma felt bad for leaving Graham to put up with Zelena alone, but she had one more errand to run before dark, and the sun was going down fast.  So, she headed out to Cora’s house, ostensibly to make sure that there were no nasty surprises hidden there.  But Emma knew she didn’t have to go do that; Regina was going to drop by after she’d hidden the pendant away, and Emma’s parents had gone straight there.  Still, she wanted to return Ingrid’s heart in person, so Emma headed into the living room right away.

Snow had sprung Ingrid out of the cage in the cellar, fortunately, but now Emma’s old foster mother was sitting motionless in a large armchair, looking lost and empty.  She didn’t even turn when Emma walked in, only reacting once Emma cleared her throat uncomfortably.  What did you say to the woman who had tried to scare magic out of you?  Emma didn’t really know, even if she now understood—vaguely—what Ingrid had been trying to do.  Yes, she seemed to have some sort of magic, one that Regina kept insisting she learn to use, but Emma had no idea how _Ingrid_ had known that.  Frankly, the entire situation was _still_ a little weird, and Emma shifted nervously as Ingrid turned to face her.

“Emma…?” the older woman whispered, looking shocked to see her.  Ingrid rose slowly, watching Emma as if she was some precious artifact that might disappear. 

“Uh, hi,” she said, forcing herself to stop fidgeting and hold out the silk bag Regina had given her to put the heart in.  “I think this belongs to you.”

Ingrid accepted the bag hesitantly, looking inside with wide eyes before she glanced back up at Emma.  “Thank you,” Ingrid said softly, and Emma watched with fascination as Ingrid gently pushed her own heart back in.

Seeing that would _never_ be normal.

“I used the memory stone.” Emma blurted the words out before she could stop herself.  “I remember everything.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”  Emma looked away, unable to bear the hopeful look in Ingrid’s eyes.  “I wish you hadn’t made me forget.”

“I didn’t know how to keep you safe from Cora if I didn’t,” Ingrid said softly.  “And…I was afraid of how you would react to me being here.  How you _did_ react.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly do a lot of explaining, you know,” she pointed out.  “I’m not a scared teenager now.  I learned how to live in the world.”

“So you did.” Ingrid let out a breath, and then tried a shaky smile.  “I’m sorry, Emma.  I never should have lied to you.  I honestly wanted to keep you safe.”

“From what?” she couldn’t help asking, thinking back to the lies and the pain of the time Ingrid had wanted to adopt her—and then had frightened her away with talk of magic and potential and heavens knew what else.  “I wasn’t in any danger then!”

Ingrid looked away again, speaking softly.  “I knew who you were, even then.  I…knew you were the Savior.”  She let out a bitter laugh.  “I…I had all kinds of grand plans coming to this world.  I was going to find you, and my niece, and we were going to—oh, that no longer matters.  I think having my heart ripped out has taught me a thing or two, and I’m sorry for everything.  I don’t expect you to forgive me…but I want you to know how very proud of you I am.  You’ve become everything I ever dreamed you could be, and more.”

Those words made Emma swallow hard.  Once, she’d wanted so very much to love this woman, to find a family with her.  But so many years had passed since then.  She’d fallen in love, gone to jail, had a child, given the kid up, then had that child find her, setting off a chain of events and change in her life like Emma could never have imagined.  _And now I have an enormous family,_ Emma thought.  Sometimes she was still amazed by that, utterly flabbergasted that there were _so_ many people who loved her—and yet she couldn’t shake a lingering affection for Ingrid, either.

“Thank you,” she finally said, not sure how else to respond.  “It’s been…interesting.”

“I imagine it has.”  Ingrid’s smile was strained, but genuine.  She hesitated before adding:  “May I ask you for a favor?”

“You can ask,” Emma replied warily.

“My niece, Elsa.  She’s…she’s trapped in an urn.  Last I knew Rumplestiltskin had it, but he may not, now.  But she deserves better than to be trapped there.  Will you help me find her and get her home?  She has a sister who I know must miss her very much.”

As favors went, that one sounded huge—but definitely like something Emma could do.  “I’ll help,” she promised.  “We’ll find her.”

“Thank you.”  Ingrid took a cautious step forward, as if she wanted to take Emma’s hands, and then stopped. “Thank you.”

Emma just nodded, still a little uncomfortable.  Maybe someday she’d be willing to let Ingrid back into her life, but for now, she still wasn’t entirely sure.  Too much had happened in the eleven days since the curse had broken, and Emma was still trying to figure out her _actual_ family.  But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t help Ingrid find this Elsa, whomever she was.  After all, she figured she could ask Neal to get that urn away from his father.  Judging from what she’d seen of Gold and Neal’s relationship, Gold would pretty much do whatever his son asked (even if it wasn’t within reason), so how hard could one urn be to find?

* * *

 

The breakdown wasn’t as bad as either of them had expected.

Rumplestiltskin had experienced an extreme case of the shakes when they’d gotten back to the shop, which had led him to teleport himself and Belle back home almost right away.  He needed the privacy, the _safety_ , of his own home, needed to get away from the prying eyes of the town.  Strangely enough, most people had seemed very positively inclined towards him during their walk back to the shop, but Rumplestiltskin knew that would be short lived.  He might have killed Cora, but sooner or later, the sheep would remember that _he_ was the town monster.  They’d resume hating him soon enough.

Still, for the moment he was content enough to hide in Belle’s arms, as guilty as he felt for being glad that Gabi was over at Regina’s with Henry and Roland.  He just needed a little while to get his mental feet back under himself, just needed to let it sink in that _Cora was dead._   Rumplestiltskin had expected to feel joy, had expected the warm rush of heady vengeance to buoy him and erase at least some of the trauma and pain.  Instead, he just felt shaky and relieved, and still more empty than he wanted to admit to being.  Fortunately, Belle seemed to understand, and she had just held him until he calmed down, sitting on the couch and pulling him into her arms.

“I’m sorry I’m such a wreck,” he whispered after he had no idea how long.

“Honestly, I’d be more worried if you weren’t,” his wife told him, not for the first time, leaning in to kiss him on the forehead.  Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes, feeling an echo of that beautiful and perfect magic when she kissed him like that, and part of him desperately wanted to kiss her as if his life depended upon it and _will_ his curse to break.

But he couldn’t.  He had to live with the life he’d been given.  _And this curse._

“Well, I’m glad I’m not worrying you about that, then,” he said with a shaky laugh.  “There’s plenty else to be worried about.”

“I love you, Rumple,” Belle replied.  “All of you…even the dark parts.”

_Don’t tell her.  Don’t bring it up if she doesn’t,_ the voice of his inner coward told him, and Rumplestiltskin tried to ignore it.  Belle had taught him so many things over the years, about trust and about love, that he _almost_ made himself say the words.  He even tried, but somehow the next sentence came out instead.

“I’m not the one who was almost frozen to death earlier,” Rumplestiltskin said, hating himself and yet truthful enough in his own concern.  “I should be asking if _you’re_ all right.”

“You solved that little problem, remember?” his wife said lightly, but he felt her shiver, and Rumplestiltskin sat up to look at her.

“That doesn’t mean it goes away,” he whispered, reaching out to touch her cheek, remembering how very _cold_ she had felt.  Anger surged within him, but not at Belle.  No, he was angry at _himself_ now that Cora was dead, furious with himself for letting someone hurt Belle to get at him.  What use was power if he couldn’t protect those he loved?  Why hadn’t he realized Cora would go after Belle so quickly?

“I’m all right,” Belle smiled, leaning in to rest her forehead against his.  “I promise.  I’ll tell you if I’m not, so long as you’ll do the same for me.  Do we have a deal?”

“Of course we do,” he replied, forcing his own smile past the cold anger he still felt.  _She deserves to know,_ Rumplestiltskin decided, and then told himself—quite firmly—that the promise he’d just made covered telling Belle unpleasant truths he didn’t want to share, too.  His curse didn’t like that, didn’t like the perceived weakness of giving in, but he shoved its protests aside.  “There is…one other thing,” he added hesitantly.

“What?  Is something else hurt?  Did she do something?”

“No, nothing like that.”  Closing his eyes briefly, Rumplestiltskin sucked in a deep breath, and then opened his eyes once more to look into the trusting gaze of his wife.  “You didn’t ask me why my curse didn’t break when I kissed you.”

Belle’s expression turned a little sad.  “I figured that you’d tell me when you’re ready.”

“I think you trust me more than you should, sweetheart.”

“You’re telling me now, aren’t you?” She leaned in to kiss his cheek, and Rumplestiltskin just wanted to stay there, wrapped up in his wife, safe and loved, for all eternity.  “I’ll always trust you.”

“I thought it might,” Rumplestiltskin admitted.  “I…I almost hoped it would, even though I knew I needed the power to fight Cora.  Being controlled”—his voice broke, and going on was hard with his chest so tight—“being her slave, was just…just…”

“Horrible.  And terrifying,” Belle supplied, and he found himself drawn into her arms once more as he closed his eyes tightly, fighting back the memories of days not nearly far enough in the past, fighting back the feel of Cora’s hands on his body, of fighting her pointlessly, of pain and more pain.  Burying his face in her shoulder, Rumplestiltskin clung to Belle for a long while before he could find his voice again, but he refused to stop now that he was trying to tell her the truth.

_If I stop, I’ll never start again._   He’d learned that lesson a long time ago, and he would _not_ let the voice of doubt or of darkness dissuade him.

“Yes,” he whispered.  “With all of that, I realized…for the first time, I truly _want_ to be free of this.  And I’d hoped that would be enough.  I’d always held back before, not let our kisses free me, but this time I didn’t.”

“But you’re still the Dark One.”

Straightening, Rumplestiltskin nodded.  “Magic is different here,” he explained.  “My curse is not of this world, and so long as we’re here, no matter how we kiss, I won’t be free.”

Belle nodded, looking thoughtful.  “We could just go to the Enchanted Forest, you know.  Jefferson would take us.”

Now here was the hard part, and Rumplestiltskin shook his head.  He’d thought on this many times, battling his own need for power against the burning desire for freedom, trying to figure out what was _right_ and not just what was easy.  Unfortunately, although the terrified yearning to free himself from the control of the dagger at any and all costs beat out even his age-old need for more and more power…Rumplestiltskin already knew what the only possible answer was.

“We can’t,” he answered as gently as he could.  “If…if your kiss were to free me, Belle, even True Love wouldn’t destroy my curse.”  It had taken him a long time to realize that, but Rumplestiltskin finally understood this darkness within him.  “True Love’s Kiss might remove the Darkness from _me,_ but then the Darkness would be free.  It would seek a new host, and with so few people in the Enchanted Forest, it might very well go for you.”

“I’ll take that chance,” Belle said immediately, but Rumplestiltskin shook his head desperately.

“I won’t,” he said firmly.  “I know this curse, Belle.  I know how to keep it from taking me over…and I even know how long I have before it does, and believe me, we’ve plenty of time yet.  But you don’t, sweetheart, and…and you’re the reason I _can_ fight it.  You’re the light that holds back the darkness in my heart.  I can’t bear the thought of this darkness corrupting you.”

“Then how do you think I feel, Rumple?” she whispered.

Leaning forward, Rumplestiltskin kissed her lightly.  “I know, and I’m sorry.  But there isn’t another way.”

“We’ll find something,” Belle promised.  “And if we can’t, we’ll keep that dagger away from _everyone._   No matter what it takes.”

She knew him too well, knew how to soothe his fears and help him back from the edge.  Rumplestiltskin knew there was plenty he wasn’t saying, like how every Dark One eventually succumbed to the darkness that was even now slowly taking over his heart—but he also knew he had time.  He had fought the darkness back for centuries, and he probably could do so for a few more, provided no one else gained control of him.  Those ten days in Cora’s hands had given the darkness a leg up he could not afford to repeat, and Rumplestiltskin would _not_ let that happen again.

He had a family to fight for: a son, a daughter, and a True Love who had stood by his side through thick and thin.  He was not going to lose his soul to this darkness, no matter what it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Cora is finally dead! Thank you so much to everyone who commented on the last chapter. It truly made my weekend.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter One Hundred and One—“That Which You Seek”, in which people plan for the future, Jefferson hosts a fascinating meeting, Belle goes to Snow and David about an important matter, and Baelfire asks about his mother.


	101. That Which You Seek

When they met for breakfast five days after Cora’s defeat, Bae decided that he _had_ to ask the damn question.  Otherwise, he was sure to chicken out.  He’d only been in Storybrooke for eighteen days, and had first seen Emma sixteen days ago, but Bae knew exactly what he wanted to do.  Somehow, they still fittogether, arguing and teasing one another like almost no time had passed.  Oh, Emma had demons now that she hadn’t before—demons he’d caused, in the main—but at heart she was still the same Emma that Neal Cassidy had known.  And he wasn’t as different as he’d sometimes wanted to think, either, because Bae knew that as _Emma’s_ Neal, he’d been a lot closer to the boy he’d been than ever before or since.

_Until now, I guess,_ he thought uneasily, watching Emma drop into the seat across from him.  He would have pulled her chair out if they weren’t sitting in a booth, but hell, Bae figured he was going to make enough of a public spectacle out of himself here shortly, so maybe the less attention drawn in right now, the better.

“You okay?” Emma asked, looking a little concerned.

“Yeah,” Bae answered, trying not to fidget and failing.  “Look, I’m not really good at any of this, so I’m just gonna get straight to the point, okay?”

“Sure,” she said dubiously, leaning back and arching an eyebrow.  “Go for it.”

“Look, I know you agreed to marry me because of how the contract would protect your family.  And—”

“I told you that wasn’t why,” Emma cut him off, and Bae tried not to hope.

“I’m not going to hold you to that.  Not when there was so much on the line,” he said quietly, and steeled himself before reaching out to take her hands.  “I love you, Emma.  I’m not going to stop loving you.  But that means doing what _you_ want to.  So, if you want to call this thing off, pretend like we never made an agreement, that’s fine with me.  I just want you to be happy—I’ve screwed that up enough times already.  I’m not going to do that again.”

“Neal—Bae…”

“Either works.  I don’t mind you calling me Neal,” Bae said, giving her a half smile.  _It reminds me of who we were, before I stupidly sent it straight to hell because_ Pinocchio _told me to._   Emma clearly didn’t know what to say, and he tried like hell to hide how badly that hurt.  He’d known she’d want out—any sane person would—so why did he want to beg her not to?

_I’ve got to do right by her,_ he told himself for the hundredth time. _She deserves it._

“Neal, then,” Emma said, taking a deep breath of her own.  “Look, I was going to marry you.  Courthouse, marriage license, kiss the bride, and everything.  A little battle got in the way, and we’ve spent the last five days putting the town back together, but what out of _all_ of that makes you think I’d want to back out now?”

He gaped.  Utterly speechless, all Bae could do was stare.

“I wouldn’t mind a proper engagement, though,” Emma continued when it became obvious that he was just going to stare at her like she’d gone mad.  “Maybe even moving in together before we tie the knot?”

“You want—you want—you want to _what_?” he finally managed to say around the roaring in his ears.  _She still wants to marry you, you idiot!_ the voice of his common sense shouted.  _Say something coherent, or she’s going to laugh and walk away!_

Emma squeezed his fingers so hard it hurt in an absolutely awesome way.  “I meant it when I said that I never got over you,” she whispered.  “I love you.  Sometimes I’ve wished I didn’t, but I _do_ , and damnit, if there’s anything this wacked-out town has taught me, it’s that you don’t walk away from people you love.”

“I’m sorry,” Bae said yet again, knowing he could never apologize enough for what he’d done.

“I’m not talking about that, you idiot.”  She smacked his arm lightly.

“I was,” he admitted.  “Because I’ll always be.  I know I screwed up, Emma."

“Then how about you just promise you won’t walk away again?” she asked, and he could hear the old pain behind the casual tone.

“I won’t,” he swore.  “Not ever.  Not as long as you’ll have me, anyway.”

Emma smiled, and damn if that hesitant little twitch of her lips didn’t do him in every time.  “Good.”

“I, uh, got you a ring,” Bae blurted out, not knowing what else to say if Emma didn’t want him jumping across the table then and there to kiss her.

Not that he thought she’d argue.  But Granny might have had a thing or two to say about the broken glasses.

“You did?” Now she was staring at him, eyes wide and looking so very young.

“Of course I did.” 

Clumsily, Bae fumbled in his pants pocket and came out with the box he’d brought along, just in case.  Since Emma still held his right hand, he tried to open it one-handed, but somehow he managed to drop the box entirely, and Emma had to catch it before it bounced onto the floor.  Letting go of his hand, she eased the lid upwards, peering inside.  Then her mouth dropped open, and all he could think was that the ring was ugly, that he should have driven out of Storybrooke and gotten a better one, and that—

“It’s beautiful,” Emma breathed, but Bae didn’t really hear her.  He was too ready to say something else.

“If you don’t like it I can get another,” he said quickly.  “I mean, it’s—wait a minute.  You said that it’s _beautiful_?”

“We need to work on your listening skills,” she teased him, and Bae felt a huge dorky grin split his face.

“Probably,” he agreed.

“So, uh, you gonna put this on me, or do I have to do it for myself, _Baelfire_?” Emma taunted him, and Bae laughed.

“You want me to do this all suitor-like, down on one knee and everything?” he shot back, knowing how Emma didn’t always like to draw attention to herself.

But the hazel eyes that met his blazed with a challenge.  “Do you even know how?”

“Hey!  I can propose with the best of them, particularly since you already said yes.”

“Prove it.” 

She shoved the box at him, so Bae did, getting up out of his seat, dropping down to one knee in front of everyone at the diner—he’d lived a few centuries in Neverland, after all, and _nothing_ was private there, so who cared what the large breakfast crowd thought?—and asking Emma Swan to marry him.  She giggled when he put the ring on her finger, but the smile on her face was worth it, so Bae kissed her.  Hell, she was willing to _marry_ him, and he really felt like he could walk on water right now.

“My parents are going to insist on some huge wedding,” she warned him, and Bae groaned.

“Belle will probably help them plan it.”

Emma snorted.  “At least we can have your little sister be the flower girl?”

“She might eat the flowers.  They stick everything in their mouths at that age.”

“I can live with that,” she replied, and turned a glowing smile on Bae that made the world shift beneath his feet.

“Yeah,” he agreed.  “I can, too.”

* * *

 

Her mother had been dead for five days, and so far they had been the best days of Regina’s life.

Oh, she’d been busy.  First, they’d had to make sure Zelena wouldn’t escape—a trick when she had, according to Rumplestiltskin, learned magic without that pendant, so there was always a chance that she might learn to harness her powers without it again.  In the end, Snow had talked Blue into helping ward the cell in the asylum the same way the fairies had once imprisoned Rumplestiltskin.  Their resident Dark One had _not_ been too pleased to work with the fairies, but Regina had talked him into telling them how to close up any loopholes he thought that Zelena might find (though Regina suspected that he didn’t point out _all_ the loopholes; Rumple was nothing if not good at self-preservation, and she didn’t miss the way Blue looked at him, either).  In the end, however, they’d managed to get Zelena locked up tightly enough, even if they weren’t sure what to do with her yet.

Zelena had only been a small portion of the problem, and Regina often envied her old teacher’s approach to problems like this.  He just retreated and only helped when someone wanted to make a deal, or when Belle or Baelfire talked him into it.  Henry seemed to trying his luck in that direction, too, and if anyone had told Regina’s old self that her adopted son would turn out to be Rumple’s grandson, she would have told them they were insane.  Yet somehow, their odd little family seemed to be working out.

It was functioning better than the politics of fixing Storybrooke were, anyway.   Snow and David were nominally in charge, but _everyone_ seemed to have something to say—and a number of people seemed to want to rule the town themselves.  It had taken some quick negotiations with Maleficent to stop Cruella and Ursula from trying to establish their little triumvirate into the town’s new overlords, and Regina _still_ wasn’t sure that they weren’t going to try again.  Apparently, Cruella felt that the fact that they’d gone neutral way late in the game entitled them to power now, and Regina really didn’t fancy setting herself up as some psychopath’s subject.  Nor was she going to put her family in that position.  Not in this lifetime.

Sooner or later, they were going to have to figure out what laws to try people under, because most of the ruffians who had been rounded up were now keeping Zelena company in the asylum, but they were starting to run out of space. The jail didn’t exactly have a lot of room, and Cora had had a _lot_ of henchmen.  It kept Graham and Emma busy, though Regina definitely didn’t miss the fact that Emma had decided—again, apparently—to marry Henry’s father that very morning.

Which brought Regina to Robin’s door, where she was busy forcing a deep breath and telling herself _not_ to be nervous.  _He woke you up from a Sleeping Curse, Regina,_ she told herself firmly.  _If that doesn’t tell you how he feels, nothing will._ Quickly, before she lost her nerve, Regina knocked on the door, rapping her knuckles hard against the wood.  Roland opened it almost immediately.

“Miss ‘Gina!” the four year old greeted her cheerfully, giving her a toothy grin.  For some reason, Roland had always had trouble saying her full name, but Regina somehow felt more special because he was the only one who she let use that nickname.

“Hey, you,” she smiled back.  “Is your Papa here?”

“Uh huh.”

“Can I come in and talk to him, then?” Regina asked, loving the solemn answer.

Roland seemed to consider that, and then nodded.  “Only if you pick me up.”

“You have a deal,” she laughed, bending to wrap her arms around Roland and picking him up.  Walking into the apartment, Regina kicked the door shut behind herself, just in time to see Robin coming out of the bathroom.

“Little scamp is answering the door again, I see,” he chuckled.  “I keep trying to teach him not to do that, but John’s a bad influence.”

“Well, at least it’s just me,” she replied, moving to put Roland down on the couch, but the boy shook his head.

“No,” he said firmly.

Regina turned to look at him.  “No?”

“No.  I want to stay here.”  Then Roland leaned in to put a big, smacking kiss on her cheek, and Regina melted. 

“All right,” she gave in, sitting on the couch and settling Roland in her lap.  “Does this work?”

“Yup,” was the cheerful response, and Robin laughed again as he sat down next to them.

“Should I be concerned that this little charmer will replace me in your affections, my lady?” Robin teased her, and Regina felt herself growing a little red.

“Replace?” she managed to say lightly.  “Never.  Enhance, perhaps…?”

“Now, I like the sound of that,” Robin replied, and now it was his turn to lean in and kiss her lightly.  Roland made an ‘icky’ noise that they both ignored, but at least the four year old didn’t try to push their faces apart.  This time.

Henry had never tried things like that at this age, but then again, Regina didn’t remember kissing David often, even when they were both cursed.  They’d both loved Henry, but in a lot of ways, their so-called marriage hadn’t been so very different than their friendship was now.  Regina supposed that was how they could go on living in the same house, weird as that idea _should_ have been.  Yet their odd family was happy the way they were, and Regina certainly never felt any reason to threaten Snow and David’s actual marriage.  She just wanted the same thing for herself, which was what brought her here today.

“Me, too,” Regina admitted softly.  The love shining plainly in Robin’s eyes made her feel warm inside, wanted and cherished, like she hadn’t been since her short and ill-fated marriage to Daniel.  There had been a few short months, back when she’d been so young and so innocent, that she had believed in True Love.  Now, older, wiser, and far more bitter, she found herself believing again, and the feeling was _wonderful_.

“So, what brings you to my door today, love?” Robin asked.  “Not that I’m anything other than delighted to see you, but I know that look on your face.  You have a plan.”

“A plan?” she echoed, blinking.  “What makes you say that?”

He grinned.  “As I said, I know the look in your eyes.”

“Well, I’m not sure I’d call it a plan.  Maybe…a request?”

“You know I can refuse you nothing,” Robin replied, his voice dropping a few octaves and making Regina shiver.  Roland glanced between them, looking confused, and then apparently decided that adult conversations were boring and jumped off the couch to go play with his Robin Hood action figures again.

“Maybe you shouldn’t agree before you know what it is,” Regina said hesitantly, all of her insecurities welling up and making her wonder if she was right to ask him.  Or if this was too fast. Or a thousand other things that—

“Then tell me what you have in mind and I’ll be sure to consider it carefully,” he said before her mental train wreck could spiral even further out of control, and part of Regina wanted to run away.

But no.  She hadn’t run from her mother, and she wouldn’t run from this.  _True Love has to be fought for_.  Robin had fought for her, breaking into her mother’s house and risking his life to save her.  Regina would fight for him, too.  For their love.

“I was wondering if you and Roland wanted to move in with us,” she said softly, swallowing hard.  “We have so much space, and I miss you so much when you’re not there—both of you.  And I…I…”

“You want to become a family,” Robin finished the sentence she couldn’t, and Regina nodded mutely. 

“I know it’s fast, but…”

“But it isn’t,” he said.  “Errol or Robin, I love you.  And so does Roland.  We’ve been working on this relationship for a while, haven’t we?”

Her smile was so hopeful that it hurt.  “Yes,” Regina whispered, and found Robin’s lips brushing against hers.

“Then a family we shall be,” he promised, and Regina closed her eyes on tears. 

Thiswas all she’d ever wanted.  Thiswas what her mother had tried to take away from her so many times.  Her _family_.  And that family wasn’t just limited to Robin and Roland, either.  It couldn’t be.  She had another son who would always own her heart.  She had a wonderful sister—a real one, despite the blood connection they lacked—who had taught Regina what real love was, saving her from Cora’s toxicity and her own heartbreak.  Because of Snow, she had a brother-in-law who she knew better than almost anyone, and a niece who she’d probably always fight with but who had somehow become one of her best friends.  Then, somehow, her oldest friend and mentor had turned out to be her son’s grandfather, tying him into the family, too.  It was a beautiful mess, but not one that Regina would trade for the world.

She and Robin would talk about marriage later.  They had time, plenty of it.  For now, it was most important that they knew what they meant to one another, and that they both knew neither would hide from it.  _I will not let go,_ Regina promised herself silently.  _Not this time._

_I’ll always miss you, Daniel, but I’ll never forget what you said,_ she thought, burying her face in Robin’s shoulder.  _You told me to love again, and I will.  It won’t mean I love you less, but I can love Robin, too._

* * *

 

Jefferson wasn’t sure why he was the only one who found this meeting absolutely hysterical.  _Then again, maybe I’m just a little mad after all,_ he decided, trying to hide a smirk.  Neither of the two sorcerers who currently sat in his living room would probably appreciate the irony of the situation—but then again, maybe Rumple would.  The Dark One had always possessed an odd sense of humor, one that Jefferson had been known to push to its limits.  _Which is probably why Jafar has never frightened me,_ he thought, sipping his tea to hide his smile.  _I’ve seen Rumplestiltskin throw a tantrum.  What’s Jafar compared to that?_

“I did want to compliment you on how neatly you disposed of Cora,” Jafar spoke up smoothly, clearly trying to test out the waters.  Jafar was always smooth and confident, always poised and intelligent, but Jefferson had gotten to know him well enough to know that was _usually_ a façade.  “I also understand that you somehow convinced the Jabberwocky to…depart Storybrooke?”

Rumplestiltskin’s smile was as sly as Jafar’s expression was cool.  “The Jabberwocky’s interests lay elsewhere,” he shrugged.  “I certainly didn’t harm her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Not at all.  Though I do admit to being curious if you truly were the one to give her the Vorpal Blade.  That’s an enormous amount of power to give up.”

“So it is.”

As usual, the answer was neither a confirmation nor a denial, but Jefferson could guess that Rumplestiltskin had done it.  After all, he knew the Dark One a lot better than Jafar did, and he could guess that Rumplestiltskin might have actually empathized with the Jabberwocky a little bit, given how Cora had controlled both of them.  Not that Rumple would ever say that out loud, particularly to a potential rival like Jafar.

Jafar, however, eyed Rumplestiltskin cautiously, clearly trying to decide where to take this conversation.  Jefferson was doubly amused to find that Rumplestiltskin was willing to let Jafar take the lead; after all, the Dark One had asked Jefferson to set up this meeting, and he clearly had a purpose in doing so.  But the tricky bastard had always been patient.  Besides, all this meeting cost Jefferson was a bit of tea and the use of his living room.  In return, he got Rumplestiltskin’s gratitude and free entertainment.  Who could ask for anything better?

“So,” Jafar said after the silence obviously stretched on too long, even for him.  “To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?  I doubt it’s because we both enjoy Jefferson’s tea so very much.”

“No.  I actually think Jefferson makes terrible tea,” Rumplestiltskin replied easily, and Jafar’s eyebrows shot up.

Jefferson, however, just snorted.  “You think anyone who isn’t your wife makes terrible tea.”

“True.”  Amusement glittered in Rumplestiltskin’s brown eyes, and Jefferson noticed Jafar taking that in with surprise before the Dark One shrugged and continued:  “Well, then, shall we get to the point?”

“That would be lovely.” Jafar set his cup down.

“Then I’ll be blunt.  You have…ambitions, let us call them.  You want to do something that I believe is reckless and will undoubtedly lead to your downfall, but as it’s your life, I’ll certainly not stop you from trying—or at least not if you take your ‘quest’ elsewhere.  Do you catch my meaning?”

Jafar’s eyes narrowed. “I would have thought you might very well be interested in the success of my quest.”

“Hardly,” Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “The Laws of Magic exist for a reason, and as many regrets as I’ve had in my life—and as many choices I have made that I would like to change—I know better than to trifle with such things.  Magic always comes at a price, and you’d do well to remember that.”

“Yet if the spell succeeds, there _is_ no price,” Jafar countered.

“There’s always a price, dearie.  You just might not realize what until it’s too late.”

“Then I’ll face that when it comes,” was the wary answer.  “Assuming you don’t actually mean to interfere.  I was going to offer you the opportunity to be the second sorcerer needed for the spell.”

“Flattered though I am, I feel I must decline,” Rumplestiltskin replied immediately.  “I’ve known of the Spell of the Three Genies for a very long time, and even in my most desperate moments, I’ve never been tempted to turn to it.  As I once told your mentor.”

Rumplestiltskin gestured airily in the direction of Jafar’s staff, and Jefferson found himself glancing at the golden snake head in confusion.  Had Jafar inherited it from whichever mentor Rumplestiltskin referred to?  If so, why did Jafar’s eyes narrow like that, as if he was suddenly suspicious of how much Rumplestiltskin knew and what the Dark One might do with that knowledge?  Jefferson felt like the temperature in the room had dropped considerably, and he suddenly wondered if inviting the two of them here was such a good idea after all.

“Amara never mentioned knowing you,” Jafar countered smoothly, coming back on balance.

Rumplestiltskin laughed softly.  “Oh, I imagine there’s many things she didn’t tell you,” he said, and then shrugged.  “But that’s between the two of you.  My point, Jafar, is simple.  If you want to play at changing the laws of magic, enjoy yourself.  Just don’t do it here.”

Jafar didn’t like being dictated to; Jefferson could see that in his eyes.  “Or?”

“Does there need to be an ‘or’?” Rumplestiltskin said mildly, but there was nothing mild in his gaze as he leaned forward.  “Storybrooke is not the place for such experiments.  Find a different one.”

The two sorcerers looked at one another across the coffee table, and Jefferson fought the urge to get up off of the couch and out of range.  Several moments passed in nerve-wrenching silence, and Jefferson tried very hard not to hold his breath.  _Why oh why did I have to be such an idiot as to invite_ these _two into my living room!  This is Grace’s favorite tea set!_   He was just thankful that Grace was out with friends and therefore not likely to be caught in the sorcerer’s duel that might erupt inside his house.

“As it so happens,” Jafar said after a moment, his voice entirely _too_ casual, “the three genies I require are not in this world, anyway.”

“Then I trust that our dear Hatter will be more than willing to drop you off wherever they may be?” The question was directed at him, and it made Jefferson jump.

Still, he nodded after a moment.  “Assuming you don’t intend to make me stick around for the fireworks, sure, I’ll take you,” he said to Jafar.

“That’s hardly necessary,” Jafar replied immediately.  “You have a daughter and a life here, my friend.  So long as you can find someone—or a body, I suppose—to bring back with you, I’m perfectly capable of fending for myself.”

Well, hearing that was a relief.  Jefferson _liked_ Jafar, but he had a long standing relationship with Rumplestiltskin that he wasn’t about to jeopardize by taking the younger sorcerer’s side in this mess.  He knew Rumplestiltskin well enough to know that a spell had to be well and truly terrible for the _Dark One_ to find it morally repulsive, which meant that whatever Jafar was planning, Jefferson wanted no part in it.  _But I don’t want to be his enemy, either, just in case he succeeds,_ he decided.  He’d rather remain on friendly terms with both of them, if possible.

“Then just tell me when you want to go,” he shrugged as casually as he could, watching Rumplestiltskin’s inscrutable expression.  Rumple didn’t expect Jafar to succeed, did he?  Jefferson thought he could read him well enough to figure that out.  _That’s even more reason to be somewhere else when he casts that spell!_

“Perhaps a day or two?” Jafar mused, and then glanced back at Rumplestiltskin.  “Assuming no one in this town is in a hurry to see the back of me, that is.”

“I don’t foresee anyone running you out of town, pitchforks in hand,” the Dark One said dryly. 

Jafar’s smile was sly.  “Yes, I hear that you have quite the inroads with the heroes these days.”

“Well, my son certainly does,” was the easy answer, but Jefferson heard the warning in it all the same.

So too, clearly, did Jafar.  Rumplestiltskin might have been the Dark One, and was perfectly capable of taking Jafar out on his own, but he _also_ had the ear of Storybrooke’s nominal rulers.  He seemed to be working with them, for the moment, which meant that anyone who struck out and tried to take power would have to deal with him, too.  Jafar certainly wasn’t stupid enough to do that, which meant he departed on amicable terms a few minutes later, promising to give Jefferson a day’s warning before he wanted to head to Wonderland.

“A spell to break the Laws of Magic?” Jefferson asked after he was sure Jafar was gone.

Rumplestiltskin sipped his tea nonchalantly.  “I wouldn’t worry too much about that one, Hatter.  Our dear friend is going to uncover a few…obstacles that he didn’t count on.”

“Oh?”

The Dark One just smiled.  “Let’s just say that his staff isn’t what it seems—and the woman he’s trapped inside it is _not_ going to take kindly to any spell that would enslave her children forever.”

* * *

 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Belle said, perching on the desk as Snow and Charming stopped rooting through Cora’s old office to face her.  “I just thought we needed to talk.”

“You’re not a bother,” Snow replied with a smile.  “After everything that’s happened, sorting through Cora’s old papers can certainly wait.  It’s waited this long, after all.”

“Thanks.”  Belle hesitated, knowing how much Rumple really might not like what she’d come to discuss with the Charmings, but she needed to get this out in the open.  She loved and trusted her husband, and she believed him when he said that breaking his curse might not be a good idea, even if they could do it in the Enchanted Forest.  But that meant precautions needed to be taken, so Belle squared her shoulders and continued: “You know about the dagger, now, and you know what it can do.”

Snow and Charming exchanged a glance, and it was Charming who answered: “We do, yeah.”

“I’d like to know what your intentions are,” she said bluntly.  “It’s no secret that Blue came to you and said that she felt Rumplestiltskin needed to be controlled and imprisoned.  You’ve worked with Blue for a long time, just as long as you’ve worked with my husband.  So, I want to know what you plan to do.”

“We don’t—we don’t plan on doing anything, Belle,” Snow said, blinking in surprise.  “What makes you ask this?”

“Because I’ll say what Rumple won’t,” Belle replied firmly.  “Cora hurt him terribly, because he has no way to defend himself against someone who has the dagger, and no free will at all when he’s commanded to do something.  It’s going to take him a long time to recover from what she did to him, and I won’t let someone else hurt him, even if they think it’s for the greater good.”

“No one wants to hurt him,” David objected, but Belle shook her head before he could go on.

“You don’t have to _want_ to hurt him to want to control him, which would do the same thing,” she pointed out.  “Look, this darkness inside him, his curse, is something that Rumplestiltskin fights with every day.  He’s a good man underneath that, but it corrupts him, and he _knows_ that.  But it’s far easier for him to hold it back if he doesn’t feel like those closest to him want to enslave him, because Rumplestiltskin will go to extraordinary lengths to protect those he loves, and he knows he can’t do that if he isn’t free.”

What Belle didn’t add was that she knew how terrified Rumple was of not being able to protect his family if someone else got the dagger.  Snow and Charming needed to appreciate how dangerous the situation was, how Rumplestiltskin _lived_ on the narrow edge between dark and light, so that they wouldn’t make it worse.

“I think we understand what you’re saying,” David said after exchanging another glance with Snow.  “And what I should have said was that we don’t want to see anyone else control him, either.  Rumplestiltskin’s proven himself to be our ally more than once.  And…besides, he’s family now.  You both are.”

Belle smiled despite her worry.  “That’s why I wanted to talk to you.  He doesn’t know I’m here, but I worry.”

“Is he doing all right?” Snow asked gently.

“He’ll be all right,” she replied, not willing to tell them how very far Rumple had to go.  He wouldn’t thank her for sharing that, and as good of people as Snow and Charming were, it wasn’t their business.

“We’re glad to hear that,” Snow replied, and Belle knew she meant it.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, and they spoke of other things while Belle helped them figure out which of Cora’s belongings were trash and which might be treasure.

Perhaps she had headed off a disaster.  Perhaps this was simply a bridge that needed to be built, and maybe Belle could help things along by letting Snow and Charming know just a little bit more.  Besides, she knew she wasn’t the only one who had heard about the very public proposal Emma had accepted that morning, which meant they were _definitely_ going to be very firm family for the foreseeable future.  She just hoped that they would try to understand Rumplestiltskin in the days to come.

* * *

 

Bae was waiting for him when Rumplestiltskin got home.  Gabi was at the park with Dove and Babette, and Belle had said she’d be back after a few errands, so he’d known they wouldn’t be home.  Still, Rumplestiltskin hadn’t expected to find his son on the couch in the living room, drink in hand, having obviously raided his father’s liquor cabinet.  He’d heard about Bae proposing—again, apparently—to Emma and her saying yes, of course.  The entire town seemed to be talking of nothing else, which was something of a relief, given that it made them stop talking about how he’d killed Cora.

“I thought you’d be out celebrating,” he commented curiously.

“I was,” Bae replied.  “Then I kind of ran into Killian.”

If that pirate had tried to ruin his son’s happiness, Rumplestiltskin would do a lot more than cut his hand off—but somehow he managed to stop himself from saying that.  Barely.  It wouldn’t go over well, he knew, and Bae was an adult who could fight those battles himself.  “What did the pirate want?” Rumplestiltskin asked as casually as he could.

“Not much.  It just made me think of something,” his son said, glancing down at his glass of scotch—the one he didn’t appear to have drunk anything from yet.  “Can I ask you a question, Papa?”

“Of course you can, Bae,” he said, despite the way warning alarms were going off in his head.  Anything Hook had said to Bae wouldn’t be complimentary towards Rumplestiltskin, and though he’d promised Belle that he wouldn’t kill the pirate, that didn’t mean he trusted him at all.  Walking over to his favorite armchair, Rumplestiltskin lowered himself into it, watching a variety of emotions play over his son’s face.

“What happened to Mom?” Bae asked quietly, and Rumplestiltskin felt his heart sink.  He’d known this would come up eventually, even if he’d prayed it wouldn’t.  For a moment, he thought about lying, about changing the subject, about _somehow_ avoiding a topic he didn’t think he was emotionally capable of handling at the moment—but he couldn’t.  Hook must have told Bae already, judging from his son’s expression, and Rumplestiltskin knew he had to tell the truth.  So, he took a deep breath and pushed down the swirl of confusing emotions he still felt when he thought about Milah.

“Bae, I need you to understand something before I answer your question,” he said just as quietly.  “When I first became the Dark One, I…well, you know I couldn’t control myself very well.  Honestly, I don’t think I _wanted_ to.  I was so tired of being weak that I lashed out without thinking, and I couldn’t control my anger.”

“I know.  And I know you killed her; Hook told me.”  Finally, Bae looked back up at him, and was that _guilt_ on his face?  “I’m just trying to figure out if I care.”

That admission made Rumplestiltskin’s jaw drop, and for a moment, all he could do was stare.  After a few terrifyingly silent seconds, he found his voice.  “You should,” he whispered.  “She was your mother.  And…she deserved better.”

“Killian told me that she ran away with him.  That they were in love.”

“I suppose they were,” Rumplestiltskin said, thinking back.  He didn’t like remembering this, had pushed it away centuries ago, but for his son’s sake, he would try to be honest.  _He forgave me because I was honest, not because I was some powerful sorcerer,_ Rumplestiltskin reminded himself.  _He wants his father, the man who’d always told him the truth._ “I didn’t expect to see her with him—I’d truly _expected_ her to be dead by then, because that pirate implied his crew would be using her for ‘companionship’ and not that she’d be joining them.”

“So…what happened?” Bae asked.  “And when was it?”

“After I let you go.”  He couldn’t say those words without flinching, and apparently Bae couldn’t hear them without doing the same.  “I was looking for a magic bean, and ran afoul of Hook.  But your mother intervened before I could kill him.”

“So you killed her instead?”

Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the viciously angry look on Milah’s face.  It had been the same one she’d worn every time she looked at him after he’d returned from war a cripple, except when she was glaring at him in disappointment.  That look had brought him back to being that crippled and helpless coward, but it hadn’t been the words of _“I never loved you”_ that had set him off.

“I didn’t intend to,” Rumplestiltskin answered quietly, opening his eyes and shaking himself free of the memory.  “By then, I didn’t really care that she was some pirate’s lover.  Part of me was even happy that she had lived.  But then I asked her how she could leave you, how she could abandon her own son.”  He shrugged, because even now Milah’s answer did not compute.  “She only said that she was miserable.  That she’d never loved me.  Like…you didn’t matter at all.”

No son needed to hear that, but he knew that Baelfire wanted the truth.  Tellingly, he couldn’t even see surprise on his son’s face, just resigned acceptance.  Bae merely looked sad, but not even disappointed.  After a moment, Rumplestiltskin reached out and tentatively touched Bae’s arm, and was so glad when he didn’t pull away.

“Something snapped in me when she said that.  I didn’t care if she didn’t love me—I’d known that for years.  But I never thought she could leave you, and the wound of having let you down, just like she did, was too fresh,” he explained.  “Before I knew it, I had ripped her heart out, and I killed her.”

“Oh.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, Bae,” he whispered.  “I loved her, once, even if that soured.  Still, she deserved better than to have her heart crushed when I couldn’t stop myself.”

“Killian implied it was because she ran away with him,” Bae said after a moment.  “He’s wanted revenge ever since.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “When I thought he’d kidnapped her and had her killed, yes, I wanted to kill him.  After I learned that she went with him willingly, I never really gave him a second thought.”

Somehow, that made Baelfire laugh.  “He’s always been a little self-centered.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Rumplestiltskin said dryly, and then ventured a question of his own.  “You, uh,  met him in Neverland?”

“Yeah.  Nasty place, that.”

“I know.”

They studied one another in silence for a moment, and Rumplestiltskin sensed that his son didn’t want to discuss his experiences in Neverland any more than Rumplestiltskin wanted to explain his own.  Finally, Bae said:

“I can’t say I’m not a little angry, Papa…but that’s kind of something I feel more because I should than because I do.”  He bit his lip, and shrugged.  “I barely remember her, y’know?  She was never there, and you always were.  That’s why I was so mad at you for changing, because you were the only real parent I ever had.”

Blinking back sudden tears, Rumplestiltskin had to take a shuddering breath to keep his emotions in check.  “Bae…I can’t promise to be like I was, but I can promise that I won’t ever let the darkness take me over like that again.  Not with you here.”

“I hope Belle and Gabi help a bit with that, too,” Bae replied, but he smiled when he said it.

“They do.”

“Good.  Because, uh, I kind of like having you back.  It’s nice,” his son said, and Rumplestiltskin’s voice wasn’t the only one thick with emotion.

He wasn’t sure which of them moved first, but Rumplestiltskin found himself with his son in his arms, and they embraced one another tightly.  Several moments passed before either of them said anything.

“I like having you back, too,” he whispered.

“Enough to pay for my wedding?” Bae quipped, and Rumplestiltskin pulled back to laugh.  “I mean, I hear you are the richest guy in town.”

“Of course I’ll pay for it,” he said, forgoing the opportunity to point out how that was supposed to be the Charmings’ job.  His son was getting married to a woman he loved.  That was what mattered, and Rumplestiltskin would do everything he could to make sure that marriage was a happy one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my goodness. This is the second to last chapter—I can’t believe we’ve come so far!
> 
> Next up: Chapter One Hundred and Two—“That Which You Found”, in which Greg and Tamara return, Emma goes looking for the urn, and Storybrooke finally settles down to celebrate a little.


	102. That Which You Found

They’d found the trailer lying on its side in a ditch, but hadn’t been able to right it.  So, Tamara had unhitched it while Greg nursed the SUV back onto the road, and then they’d headed out of Storybrooke.  That had been six days ago, immediately after they’d miraculously turned back from being flying monkeys, and they’d spent that time outside of the magically infested town regaining their bearings.  They’d almost stayed away, almost decided not to contact the Home Office at all and just try to disappear into the real world, but in the end, they’d both known that would be wrong.  Magic _had_ to be destroyed.  Storybrooke’s mere existence was a stain on the face of the world, and it was their responsibility to deal with that.

So, they headed back into town on the morning of March 23rd, six days after they had become human again.  They were going to destroy  magic, or die trying.

* * *

 

She didn’t ask how Walsh had managed to get the keys to her cell; Zelena just grabbed the opportunity for freedom with both hands and hurried out of the hospital’s basement.  Having been a nurse there, she knew her way around well enough to avoid notice, which  meant she made it out the front doors without anyone realizing she had escaped. Of course, if Walsh _had_ been smart enough to let her out sometime other than in the bright hours of the morning, things would have been easier, but the so-called ‘Wizard of Oz’ was as much an idiot when human as he was when a monkey.

Still, Zelena would take what she could get, and now she needed to find her pendant.  She remembered hearing her bitch of a little sister talk to the outlaw about hiding it, which meant Zelena had a pretty good idea where it must be.  She really didn’t like having to walk halfway across town to get to the firehouse, but she figure that Regina’s precious little outlaw was more likely to hide  it there than in his home.  _And if it isn’t in the firehouse, I’ll find it.  I’ll be able to_ feel _where it is, I know it_ , she told herself. 

Six days she’d spent in that dreary asylum, six days since her mother had died.  _Since Rumplestiltskin_ murdered _her._  Zelena was not going to allow that to stand.  She _wasn’t._   She was going to get her pendant back and then she was going to have revenge.  First, she was going to kill Rumple’s precious little wife and then get the dagger.  _Then_ she would kill her stupid, arrogant sister, but only after having Rumple kill Regina’s little lover while Regina watched.  Then she would kill Snow White and her precious prince.  Zelena would finish the work her mother had started, and she knew that Cora would be proud of her for it. 

So, she headed down Bayview Street, which paralleled Main Street and waited until she hit Number 1 Road to head towards the Fire Station.  A few people glared at her when she took a right onto Main Street, but Zelena didn’t care what they thought.  She _knew_ her pendant had to be there.  She’d sneak in the back, and—

A trailer-hauling SUV had been headed down the road just as she turned on to Main Street, and when Zelena went to cross to the north side, it skidded to a stop right in front of her, tires screeching and breaks squealing.  Zelena spun to face the driver as the trailer tried to jackknife, glaring.

“You almost hit me!” she shouted at the driver, a dark-skinned young woman who looked at her with wide eyes.  “How dare you?  Do you have any idea who I am?”

The driver didn’t answer, of course.  The idiot woman just stumbled out of the car, accompanied by the man in the passenger seat.  Both stared at Zelena hostilely, until the woman finally demanded:

“Do you even remember us, you witch?”

_She’s crazy.  Why would I remember someone insignificant?_ Zelena wondered, scoffing out loud.  “Of course not.”

“You turned us into flying _monkeys_ ,” the man spat.

“I turned a lot of people into flying monkeys,” Zelena retorted, and she never saw the two guns come up.  She was too bored with the conversation, too eager to regain what was hers and get her revenge.  So, Zelena turned away even as Greg and Tamara both drew handguns and pointed at her.  She started walking, heading again for the north side of the street and glad that there weren’t many people around to witness that scene.  After all, word getting back to her sister that she had escaped would be very inconvenient—

Two shots rang out, and Zelena collapsed to the ground.

* * *

 

The idea of having Gold as a father-in-law was more than just a little creepy, but Emma figured that if she could embrace the rest of this fairytale stuff, she could wrap her mind around that, too.  Besides, he was Neal’s dad, and they seemed to be doing okay now.  That made Gold family, and, well, that meant Emma was going to figure out how to get past all the awkwardness that was inherent with this.  Besides, he’d helped her save Henry even before he knew about her and Neal, and that meant a lot to Emma.  

None of that, however, explained why she was at the shop that morning.  No, that was Ingrid’s doing.  As much as Emma wanted to view her former foster mother with a healthy amount of doubt, Ingrid _did_ have a point when she told Emma not to leave this Elsa—whoever she actually was—inside some enchanted urn.  Ingrid had said that Rumplestiltskin had the urn last, though, and Emma figured that it if was anywhere, it was inside the pawn shop.  Judging from a few comments of Regina’s, all kinds of things from the Enchanted Forest had ended up in Gold’s shop.  It was the logical place to start, and Gold was the logical man to talk to.

But the front of the shop was empty when Emma walked in, and no one emerged from the back despite the ringing of the bell as the door slammed shut behind her.  “Anyone here?” Emma called.  “Gold?  Belle?”

She figured that they were both probably there; Neal hadn’t said anything about how badly Cora had treated Gold, but Emma wasn’t blind.  She’d seen a lot of crappy stuff in her days as a foster kid, and had seen a lot of people hurt.  She wasn’t quite ready to go so far as to say what Gold was suffering from PTSD, but she wasn’t certain that wasn’t the case, either.  He’d sure reacted like an abuse victim when Grumpy had grabbed him six days ago, and Gold had been a virtual recluse since killing Cora.  He hadn’t even opened the shop until today, and Emma had figured that she should leave things alone until Gold was ready to face the world. 

“We’ll be right there!” Belle’s voice called, and Emma tried not to tap her foot as she waited.  Was it terribly wrong that she hoped Gold needed a few minutes to make sure he didn’t flip out and turn her into a snail, when the other option was that the Golds had been doing something unimaginable with one another in the back?  _Eww, Emma, don’t think like that,_ she told herself firmly.  The man was her son’s grandfather!

Fortunately, only a minute or two passed before the Golds emerged, and fortunately, they weren’t straightening their clothes or doing anything else that would indicate they’d been mid-tryst.  _Thank goodness._

“Emma,” Belle greeted her with a bright smile.  “What can we do for you?”

“I need some help,” Emma replied, glancing at Gold.  He still looked tired, despite having been free from Cora for six days, and Emma recognized wary tension in every line of his body.

“With what?” Belle again, and Emma found it interesting that Gold was letting her take the lead.

“I’m, um, looking for something,” she admitted, wondering if this was a fool’s errand after all.  “Something Ingrid said you had.”

The last was directed at Gold, whose eyes narrowed slightly in realization.  “You’re looking for the urn.  For Elsa of Arendelle.”

“How’d you know?”

Having knowledge everyone else didn’t seemed to bring Gold back on balance.  “Your former foster mother and I had a remarkable conversation when we were both Cora’s guests,” he said wryly.  “She told me a remarkable tale about a prophecy and sisters she feels she will now never find.”

“Yeah, um, she told me some of that,” Emma admitted uncomfortably.  “And, well, I’m not looking to get into all of that, but Ingrid had a point.  Whoever this Elsa is, she doesn’t deserve to be stuck in some bottle for the rest of forever.”

“Rumple, you didn’t…you didn’t put her in there, did you?” Belle spoke up, which made Emma blink.  She’d just kind of assumed that Gold had been responsible, so she watched with interest as he turned towards his wife.

“I’m actually  not at fault this time, sweetheart,” Gold replied with a slightly sheepish shrug.  “I missed the details of the encounter, but Ingrid seems to have put her niece in the urn.  I merely acquired it afterwards.”

“And you _left_ her in there?” Belle demanded, crossing her arms.

Gold blinked, seemingly not quite comprehending why that would be a problem.  Emma almost spoke up, but she decided to wait and see what her future father-in-law said, instead.  He cleared his throat uneasily.  “Honestly, I didn’t expect to hold on to her for long.  I offered Ingrid a deal that I expected she’d take, but she never did.  Instead, she found another way here.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Belle insisted, and Gold shrugged again.

“I’m the Dark One, Belle.  ‘Right’ didn’t sit so well with me until you came around,” he replied, and Emma watched something unspoken pass between the two.

“You need to make it right,” Belle said softly, putting a hand on his arm, and for a moment, Emma was pretty sure neither remembered she was in the room.  It was cute, and it reminded her vividly of her parents, but she really wasn’t here for cute.

“So, uh, you’ll be forking over that urn, yeah?” Emma interrupted.  “Seems like it’s probably about time we get this Elsa out of the urn, particularly if it’s going to help promote domestic peace in the Gold household.”

“It’s not that simple, I’m afraid,” Gold replied.  “The urn is in the vault of my castle.”

“You have a castle?” Emma asked before she could stop herself.  “Where?”

“In the Enchanted Forest, of course.”

“Oh.”  Emma felt like an idiot for her previous question, but she really was still kind of new at this fairytale thing.  “The curse, um, destroyed everything back there, right?”

“Not…precisely,” he said slowly, and Belle seemed to catch on quicker than Emma.

“Jefferson’s hat can take us there, can’t it?” she asked softly.

“The Mad Hatter?” Emma echoed.  “He can take us to the Enchanted Forest?”

Gold let out a breath, his eyes flicking to his wife.  “He could, yes.”

“There are a few things in the castle I’d like to bring back, Rumple,” Belle pointed out, and Emma just watched her turn big blue eyes on her husband.  _This is an entirely different type of magic_ , she thought, and Emma knew that Gold was going to give in long before he did.  He argued a little, but even Gold seemed to know that it was pointless.  Before too long, he’d agreed to go back to the Enchanted Forest and had promised to bring the urn back so that Elsa could be freed.

* * *

 

Regina stepped onto the street just in time to watch two people shoot Zelena.  She and Snow had been in Granny’s for a late breakfast, just enjoying a little time together before tackling another day of trying to fix Storybrooke, and when they heard the tires screeching, they’d assumed someone had gotten in a car accident.  Instead, they came outside to find two strangers shooting Zelena, and at first Regina was too shocked to move.   Snow actually reacted first, shouting for both shooters to stop when they started to run away—but neither did, of course.

“Regina!” Snow snapped, and somehow her voice got through the fog.  “Stop them!”

Waving a hand, Regina used magic to yank the guns out of both culprits’ hands and then turned the asphalt under their feet into quicksand, stopping both cold.  That gave her and Snow time to hurry to Zelena’s side, but it only took one look at her (half!) sister to tell Regina everything she needed to know.

“She’s dead,” Regina said, feeling like her voice belonged to another person.  There was a strange emptiness in her heart—not really grief, but more like a slight sorrow for something that they never had and now would never be.

“Oh, Regina,” Snow replied softly, and a gentle hand landed on her arm.  “I’m so sorry.”

“You know…” she said slowly, still studying Zelena’s pale face.  “I don’t think I am.”  Looking up at Snow’s predictably horrified expression, she shrugged.  “Zelena hated everything I am and hated everyone I love.  Sooner or later, she would have tried to destroy our family.  Maybe it’s better that she never got the chance.”

“She still deserved better than to die like this.”

“Did she?” Regina wondered.  “At least it was fast.”  _Faster than Mother got, for all Rumple didn’t actually make her suffer,_ she thought.  _I suppose this might be considered a mercy in the long run._

“Let’s, uh, deal with these two,” Snow said uneasily, gesturing at the pair struggling against the street that had swallowed them up to their knees.  “Whoever they are.”

“Now _that’s_ a good question,” Regina replied, turning on Zelena’s killers.  Both were still fighting to get free, so she decided to leave them where they were for the moment.  “Who the hell are you two?”

“People that _bitch_ turned into flying monkeys!” the woman spat furiously, and Regina snorted back a very inappropriate laugh.

“Well, unless you want me to call you Monkey One and Monkey Two, some names would be really helpful,” she pointed out.

“Regina!” Snow hissed in an undertone, but Regina just gave her sister an unrepentant look.

“What?”

The two strangers exchanged a loaded glance, and watching the way they looked at one another set warning bells off in Regina’s head.  Finally, the woman answered: “Tamara Martin and Greg Mendell.  We’re from out of town.”

“You’re from…where?” Snow got in before Regina could process that information, but once it sank in, her stomach dropped out.

“Not from here,” Greg snapped.  “We’re normal people, not from this magically-infested hellhole.”

“ _Hellhole_?” Snow echoed, sounding shocked.  Regina, however, really wasn’t in the mood.

“Well, I’m glad you don’t like Storybrooke,” she cut in, waving a hand and yanking both visitors out of the asphalt.  And, well, if they slammed down a bit hard on the suddenly-solid road when they landed, that wasn’t her problem.  “Because I’m pretty sure no one here likes you much, either.  But, since we’re a law-abiding sort of place, we’ll just throw you in jail while we figure out how to express that dislike.”

“Law-abiding?” Tamara echoed, sounding incredulous.  “You people are all abominations!  This place needs to be destroyed, not—”

“Oh, shut up,” Regina cut her off, waving her hand through the air once more.  Immediately, Tamara and Greg vanished in a cloud of purple smoke, reappearing in (Regina hoped) the sole empty jail cell.  Either that or they’d wound up in with Keith Nottingham, who had been released on bond last night and then picked up that very same morning for drunk driving.  Again.  “I am _so_ sick of this crap.”

“This is going to get messy,” Snow predicted.

“Tell me about it.”

* * *

 

The next day—having given in to Belle’s pleading and already traveled to the Enchanted Forest with the Hatter—Rumplestiltskin sought the Savior out.  Rather, he called her and asked her to meet him down in the mines, not far from the place where they had each once faced off with the Jabberwocky.  Just thinking of the unsettling terror he had felt that day left him a little off balance, but not as much as Rumplestiltskin had expected.  So much had happened in the eighteen days since the curse had broken that he’d almost forgotten _that_ particular trauma; he was still shaky for other reasons, but memories of how Jabber had made him feel were so far from the top of that list.

“You know, this really isn’t my favorite place,” Emma said, walking up with all the subtlety of a drunk elephant. 

“Nor mine, Miss Swan,” he replied, turning to face Storybrooke’s sheriff.  “But I do believe that I have something you’ll want.”

“You got the urn?” she asked, her eyes going immediately to his hands.  Those hands were, of course empty.

“I did.  And I’ll make a deal with you for its return,” Rumplestiltskin smiled slightly as Emma frowned, enjoying himself perhaps a little too much.  “I’ll even tell you how to free Elsa, though I suspect Ingrid already knows that little trick.”

“I thought you said that you wanted to make things right.”

“No, _Belle_ said that,” he reminded his future daughter-in-law.  “She’ll always be a far better person than I, and much more helpful.”

“Yeah, I think a four year old could have figured _that_ out,” his future daughter-in-law grumbled.  “I suppose that’s what I get for listening to your son when he says you’re trying to be better.”

That stung a little, but Rumplestiltskin made himself shrug, figuring that he deserved it.  “Believe it or not, dear, I think you’ll like this deal,” he said calmly, drawing a small scroll out of his pocket.  “All it requires is you to use a touch of your magic to place a protective spell over the town.”

“A what?” Emma blinked.

“A protective spell.  I do believe you’re aware of the…visitors that shot Zelena?”

“Yeah, I’ve got them locked up in a jail cell at the moment,” she replied, studying him closely.  “So…you’re giving me a way to keep other people out?”

“Right in one.”  A twisted smile twitched onto his lips.  “I’m glad to see that Henry didn’t inherit all of his intelligence from my side of the family.”

“Very funny, Gold,” Emma snapped, but he could tell that she wasn’t really annoyed.

“To each their own.” Rumplestiltskin shrugged again and offered her the scroll.  “This spell will keep anyone who wasn’t born in a magical realm outside of Storybrooke.  All you need to is read the words on the scroll, and magic will take care of the rest.”

“Why  me?  Why can’t _you_ do it?”

“I’m a creature of dark magic, Miss Swan,” he replied honestly.  “You, however, are the opposite.  I’ve written the spell.  If you cast it, Storybrooke will be protected by the strongest of both light and dark magic—by the woman who broke the curse, and by the man who twisted pieces into place to make it happen.”  Rumplestiltskin paused, watching realization dawn on Emma’s face.  “So, do we have a deal?”

“You could have just asked me, you know,” she retorted, grabbing the scroll.

Rumplestiltskin shook his head.  “Magic always comes with a price.  By demanding something in return, I mitigate some of that price so that neither you nor I—or Storybrooke—will have to pay it.”

“Huh.”  Emma unrolled the paper and studied it, glancing at Rumplestiltskin a little curiously.  “I guess Neal was right about you.  You _are_ trying.”

That frank—and perhaps even accepting—look made him uncomfortable, so Rumplestiltskin stepped sideways, needing to put some space between himself and the girl his son loved.  “I’ll always have my demons,” he said as flippantly as he could, hating the way emotion made his voice rough.  “But for my family’s sake, I’ll try to contain them.”

“You and me both.”  Emma quirked a smile, and then began to read.

She released a very confused Elsa from the urn later that day, Rumplestiltskin heard, causing a very confused reunion between aunt and niece, given how the former had removed the latter’s memories of their last encounter.  Somehow, Emma managed to get the two snow sorceresses to talk to one another without either turning the town to ice, and eventually, Jefferson departed for Arendelle with both Elsa and Ingrid in tow.  They had a long way to go before those family issues could be cleared up, too, but like Rumplestiltskin, Ingrid was trying.  They’d both learned a thing or two while under Cora’s control, and neither was about to let this second chance go.

* * *

 

Two weeks after Cora’s death, Snow and Charming insisted that Storybrooke hold a city-wide celebration.  Half block party and half old world ball, the party started around noon and continued well into the evening, filling the town with laughter for the first time in living memory.  The curse had broken twenty-five days ago, and now that a calm seemed to have finally settled over Storybrooke, everyone was able to get their bearings.  Families were reunited, friends balanced out their old lives with their new, and life generally went onwards and upwards.  Particularly now that the town was protected by a barrier spell, and their visitors from outside had been tossed outside that barrier—without memories of what they’d done in Storybrooke or what they had seen.

“So,” Henry asked Emma with a grin as they watched David shove Baelfire into the impromptu swordfighting contest that someone had started.  “Did you ever imagine it might be like this when I blackmailed you into coming here?”

“No,” his adopted mother snorted.  “Not in a million years.  I’d have checked myself into the psych ward if I’d ever imagined _this_.”

“But you like it,” he teased her.

Emma glared a little, and then relented.  “But I like it, yeah.  It’s weird…but it’s home.”

“Told you so,” Henry couldn’t resist gloating a little, and he didn’t even grumble when Emma reached over to fluff his hair.  He was too happy.

His birth parents were getting married in a month—really _really_ married, not just on paper but for actual real.  They’d even gotten a house together, one that Henry had a room in, just like he did at home.  Bae and Emma had moved in just that morning, both of them grumbling about how Grandpa Gold had refused to charge them rent and kept calling it a wedding present.  His adopted mom was finally happy, too, even if Henry had been wrong about who Robin turned out to be.  He’d hoped that Daniel had still been alive, but somehow Regina had found a second True Love, and he knew that she was happy with Robin.  Sooner or later, he’d get a younger stepbrother out of that deal, and Henry thought that was great.

His adopted dad was back with _his_ True Love, and Henry couldn’t help but laugh when Snow jumped into that mock swordfight and promptly walloped his grandfather/adopted dad.  They’d been elected co-mayors of Storybrooke by popular acclaim, which was pretty weird but seemed to work out well enough, since it wasn’t like they did anything without the other, anyway.  His _other_ grandparents were True Love, too, and even if Henry had never expected to find Beauty and the Beast as part of his family, he thought it was pretty cool.  Belle was great, and Grandpa Gold told all kinds of funny stories about how his dad had been as a child. 

For a kid who had felt so very alone when he’d been the only one to believe in fairytales, Henry had wound up with a far bigger family than even he could imagine.  And it _better_ than he’d ever even hoped.

* * *

 

“So, here we are,” Robin said as they danced, and Regina found herself smiling before she even knew where he was going with this.

“Here we are,” she agreed.  Robin and Roland had moved into the sweeping Nolan house almost two weeks ago, and although there had been some awkward moments—like the time she discovered that Roland _really_ liked to climb into bed with his father at the most inopportune times—so far life had seemed almost like a real honeymoon.  Now that Emma had moved out, leaving Regina and Robin at one end of the house and Snow and Charming at the other (with two boys in between and the Charmings already talking about building a nursery for the next one they were planning), Regina felt like her life was finally on the track _she’d_ wanted it to be, and she was almost afraid that she’d wake up.

With her luck, if she did, she’d find herself plain Regina Nolan, her mother’s executive assistant and still stuck in a miserable marriage to her brother-in-law.  _Don’t think like that,_ she told herself firmly, but still hadn’t shaken away the habitual pessimism until Robin reached out a finger to poke her in the nose.

“Hey!”

He grinned.  “Sorry to distract you from your dark thoughts, love, but I thought we might enjoy ourselves, instead of being unhappy.”

“I’m sorry,” Regina whispered.  “I’m just…sometimes I think I’m terrible at being happy.  I keep waiting for something to go wrong.”

“If it does, we’ll face that together,” Robin promised.  “No matter what happens, I’ll be by your side, as long as you’ll have me.”

“As long as I’ll have you?” she echoed, snorting.  “Who says I’m ever going to let you go anywhere?”

“Tie me down if you want,” he replied, eyes twinkling.  “I’m a big boy.  I can take it.”

Regina knew that her laugh startled everyone around them, but she didn’t care.  She was dancing with a man she loved, she had her family back, and life was good.  _This_ was what she’d always dreamed of, and she wasn’t going to let go now.

* * *

 

“They’re staring,” Rumplestiltskin complained, and Belle snickered.

“Not at us,” she replied, highly amused by her husband’s scowl.  He didn’t answer, just glaring at her with an expression that plainly said _yes they are_ , and Belle just leaned in to kiss him lightly.  “And if they are, who cares?”

“I do,” he said rather petulantly, and Belle bit back another snicker.

“You agreed that coming to the party was a good thing,” she said softly, wondering if this was just Rumplestiltskin being Rumplestiltskin, or if he was having another moment where crowds made him nervous.  Slowly, Belle reached up to run her fingers through his hair, playing with the ends and feeling some of the tension eek out of him.

“I know.  I just…”

“We don’t have to stay long,” Belle picked up quickly when he trailed off.  “Honestly, we’ve probably been here longer than most people expected us to.”

“I’m not going to run away just because I’m a little uneasy,” her ever-stubborn husband growled.  There were times Belle really just wanted to smack some sense into him, but she knew that would be counterproductive.  And besides, she loved him the way he was, even when he was difficult.

“Then what _do_ you want to do, Rumple?” she asked.

“Not be stared at,” he repeated, and this time she didn’t hold back her laugh. 

“Then you shouldn’t have given me True Love’s Kiss in public, silly,” Belle chided him playfully, and was finally rewarded with a slight smile.   “They’re all trying to figure out how the big, scary Dark One managed to find True Love.  I think they’re envious.”

“Of you, maybe,” Rumplestiltskin replied, and the way his voice dropped sent a shiver down Belle’s spine.  “Because if anyone’s envious of me, it’s only because I have the most beautiful woman in the world in my arms.”

“I think you’re very handsome, myself,” she said, leaning in to kiss him again.

“I think you’re the only one.”

Her True Love really could be an idiot sometimes, couldn’t he?  “Trust me,” Belle said, thinking of the _several_ women she’d noticed eyeing her husband.  “I’m not.”

Rumplestiltskin looked very different in this world, and she wasn’t surprised that others appreciated his human form.   She loved both sides of him, of course—and had been rather happy to see his old, golden-scaly self when they’d gone to the Enchanted Forest for a day—but she wasn’t blind, even if her husband was.  Rumplestiltskin would probably never think much of himself, but Belle knew better, and she was content to spend the rest of her life reminding him of her love.

* * *

 

Sometime after dinner had been served, Jefferson finally knuckled under.  “I _still_ think this is a terrible idea,” he grumbled.

Belle elbowed him.  “It’s only going to get worse if you keep putting it off, you know.”

“Can’t you, you know, want to go cavorting around magical realms instead?” he whined. “That would be _so_ much easier.”

“Do the brave thing and bravery will follow,” his friend told him, and Jefferson wanted to strangle her.  Not that he would.  Strangling the Dark One’s True Love—and hadn’t _that_ little fact shocked the town!—was probably a good way to wind up flapping in the wind alongside Cora’s ashes.

“Oh, shut up,” he muttered, and made his way through the crowd to where Snow White—or now Mayor Blanchard (which differentiated her from Mayor Nolan, he supposed, despite the fact that they were married)—stood with her daughter, watching Henry swordfight with the other mayor.  Belle stopped a few feet short of their destination, of course, giving him an encouraging smile but leaving Jefferson to do this himself.

_It’s not my fault,_ he tried to tell himself.  _I was cursed._   But he still hadn’t been able to shake the guilty feeling of being an utter creep, of having stalked someone who he actually rather respected, and having scared the hell out of her, too.  So, Jefferson cleared his throat and hoped like hell Emma wouldn’t arrest him.  Both women turned to look at him right away, with Emma—who he didn’t think he’d actually talked to since the curse had broken—giving him a hostile look that said she was contemplating hitting him.

“Look, if you’re here to be a bother—” the sheriff started, but Jefferson cut her off hurriedly.

“I’m here to apologize,” he said.  “For everything, really.  I was…well, I was one hell of a jerk to you.  And I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Jefferson,” Snow said, and for a moment the haunted smile on her face reminded Jefferson of the (then) heartless princess whom Cora had forced to go to Oz with him.  “You were cursed, just like the rest of us.”

“I still feel like a prat,” he admitted.  “And I wanted to tell you that.  I’m not—well, I’m a lot of things, but you’re not really my type.”

Snow laughed, and it was so _unlike_ anything his cursed memories recalled of Mary Margaret that Jefferson actually felt sick with relief.  “I’m not sure if I should be complimented or insulted by that,” she snickered.

“Complimented,” Jefferson replied.  “Definitely complimented.”

They shared another grin, until Emma spoke up.

“Guess I won’t be throwing you in jail after all,” the sheriff said a little grudgingly.  Then she shrugged.  “That’s probably a good thing.  I’m out of space.”

“So long as you don’t ask me to dump any of them in Neverland, we’re all good,” he quipped, and was surprised to see Emma’s face darken.

“So long as you don’t mention that place around Henry,” she replied, suddenly all seriousness.  “Neal’s still trying to convince him that it’s a nightmare land, and not the kind of place kids have fun.”

“It is,” Jefferson confirmed.  “In fact, you ever need a few terrible tales to add to Baelfire’s, just call me up.  I wouldn’t want my daughter interested in the place, either.  Pan makes Cora like nice and cuddly towards children.”

“How about we all stay away from there, then?” Snow suggested, and Jefferson nodded emphatically.

“Best idea I’ve heard all night.”

* * *

 

“You know, somehow I never imagined this the day you came to make me a prince.”

Hearing the voice made Rumplestiltskin turn to watch David walk up.  He’d retreated off to the side while Belle socialized, simply content to watch her work her magic on people.  Now she was talking to that fairy that had taken up with Hook, and if his eyes didn’t deceive him, the pirate was actually _apologizing_ to Belle for that incident at the clock tower.   Rumplestiltskin might have allowed Belle to talk him into not pressing the matter when Hook’s idiotic pursuit of her had made her fall down those half-completed stairs, but he certainly hadn’t forgotten the matter—yet he hadn’t expected the pirate to be brave enough to offer a genuine apology, either. _Apparently being in love is good for him,_ the Dark One thought, and then turned his attention to his pet prince.

“If it’s any consolation, I hardly expected this, either,” he replied with a wry smile.

“I thought you were supposed to be a Seer,” David protested lightly, holding out a beer in offering.

Blinking, Rumplestiltskin accepted the red plastic cup.  He wasn’t generally a beer drinker, but Granny’s brew wasn’t bad, and he wasn’t fool enough to turn down an offer that he understood to be laden with symbolism.  David held his own cup out in an informal toast, and Rumplestiltskin returned the gesture before taking a sip.  At least it wasn’t warm, which improved the taste remarkably.  _And it’s not like any poison they come up with can kill you while there’s magic here,_ his inner voice of paranoia pointed out.  _Or like I suspect David’s trying to poison me._

“The future isn’t that easy to predict,” he admitted.  “Being a Seer is like having the pieces to a thousand different puzzles and none of them are labeled.  There’s no telling where they go.  Sometimes you can pick out the most important ones, but usually you’re just guessing.”

“So, you never saw this coming, huh?” the other man asked, gesturing at where David’s daughter and Rumplestiltskin’s son were laughing together, both having clearly had a beer or two too many as Bae tried to teach Emma archery.

“Not for a moment,” Rumplestiltskin smiled.  “I’m fairly sure I would have tried to prevent it if I had.”

“What, is my daughter not good enough for your son?” David demanded, and it took Rumplestiltskin a moment to realize that the prince was actually _joking_ with him.  Still, there wasn’t really a safe answer to that, was there?

“Um,” he snorted out a laugh, shrugging helplessly.  “Honestly, she’s probably exactly what he needs.  She’s bullheaded and strong, and she can keep up with him.  All I ever wanted was for him to be happy.”

“Yeah, us too,” was the soft reply.  When their eyes met, Rumplestiltskin felt understanding flash between them, and for the first time, he started to wonder if he might actually fit in with this odd family of theirs.

“Well, then,” he replied once he could find his voice.  “Here’s to their happiness.”

“To all of our happiness,” David said with a grin.  “I think we’ve earned it, even if you didn’t expect things to happen like this.”

No, this was not the way things were supposed to happen.  Had things gone according to Rumplestiltskin’s original plan, Regina would not have been dancing with Henry, laughing and smiling like she hadn’t a care in the world.  Any number of things might have changed, some better, and some worse; there was no telling how things would have been different.  Still, for all the discomfort and nightmares this road had caused him, Rumplestiltskin would not have changed a thing, even had he been able to.  Against all odds, he had found his son again, had earned Baelfire’s forgiveness, and reunited his family.  Rumplestiltskin was damaged, yes, but he’d finally learned that time _could_ heal wounds, and thanks to his (far larger than expected) family, he would have that time.

They all would.

* * *

FINIS.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it’s been one hell of a ride. Thank you SO much to everyone who has stayed with me for this long journey—and to those of you who have joined us along the way. I almost didn’t write this behemoth at all, and I certainly never expected it to be so long once I decided to! This is definitely the longest story I’ve ever written, and I can’t believe it’s done.
> 
> I don’t plan on writing a sequel right now, but I will be open to prompts in this universe on my tumblr, [toseehowthestoryends](http://toseehowthestoryends.tumblr.com). I’ll also continue poking away at “True Love Wins Out” when time allows.
> 
> For anyone who is interested, I also now 18 chapters into an alternate Season 5 fic, titled “Ruins of Camelot”. It’s another ensemble fic, but one in which I can promise: no gratuitous memory wipes, no long-term Rumplestiltskin-in-a-coma (he wakes up in chapter 1), and Baelfire will eventually return.
> 
> Thank you all again for being so awesome and for sticking with me through this roller coaster of a story!


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